Page 17 of Deals & Dream Spells (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #2)

With his friends’ gazes still on him, Evryn extended his right arm and pushed back his sleeve to reveal the silvery pattern that curled around his wrist. “Magic, it seems, cares little for family feuds.”

Fin leaned forward to examine the mark, his brow furrowed in concentration. “A soulbond,” he murmured. “I’d never heard of such a thing before the gossip birds began shrieking the word about town this morning.”

“Neither had I,” Crispin admitted, leaning forward as well.

“My mother has mentioned them,” Ryden confirmed, giving the mark only a passing glance before leaning back in his chair. “Though I admit I’d never given them any thought before today.”

“Nor I,” Evryn said with a rueful chuckle. “Yet here we are.”

“So tell me,” Ryden said, crossing his legs at the ankles as he leaned further back in his chair, “how exactly does one transition from ‘I loathe everything about you’ to ‘you’re the love of my existence’ in the space of a few moments?”

“Magic, of course,” Evryn replied dryly, withdrawing his arm as Fin and Crispin sat back.

“Fascinating,” Crispin deadpanned as he reached for his half-full glass and brought it toward his lips. “Do elaborate on this sophisticated courtship strategy.”

“I believe it went something like: ‘Brightcrest, you insufferable menace—oh wait, you have rather lovely eyes—shall we marry?’ ”

Crispin nearly choked on his drink. “Please tell me you didn’t actually say that.”

“Of course not. I was far more eloquent.”

“He probably quoted terrible poetry,” Ryden said.

“I’ll have you know my poetry is exceptional,” Evryn said.

“Exceptionally awful, I’m sure,” Ryden snorted.

Fin caught Evryn’s eye but said nothing.

He was the only one among them who knew of Evryn’s private writings.

Not the satirical pieces published under his pseudonym, but some of his other scribblings, as well as the raw verses he occasionally composed.

Fin had discovered them purely by accident one evening in Evryn’s study at Rowanwood House.

He’d called them ‘surprisingly insightful’ and encouraged Evryn to continue, while Evryn had wished fervently for the floor to swallow him whole.

“And now there’s to be an engagement ball tomorrow night?

” Fin said, moving the conversation deftly away from Evryn’s poetry skills.

“Hosted by the High Lady herself? A herald pixie arrived at Thornhart House this afternoon, riding one of those oversized dragonflies they use for formal announcements.”

“Ironvale Manor received the same,” Crispin confirmed. “I initially dismissed it as an elaborate prank orchestrated by our royal friend here.”

Evryn grimaced. “I’m afraid not. Her Grace was most enthusiastic about celebrating our connection.”

“You’re going to have to actually dance with her,” Crispin said, one side of his mouth curling in disgust. “Lady Mariselle Brightcrest.”

Evryn forced himself to picture every other young lady he’d ever found attractive instead of Mariselle Brightcrest and tried to keep the sarcasm from his voice as he said, “I know. I’m so looking forward to it.”

“How does one dance with someone one has publicly despised for years?” Fin asked.

“Carefully,” Ryden advised.

“With heavily reinforced footwear,” Crispin suggested. “Lady Mariselle strikes me as the type to express her true feelings through strategically placed heel stomps.”

“I doubt she would try something like that with the High Lady watching,” Fin said .

“True,” Ryden agreed. “The real danger will come later, in the gardens, when she lures you behind a topiary and throttles you with her fan ribbon.”

Evryn bit down his instinctive response: Yes, it was very likely Mariselle would attempt to throttle him at some point. “You have an unpleasantly vivid imagination,” he remarked instead. “And you seem to be forgetting that Lady Mariselle feels the same way about me as I do about her.”

“I admit I’m finding that very hard to imagine,” Fin said, still watching Evryn with undisguised concern.

“As I mentioned,” Evryn offered awkwardly, “it’s magic.”

“Hmm,” Fin murmured, his expression making it clear he remained unconvinced despite choosing not to press further.

“When’s the wedding to be?” Crispin asked, swirling the amber liquid in his glass.

“End of the Season,” Evryn replied, grateful this farce would be over by then.

“How romantic,” Ryden sighed, clutching his heart. “Nothing says true love like ‘I’m delaying our union in hopes you might perish naturally before I’m forced to commit.’”

Evryn caught himself before a snort of laughter could escape.

