“If I may,” Lady Rivenna said stiffly. “I believe I remember which of the journals might contain something of use.”
Lady Nirella’s head snapped up. “I have no intention of allowing you anywhere near my granddaughter’s recovery. Your assistance is neither required nor welcome.”
“Are youquiteserious?” Evryn exploded, frustration and fear finally reaching their breaking point. “Will you truly allow ancient grievances to dictate your actions when Mariselle’s consciousness hangs in the balance? Can you not set aside your pride and mutual antipathy for a single evening andwork together to help her?”
His shout reverberated through the small room, leaving a ringing silence in its wake. The two grandmothers stared at him, identical expressions of shock on their faces.
Lady Nirella was the first to recover. “Very well,” she said, the words clearly costing her. She looked at Lady Rivenna with obvious reluctance. “Which journal are you referring to?”
“If you would be so gracious as to permit me a few moments at the bookshelf,” Lady Rivenna replied, every syllable dripping with condescension, “I’m sure I can locate it without difficulty. I … may have employed one of the remedies myself. Years ago, after excessive magical expenditure, when I was—” She paused, her expression flickering with something unreadable, as though the words carried a weight only she and Nirella could fully comprehend. “When I was first working on the many enchantments that would ultimately be woven into The Charmed Leaf Tea House.”
Lady Nirella regarded her warily for a moment before giving a curt nod. “Show me. Please,” she added, the word emerging from her lips with such evident strain that Evryn was reminded of the first time he’d forced himself to utter the words ‘I apologize’ to Mariselle. That was the first night they had begun their work here together. How long ago it seemed now.
The two women moved toward the door, an uneasy—and most likely temporary—truce forming between them as they stepped into the main part of the cottage.
Evryn crossed the room to Mariselle’s side, lowered himself to the edge of the chair, and took her hand. His thumb traced over the swirling patterns that marked her skin, and he lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a gentle kiss against the side of her wrist. The mark that had begun as their elaboratedeception had transformed into something that felt genuine and significant, a visible symbol of the very real bond that now existed between them.
Beyond the bedroom, the cottage filled with the soft murmur of voices as the grandmothers searched through Lady Eugenia’s journals, their years of animosity temporarily set aside in service to something more important.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Mariselle driftedtoward consciousness on a gentle current, the familiar weight of dreams gradually lifting as morning light painted gold across her eyelids and awareness filtered in. She registered sensations one by one—the softness of worn cotton beneath her cheek, the distant chirping of birds, and most curiously, the steady rhythm of someone else’s breathing very close to her own.
She opened her eyes slowly, the world resolving itself in gentle increments, and found herself looking at Evryn’s sleeping face mere inches from hers. His features were softened, and he had one arm curled beneath his head while the other lay outstretched toward her on the coverlet. For one disorienting moment, she couldn’t reconcile where they were or how they’d come to be lying so close together, but a single startling thought filled her mind with perfect clarity—that she would happily wake to this sight every morning for the remainder of her days.
And then she remembered.
Her parents. Being confined to Brightcrest Manor. Pouring so much of herself into the dream core. Shouting at Evryn. The room tilting in a frightening and dizzying way.
Her heart pattered faster for several moments, clouds attempting togather at the edges of her mind, but she surrendered to the sweet haziness of leftover sleep, comforted by the simple fact that Evryn was near.
After another minute or so, he stirred. His eyelids fluttered open drowsily, blinking several times as though filtering reality from dreams, until his gaze finally landed on her. Their eyes met.
“You’re awake,” he breathed, the words escaping him like a prayer he hadn’t dared offer aloud.
“I am.” A small, tired smile tugged at her lips. “You’re lying beside me.”
His mouth curved. “Astute as ever.”
She would have teased him, but her voice caught on the next breath. There was something raw in his gaze as it traveled her face. Something that made her pulse stutter.
Softly, almost reverently, he reached toward her and brushed a strand of hair away from her temple. “Darling,” he murmured, the word barely more than air, “your hair is golden again.”
“Oh.” She managed a faint smile. “I’m sorry. I know you preferred the blue.”
Evryn let out a shaky breath, his expression twisting in a way that made her chest ache. “It does not matter to me what color your hair is,” he said, emotion thick in his voice. “I love you regardless. If I am granted nothing else in this life but the chance to show you, every single day, how utterly, unconditionally, and completely you are loved for exactly who you are, then I will count myself the most fortunate man in all the realms. You, Mariselle Brightcrest, are treasured beyond measure.”
Her breath caught as his words settled into places within her heart that had always stood empty. Tears gathered, silver and bright, and she pressed her trembling lips together.
Utterly and unconditionally.
Treasured beyond measure.
And then her mind caught on another three words:Every single day.
“Evryn Rowanwood,” she managed to whisper. “Are you asking me to marry you?”
An uncharacteristic vulnerability wavered in his eyes. “Yes.”
