Page 19 of Deals & Dream Spells (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #2)

Evryn noticed the High Lady’s diplomatic omission of any reference to the families’ long-standing feud.

A wise choice, he thought, given that acknowledging it might trigger open hostilities from the opposing corners where the Rowanwoods and Brightcrests had established their separate territories.

He resisted the urge to glance toward either family.

“To mark this auspicious occasion,” the High Lady declared, “I invite our betrothed couple to open the evening with the first dance.”

She gestured toward the string ensemble, who immediately readied their instruments.

Evryn guided Mariselle toward the center of the ballroom as the crowd retreated to form a wide circle around them.

He remembered Crispin’s comment from the previous night about reinforced footwear and bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.

As the first notes of a traditional waltz filled the air, Evryn drew Mariselle into the proper position, one hand at her waist, the other clasping her right hand.

They began to move in perfect synchronization, gliding across the polished marble floor, eyes locked on each other in perfectly feigned adoration.

“You dance better than I expected,” Mariselle murmured after several moments. “For someone who spends far more time on the back of a pegasus than in a ballroom.”

“And you move with surprising lightness,” he replied with a tender smile, “for someone carrying the weight of such an inflated opinion of herself.”

They turned gracefully, their steps perfectly matched as they traversed the ballroom floor.

“Your eyes are positively radiant tonight, my sugar-dusted moonbeam,” Evryn continued after executing a perfect sequence of steps that brought them close to the edge of the assembled crowd.

“Like pools of water in which I could happily drown myself.”

Mariselle’s smile tightened almost imperceptibly. “How poetic, my love. One wonders why you’ve never pursued publication given such unique talent.”

Evryn tensed momentarily before recovering his composure. He tightened his grip on her waist ever so slightly as they continued their circuit of the dance floor.

“I’ve been saving all my poetry for you, my precious strawberry tart,” he replied, spinning her beneath his arm before drawing her back into a hold. “Every word, every thought, every dreadful metaphor—all for you.”

“Your devotion leaves me speechless,” she countered, her smile fixed in place.

They lapsed into silence as they continued their circuit of the dance floor.

Evryn directed his gaze just over Mariselle’s shoulder, finding it impossible to maintain the pretense of adoring eye contact for the entire dance.

He carefully avoided looking at his friends, knowing that catching Ryden’s eye in particular would surely break his composure.

He watched the assembled crowd as the the two of them turned, his eyes scanning the faces around them—admiring glances from the gentlemen, dreamy sighs from several young ladies who pressed their hands to their hearts, and the inevitable whispering behind fluttering fans and cupped hands that accompanied any significant social event.

His grandmother stood rigid as marble, her expression carved from the same unforgiving stone.

Beside her, Jasvian watched with a furrowed brow, while Iris whispered something into his ear that softened his expression into a genuinely warm gaze as he looked down at her.

A peculiar tightness gripped Evryn’s chest. An unwelcome pang that felt suspiciously like envy.

He pushed the feeling away immediately, his gaze swinging across the room toward the Brightcrests.

Ellowa Brightcrest’s lip curled in evident disgust as she leaned toward another young lady, no doubt sharing some particularly venomous observation, while Mariselle’s parents regarded him with such cold hostility that he wouldn’t have been surprised if frost started materializing on his formal wear.

The music swelled toward its conclusion, and Evryn made a split-second decision. As the final notes hung in the air, he swept Mariselle into a low dip, supporting her weight effortlessly as he gazed into her startled eyes.

“Rowanwood,” she hissed, barely audible. “What are you doing? This isn’t part of the?—”

“Giving the people what they want, my glittering dewberry,” he replied softly, before slowly returning her to an upright position.

A stunned silence fell over the assembly.

For several heartbeats, not a single sound disturbed the stillness.

Then the High Lady began to clap, and as though released from a spell, the entire gathering erupted into enthusiastic applause.

“What a magnificent display,” the High Lady called out as the applause subsided. “Please, everyone, join our soulbonded couple for the next dance.”

As other couples moved to take their places, Evryn maintained his hold on Mariselle’s hand. “Before the next dance begins,” he announced, his voice carrying across the ballroom, “I should like to present my betrothed with a small token of my affection.”