He cleared his throat and clarified, “I was thinking more along the lines of giving our families time to adjust. And I’d appreciate it if you could show a little more support,” he added, reminding himself that he needed to defend this union as if it were real.

“She is to be my … wife.” The word felt so wrong in his mouth that he had to grip the arms of his chair to stop himself from performing a full-body shudder.

“Oh but it’s far too entertaining teasing you about it!”

Evryn fixed him with a glare.

Ryden leaned forward, his expression softening as he squeezed Evryn’s shoulder. “I’m only having a bit of fun, my friend. We may not be fond of Lady Mariselle, but if you’re truly determined to marry her, then of course we support you.”

“Speak for yourself,” Crispin muttered. “Though if you must marry her,” he added, “at least try never to fall asleep in her presence.”

Evryn arched a brow. “I imagine that will be difficult once we are wed.” Which, fortunately, would never happen .

Crispin leaned forward. “The Brightcrests might deny it until their dying breath, but who’s to say the rumors about dream influence aren’t true?”

“Oh come now,” Evryn scoffed. “You saw Lady Mariselle’s debut last Season.

You’ve seen other demonstrations from that family.

You know the most any of them can do is extract dream essence from …

” He waved a hand vaguely, uncertain of the exact terminology.

“I don’t know, from the general population of all those who are asleep at that precise moment.

So they can make their precious Dream-Bright Elixir. ”

Evryn couldn’t help the contempt that crept into his voice at the mention of the Brightcrests’ flagship product.

The small blue bottles with their signature silver stoppers graced bedside tables in homes throughout the United Fae Isles.

A few drops before sleep guaranteed pleasant dreams, banishing nightmares and ensuring restful slumber.

Even middle-class families kept a bottle in their medicine cabinets.

The Brightcrests had built most of their fortune on that concoction alone.

The Rowanwoods, of course, refused to allow a single drop past their lips.

In Evryn’s childhood home, merely mentioning Dream-Bright had been enough to earn a stern reprimand.

His father had called it ‘bottled manipulation,’ explaining to his children that anyone who drank too much of it came to develop an unhealthy dependency on it.

Evryn wondered, however, if the true objection was simply that it had the name Brightcrest attached to it.

“Perhaps that’s all someone like Lady Mariselle is capable of,” Crispin continued, “but my uncle swears he once dozed off at a dinner where her aunt was present and woke up with the inexplicable desire to sell his prized racing pegasus to her at half its value.”

“That sounds more like your uncle’s fondness for expensive wine than dream manipulation,” Evryn countered.

“Perhaps,” Crispin said, “but the rumors persist for a reason. Dream invasion , I’ve heard some call it. The ability to enter someone else’s dream and plant suggestions that linger after waking.”

“Do you remember Alaryn Brightcrest speaking of ‘dream sharing’?” Ryden asked, frowning. “What was that about?”

“That was something more … intimate, was it not?” Fin said.

“Ah, I see.” Ryden’s gaze took on a knowing glint.

“An intimacy of the mind ,” Fin hastened to add. “Only possible between two people who trust each other. ”

“Of course, of course,” Ryden said, though his grin suggested he didn’t believe Fin for a moment.

“Ah, yes, I believe it was something about trust opening a doorway between two sleeping minds,” Crispin said, nodding, “as long as one of them possesses dream magic. But that’s entirely different.

I’m speaking of an invasion of the subconscious mind, and I’m almost certain there are some who are capable of it. ”

“Your concern is noted,” Evryn said, hoping to put an end to this line of conversation. “I shall endeavor to sleep as far away as possible from my beloved after the wedding.”

He offered silent thanks to whatever celestial powers might be listening that this charade would end long before he ever found himself in a position where sleep—or anything more intimate—near Mariselle became necessary.

“Nonetheless,” Ryden said with a warm smile, “strange sleeping arrangements aside, we stand with you in this unexpected union, my friend. Brightcrest or not, she’ll be a Rowanwood soon enough.”

Evryn suppressed a grimace. “Thank you.”

“And perhaps,” Ryden continued with a mischievous glint in his eye, “your legendary charm will eventually rub off on her. What a service to society—one less spiteful Brightcrest to contend with at social gatherings.”

“Speaking of social gatherings,” Evryn said, his insides tightening with anxiety, “I could do without tomorrow night’s engagement ball.”

