“We shall say we encountered each other on a terrace outside the ballroom at Solstice Hall,” she began, the fabrication taking shape in her mind. “Our families will undoubtedly have noted our respective absences from the ball, so this much, at least, cannot be contested. We argued, as we always do, and during the course of our disagreement, our hands accidentally touched. The mark appeared instantly, accompanied by the sensation of …” She faltered, uncertain how to describe something she had never experienced.
“A sensation like lightning beneath the skin,” Evryn supplied. When she glanced at him in surprise, he shrugged. “Is that not what it felt like to you?”
“I meant the sensation offalling in love, Rowanwood,” she said tartly. “Not the sensation of the mark itself.”
“Ah. Well I don’t believe we need to get into the specifics of that. We can say we were both overcome with … with … inexplicable attraction,” he finished, his expression pained. “Despite our better judgment and the lifetime of animosity between our families.”
“Yes.” Mariselle nodded, relieved that he was finally participating constructively. “We were as shocked as anyone would be, but the soulbond cannot be denied, and nor can our …” Despite her earlier admonishment that he not behave like a child, she couldn’t suppress a shudder of revulsion. “And nor can our feelings,” she finished in a rush. “We decided to retire home early and share the news with our families in the morning.”
“That should suffice, I suppose,” Evryn said with resignation. “Though you must realize our families will not simply accept this preposterous revelation. My grandmother will be suspicious, my mother will faint, Jasvian will question my sanity, and Rosavyn will laugh until she cannot breathe.” He expelled a weary breath. “Then they will all attempt to break the bond by any means necessary.”
Mariselle refrained from pointing out that he was fortunate to have at least one family member who might find humor in the situation. There would be no such levity in the Brightcrest household when she delivered this news.
“We cannot allow them to break the bond,” she reminded him. “We must insist that we …” She shivered again. “Care for each other,” she forced herself to say, “and wish to honor the bond.”
Evryn straightened his riding jacket with an impatient gesture, his expression making it clear he wished to be anywhere but in her presence. “Very well. As you wish. Consider me your devoted suitor from this moment forward. But know this,LadyBrightcrest. When this charade is through, I shall take immense pleasure in never having to pretend to like you ever again.”
“I can assure you,LordRowanwood,” Mariselle said with a brittle smile, “the sentiment is entirely mutual.”
Chapter Three
Mariselle kissedCinder’s soft nose, relieved to have successfully returned to Brightcrest Manor without detection. They had followed their familiar route through the property, keeping to the shadows and skirting the meticulously maintained gardens with their distinctive cerulean roses. She was grateful as always that the copper mare’s wings only blazed with golden fire during flight. Their secret nocturnal escapades wouldn’t be possible otherwise.
“Tomorrow we begin something extraordinary,” Mariselle whispered, having carefully unbuckled and removed the riding saddle from Cinder’s back. Her injured palm throbbed beneath the makeshift bandage she’d fashioned from her riding scarf, the pain flaring with each movement. “All those nights we spent circling the ruins, imagining what it might have been …” She ran her fingers through Cinder’s silken mane. “Soon it will be real again.”
After ensuring Cinder had fresh water and a measure of oats, Mariselle pressed a final kiss to the pegasus’s soft nose. “Rest well,” she murmured, then slipped out of the stable, carefully securing the door behind her.
The gardens stood between her and the manor house, with flowerbeds laid out in ornate patterns, bordered by clipped hedges and pale gravel paths that gleamed beneath the drifting faelights—any one of which might betray her presence if she wasn’t careful. Fortunately, Mariselle knew exactly whichpaths remained unlit, having mapped them meticulously over years of clandestine excursions.
She skirted the luminous fountain and darted behind a hedge sculptured to resemble a prancing unicorn. Another quick dash brought her beneath the shadow of the western wing, where her bedchamber awaited two stories above. A soft whistle, pitched just high enough to be heard by its intended recipient, summoned a flickering light from her window. Moments later, a slender rope ladder unfurled down the wall. Mariselle grinned. Tilly, her lady’s maid, had received her signal.
Ignoring the persistent ache in her palm, Mariselle began the familiar climb, grateful that her unseemly attire afforded the freedom of movement such ascents required. Near the top, a pale face peered out from between the drawn curtains. “You’re earlier than I expected,” Tilly said as she helped Mariselle through the window. “The rest of your family is still at Solstice Hall.”
“Thank the stars.” Mariselle slipped out of her jacket and handed it to Tilly, who gasped when she caught sight of Mariselle’s bandaged hand. “My lady! Whatever happened?”
“A slight mishap during my ride,” Mariselle replied. “Could you perhaps draw a bath? I need to wash away the dirt and blood before anyone sees me.”
Tilly nodded. “I’ll prepare the enchantment. It won’t take long.”
Though Tilly was human and lacked the innate magical abilities of the fae, she had mastered the simple enchantments accessible to her kind. Like most servants in noble fae houses, she knew the precise incantations to activate the household’s magical conveniences. In the case of bathtubs, specifically, this meant applying the correct enchantment to the layer of ever-warm stones that sat beneath the copper tub in order to warm the water to the perfect temperature.
While Tilly busied herself with the tub tucked behind a painted screen in the corner, Mariselle sank onto the edge of her bed, allowing herself a moment of pure, unbridled excitement. Dreamland. She was going to restoreDreamland! The thought sent a shiver of anticipation down her spine.
Of course, the price for this opportunity was steep: pretending to be in love with Evryn Rowanwood, of all people. The very idea made her stomach churn with distaste. But it was a price she would gladly pay. The restoration of Dreamland would finally prove her worth to her family. She would transformfrom the disappointing youngest daughter into the architect of the Brightcrests’ greatest achievement in generations. And she would have Dreamland too! She couldn’t wait to see it in all its glory.
Tilly stepped back around the screen, interrupting Mariselle’s reverie. “For your hand, my lady,” she said, offering a small jar with a green-glazed lid. The familiar scent of Mariselle’s favorite variety of healing salve—peppermint and comfrey with an undertone of something distinctly magical—wafted from it as she removed the lid.
Her maid disappeared behind the screen again, and Mariselle unwrapped the blood-stained scarf from her palm. The angry red slice looked worse now than when she’d hastily bandaged it earlier, but she was distracted once more by the silvery mark starting at the edges of her palm, looping around her fingers and over her hand in an intricate, swirling pattern. Another painful throb forced her attention back to the cut.
She scooped a dollop of the cool salve onto her fingers and spread it carefully across the wound, breathing a sigh of relief as the herbs and minor enchantments began their work, instantly soothing the pain and beginning the healing process. By the time Tilly appeared from behind the screen once more and announced, “Your bath is ready, my lady,” the cut was little more than a faint pink line across Mariselle’s palm. She hastily lowered her hand and tugged her sleeve downward, concealing the mark. The last thing she needed was Tilly noticing the strange pattern and asking questions Mariselle wasn’t yet ready to answer.
She rose and moved behind the screen, where steam rose invitingly from the copper tub. “Thank you, Tilly. I believe that will be all for tonight.”
“Are you sure, my lady? Perhaps you require?—”
“No, no. I shall be quite all right.” Mariselle had informed Tilly years ago that she was perfectly capable of removing her riding garments herself, but her maid always offered assistance regardless.
Tilly inclined her head in a polite nod. “Sleep well, my lady. Shall I wake you at the usual hour tomorrow?”