Mariselle’s eyes widened fractionally, a flash of panic crossing her features. “Darling,” she said, her voice sweet but her eyes promising retribution, “there’s no need for such displays.”

“Nonsense, my cinnamon moonflower,” he replied warmly. “There is every need.”

With a dramatic sweep of his hand through the air, tiny sparkles of magic cascaded to the ballroom floor directly before Mariselle.

The marble shimmered and rippled like disturbed water, and suddenly, enchanted red roses began to grow upward at an impossible speed, their stems twisting elegantly, buds unfurling before the astonished eyes of the gathered guests.

With another flourish of his hand, the stems detached from the floor and the bouquet swept itself up into a perfect arrangement, ribbons of silver light binding the stems together before the entire creation floated gently into Mariselle’s startled hands.

“Ever-blooming flowers,” he proclaimed, bowing deeply, “for you, my sweet pumpkin snowflake.”

A collective sigh rose from the surrounding ladies as Mariselle accepted the bouquet, her performance flawless as she summoned a blush to her cheeks. In all honesty, she was horrifyingly good at this. What manner of magic allowed her to call forth a genuine blush on command?

“They’re beautiful,” she said, her voice carrying just the right note of pleased surprise. “Thank you, my love.”

“But wait,” Evryn said, raising one finger. “There’s more.”

Another sweep of his hand, and the floor near Mariselle’s feet shimmered again. This time, delicate pink orchids sprouted and grew. Once again, they detached and arranged themselves into a perfect bouquet before floating up to join the roses in Mariselle’s arms.

“For my dazzling cloudberry,” he declared.

Before she could respond, he produced a third floral display with the same magical flourish, this one comprising exotic purple blooms.

“And these,” he added, “for my dearest sugarplum starshine.”

Mariselle juggled the growing collection of flowers, an awkward laugh escaping her lips as she glanced around at the rapt audience. “Is that not enough, my love?”

“There will never be enough flowers for you, my spiced nutmeg cookie,” Evryn replied earnestly, causing yet another patch of marble floor to ripple and bloom with yellow flowers that hummed a gentle melody.

“How thoughtful,” Mariselle managed, her arms now completely full of magical flora. She looked around with increasing desperation, clearly uncertain how to gracefully extricate herself from the mounting foliage.

Taking pity on her—though only slightly—Evryn signaled to a nearby palace attendant, who hurried forward. “Would you be so kind as to assist Lady Brightcrest with her floral tributes?” he asked. “I fear I’ve overwhelmed her with my enthusiasm.”

“Of course, my lord,” the attendant replied, carefully relieving Mariselle of her fragrant burden.

“To grace your chambers at Brightcrest Manor,” Evryn added, smiling broadly at Mariselle as the attendant carried the flowers away. “So you’ll always be able to think of me, even when we’re apart.”

He was rewarded by the sight of several young ladies nearby pressing hands to their hearts, visibly moved by this display of affection. Even better was the flash of genuine irritation that crossed Mariselle’s face before she smoothed it into a loving smile.

“How could I possibly forget you?” she replied sweetly, though her eyes promised revenge.

The string ensemble struck up the introduction to the next dance, and Evryn once again offered his hand to Mariselle. As they resumed their position, she leaned close, her lips nearly brushing his ear.

“You’re going too far,” she whispered fiercely. “I told you to act convincingly, not to make a spectacle of us both.”

“My darling enchanted rosebud,” he replied in a low tone, guiding her into the first steps of the dance, “you wanted everyone to believe in our love. I’m simply ensuring that no one harbors the slightest doubt.”

They executed a graceful reverse turn, Mariselle’s serene smile never wavering. “If you produce one more bouquet,” she threatened quietly, “I will find a way to make you eat it.”

“Such passion,” he sighed dreamily. “It overwhelms me.”

As they navigated the complex patterns of the dance, separating briefly to circle other partners before returning to each other, Evryn took a moment to savor how exquisitely vexed she was by his theatrics, mentally reviewing his growing collection of absurd endearments and wondering whether ‘my dainty doomblossom’ or ‘my shimmering snugglewump’ might push her further toward delightful exasperation.