“Ah, yes, on that note,” Ryden declared, “you cannot possibly attend without adequate preparation. This soulbond connection may feel genuine to you, but your public expressions of devotion need work.” He straightened in his chair.

“You require intensive instruction in the art of performing besotted adoration.”

Evryn narrowed his eyes, immediately suspicious. “I believe I’ve observed enough lovesick fools at society functions to manage.”

“Oh no, you need to do more than simply manage, my friend,” Crispin said, setting his glass down as he warmed up to this idea. “You must convince everyone in that ballroom that you and Lady Mariselle are consumed by passion beyond reason. Mere adequacy will only invite suspicion.”

“Agreed,” Fin said, apparently enjoying this idea too. “The soulbond story requires nothing less than a performance of legendary proportions. ”

Evryn groaned inwardly. If only his friends knew how close their games strayed to the truth.

Ryden rose dramatically to his feet. “Allow me to demonstrate proper hand-kissing technique,” he announced, bowing with exaggerated formality before an invisible partner, his gaze fixed on empty air with such convincing adoration that one might almost believe a beautiful woman stood before him.

He delicately lifted an imaginary hand while Crispin and Fin exchanged amused glances, barely containing their laughter as Ryden proceeded to place the most reverent kiss upon a nonexistent hand.

“You must hold her gaze the entire time,” he instructed solemnly. “The effect is utterly ruined if you look away.”

“I’ll develop a permanent crick in my neck trying to maintain eye contact while kissing her hand,” Evryn protested, playing along and demonstrating the awkward angle. “Not to mention looking completely deranged in the process.”

“Love is supposed to look deranged!” Ryden insisted, straightening and looking across at Evryn. “That’s how everyone knows it’s genuine. Not only that, but you must hold the contact for precisely seven seconds.”

“Seven seconds?” Evryn couldn’t contain his laughter now. “That’s an eternity for such a gesture. People will think I’m trying to devour her knuckles.”

“Is that not precisely what you desire to do?” Ryden asked, eyes wide with feigned innocence. “Surely your magical connection compels you toward such passionate displays of affection?”

Evryn lunged across the space between them to land a solid punch on his friend’s shoulder, sending all four of them into peals of laughter at the sheer absurdity of it all.

Eventually, the conversation shifted away from the upcoming ball to their customary pegasus racing schedule, a topic that prompted a fresh wave of anxiety in Evryn’s chest. Between his social obligations as a newly engaged man and the secret work to restore Dreamland, he would have precious little time for such pursuits.

“I’m afraid I may need to reduce my participation this Season,” he admitted reluctantly. “Given my new circumstances. It would be inappropriate and invite unwanted questions if I were absent from too many society events. ”

“Disappointing,” Crispin declared. “But we shall simply have to continue without you. Thornhart was telling us about his plans for a new course with gravity-defying spiral sections where riders must navigate while completely inverted.”

The conversation continued to flow around him, but Evryn found himself withdrawing into his thoughts.

The weight of his deception pressed heavier with each passing moment.

These were his closest friends, the people with whom he had shared his triumphs and failures for years.

Yet here he sat, feeding them elaborate falsehoods simply to protect a secret that suddenly seemed simultaneously vital and trivial.

As Fin continued to detail the intricate challenges of the new racing course, Evryn’s thoughts returned to the engagement ball awaiting him tomorrow.

Hours of pretending to be enamored with Mariselle Brightcrest while navigating the treacherous waters of high society, all under the High Lady’s watchful eye. His stomach clenched at the prospect.

That wretch Mariselle had thrust him into this impossible situation with her blackmail and her grand plans for Dreamland restoration.

All because, as she had put it with such entitled certainty, “I want this.” As though her desires naturally outweighed all other considerations, like a spoiled child who always got whatever she wanted.

Here he was suffering the indignity of fabricating affection for her before his friends and family, while she was likely sleeping peacefully, satisfied with her clever machinations.

A slow smile spread across his face as an idea occurred to him. If he was to suffer through this charade, then by all means, so should she—in equal measure. Ryden’s ridiculous instructions for performing convincing displays of affection had planted the seed of a delightful possibility in his mind.

After all, what was more fitting than ensuring that Mariselle Brightcrest received precisely the sort of demonstrative, adoring fiancé she had unwittingly signed up for?