He turned back to Petunia with perfect solemnity. “You’re right. Much too improper. I shall fetch a carriage immediately. That way, Lady Mariselle and I can be thoroughly inappropriate behind velvet curtains instead.”
Mariselle made a sound that was somewhere between a snort and a gasp. Petunia rolled her eyes. “Very well. Mari hasn’t voiced any recent objections to your company, so I shall presume she does not fear for her virtue or her life. I suppose I may entrust her safe conveyance to you.”
Evryn gave a grave nod. “Your faith moves me to tears, Lady Petunia.”
From the direction of the floor, Mariselle muttered something that included the word ‘insufferable,’ though it was accompanied by a laugh.
Once Petunia was gone, quiet slowly settled over the cottage. Mariselle had opened one of the warding books and was seemingly absorbed in its contents, and Evryn took a few moments to simply watch her.
She had composed herself somewhat, sitting slightly more elegantly than before, though the evening’s mirth still lingered in the gentle flush across her cheeks. The pegasus hairpin he’d crafted for her birthday gleamed softly in her hair, nestled alongside two longer pins whose subtle enchantment emitted a faint shimmer as they valiantly attempted to maintain order among her rebellious locks. Their magic was fighting a losing battle, however, as plenty of wayward strands had already escaped to frame her face.
Without a word, he lowered himself to Petunia’s vacated spot on the floor, right beside Mariselle. “Tell me about the warding,” he said, looking for an excuse to engage her. “What do the different patterns on the dream core mean?”
“Oh!” She looked up, her face brightening. “It’s fascinating, actually.” She launched into an elaborate explanation of the metallic patterns etched into the dream core, but Evryn absorbed precisely none of it. He found himself instead captivated by the animation in her features, the way her eyes lit up, how her hands sketched intricate patterns in the air as she spoke, punctuating her thoughts with graceful gestures.
“And … what remains to be done before Dreamland is ready to reveal to your family?” he asked when she’d finished. His gaze traced over her long lashes, her Brightcrest-blue eyes, the perfect curve of her mouth.
“We’ve made considerable progress,” she said, looking over at the dream core. “I’ll continue refining the scenes, adding depth and complexity—incorporating your storytelling elements. Not Petunia’s absurd suggestions, of course.” Her lips quirked in amusement. “She and I discovered that several crystals need to be imbued with her particular magic, allowing guests to cross the threshold between waking and the dream realm without her physical presence. Not strictly a necessity, but once the attraction is operating at a larger scale, it stands to reason that her constant attendance would prove impractical. And then there is the warding, of course. It’s advancing well, though I still have more work to do in that regard.”
She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “As for the exterior—the pavilion or tent that once sheltered the lumyrite framework—that’s purely aesthetic. I don’t believe we need to concern ourselves with that before the initial reveal. Once my family experiences Dreamland from within, they’ll understand its value immediately. The outer appearance can be addressed later. So, in a few days, perhaps a week, we’ll have a fully functional version of Dreamland.” Her tone was calm, businesslike, though she wouldn’t meet his eyes now. “Even if the outer aesthetics aren’t complete, it should be enough to present to my family. Enough to fulfill the contract.”
Evryn nodded slowly. “I see.”
“And once the contract is satisfied,” she went on, her voice carefully neutral, “and the marking on our hands fades, we can announce that the soulbond seems to have disappeared. That it could not withstand the years of animosity between our families. That we no longer intend to marry.”
The words landed sharp and clean, like a blade pressed to the space between his ribs.
I am singularly privileged to soon call her my wife.
Evryn wanted that. Oh, stars, it hit him square in the chest again just how much he wanted that. And he was almost entirely convinced she wanted it too.
Setting aside the sudden tightness in his chest, as though invisible hands had reached in and gently squeezed his heart, he schooled his features into a rakish half-smile. “Pity,” he said lightly, tilting his head as he watched her. “I must admit, I rather thought you’d have fallen for me by now.”
Her eyes snapped to his. She blinked once, then burst into laughter. Bright, loud, and utterly amused. “You cannot be serious.”
He made a show of placing a hand on his chest. “You wound me. Have you not heard of the famed Evryn Rowanwood charm?”
“I’ve heard tales,” she said, struggling to contain her laughter. “None of them impressive.”
He leaned a little closer. “Are you telling me you don’t believe I could seduce you?”
“A Rowanwood seduce a Brightcrest? Ha!” Laughter danced in her eyes. “I should like to see you try.”
“Oh? Would you now?” The quiet note in his voice shifted the air. Warm. Low. Dangerous.
She recognized the trap a moment too late—but she was Mariselle Brightcrest, and he knew she would never back down from a provocation. Exactly as he’d expected, she folded her arms, spine straightening, a challenge in her gaze. “Go on, then. Convince me.”
Evryn turned fully toward her, slow and deliberate, never breaking her gaze. “I must warn you,” he murmured, reaching out his hand, palm up. “Once I begin, I do not stop until I’m entirely victorious.”
Another laugh escaped her, but there was a vulnerability in her gaze as she placed her hand lightly in his. “If your grand seduction begins with such staggering self-regard,” she remarked, “I remain decidedly underwhelmed thus far.”
“Oh, darling, I promise to thoroughly impress you before this game is through.”
He caught the flare in her eyes before he lowered his gaze to her hand. Her palm sat lightly atop his, and with his other hand he began tracing the silvery patterns of the contract mark, following the spiraling path toward her wrist. He turned her hand slowly, then brought it to his mouth.
He kissed the inside of her wrist. Soft. Lingering. A whisper of heat against the fragile flutter beneath her skin. He heard the quiet inhale of her breath, but she didn’t pull away. “Tell me when to stop,” he murmured in a low tone, lips grazing over her skin.
Another kiss. Just below the first. Then another, further up, along the delicate inner curve of her forearm. Still no protest, and Evryn’s breath hitched faintly, the weight of restraint coiling tighter in his chest. He’dimagined this, dreamed it, but the reality of her skin beneath his mouth was far more exquisite than anything his mind had conjured.
