Page 50 of Deals & Dream Spells (The Charmed Leaf Legacy #2)

Chapter Twenty-One

Mariselle swayed gently in her wicker hanging chair, its soft creaking a familiar lullaby that matched the rhythm of the waves.

She sat on the wraparound porch of the seaside cottage, her bare feet curled beneath her, the cushions molding perfectly to her form as they had countless nights before.

This was her favorite dreamscape, the private realm she had crafted long ago, where she was safe and untouched by the waking world.

The evening’s humiliations—every cutting remark her parents had made—began to dissolve, fading into the warm hush of the sea breeze like ink in water. Each gentle arc of the hanging chair seemed to rock away another sharp-edged memory.

The first stars had begun to emerge, brighter here than they ever appeared in the waking world. The constellation she had named Courage—a formation that existed nowhere on any astronomer’s chart—winked into existence directly above the cottage.

Beyond the balustrade with its delicate turned spindles, the silver-rose sand captured the last blush of an eternal sunset.

The twilight cast a soft glow over the sea, just enough to reveal the gentle ripples that lapped against the shore.

Ripples that beckoned with quiet promise, as if they too longed to soothe and cradle.

Later, perhaps, she would wander down and wade into those dream-warmed waters, letting them lift her, hold her, dissolve the weight of everything until she floated, untethered and unburdened.

But for now, the rhythmic swaying of her chair and the sound of waves kissing the shore were healing enough.

Mariselle closed her eyes and drew a deep breath, filling her lungs with air that tasted of salt and possibilities.

Her mind drifted inevitably to Evryn and his unexpected defense of her at dinner.

She could hardly believe he’d dared to speak to her parents like that.

She had frozen in that moment, her carefully composed mask of poised indifference crumbling away, her breath heightened, every part of her suddenly, acutely awake.

She’d been unable to tear her gaze from his storm-gray eyes as they held hers with unwavering certainty.

He’d spoken with such conviction, such startling intensity, that for several heartbeats she’d almost believed he meant every word.

And I am singularly privileged to soon call her my wife.

It was absurd, of course, this flutter in her chest whenever she recalled his words.

As if she truly desired to marry a Rowanwood.

What a preposterous notion. It was merely the novelty of being defended, of someone standing between her and her family’s callous comments.

Nothing more than gratitude magnified by the heightened emotions of the moment.

Darling.

Darling, you seem cold.

For goodness’ sake, she needed to stop replaying his words in her head.

His voice, deep and velvet-smooth and so unlike the theatrical charm he usually wielded when society was watching.

And the way he’d trailed his knuckles all the way down her arm and interlaced his fingers between hers.

It sent a shiver through her just thinking about it.

And then that exquisite pegasus hairpin.

She reached up to touch it now, her finger finding the delicate pointed tips of its lumyrite wings.

She was still half convinced it was going to reveal some dreadfully embarrassing enchantment.

And yet … he’d seemed sincere when he’d said it was a genuine gift.

And he’d crafted it himself. Especially for her.

That knowledge stirred something warm and dangerous in her chest, something she refused to examine too closely for fear of what she might discover.

She rose from the hanging chair and crossed the weathered porch to the steps, her bare feet silent against the wood.

With merely a thought, she could transform her attire—conjure a flowing nightdress, an elaborate ballgown, her riding ensemble.

Such details hardly mattered in this dream realm, and tonight she remained in the evening gown she’d worn at dinner.

Yet one element never varied in this dreamscape: her bare feet.

There was something profoundly comforting about the sensation of her toes sinking into the cool, yielding sand.

The lowest step creaked softly as she came to a stop. She stood there, letting the gentle rhythm of the waves soothe her tumultuous thoughts, the shoreline stretching infinitely in both directions.

“Mariselle?”

She yelped, her hand flying immediately to her chest, her heart instantly racing as she whipped around toward the source of the familiar voice. But her foot missed the edge of the step, and she toppled unceremoniously onto the sand in an undignified heap of skirts and flailing limbs.

“Mariselle!” he called again, concern in his voice this time. She scrambled to her feet, hearing the urgent crunch of his footsteps as he ran toward her across the sand, the sound impossibly real in this place where no one else had ever set foot.

Evryn.

Evryn was here.

In her dream.

“Are you all right?” he asked, slowing to a halt just before her.

“What—what are you—how did you—” She hastily brushed strands of blue hair out of her face, her gaze darting around as if she might find an explanation somewhere. She struggled to compose herself, to find her usual poise. “What are you doing here?”

His brows knit faintly, but the corners of his mouth curved upward in unmistakable amusement. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen you flustered before. It’s rather endearing.”

“Evryn!” She choked on his name, immediately correcting herself. “Rowanwood!”

“Where are we, by the way?” he added, looking around, seemingly oblivious to how completely wrong this was. “I presume you drugged me again and pulled me into Dreamland? Though I could have sworn I fell asleep in my own bed this evening and not at Windsong Cottage. ”

Mariselle blinked, words catching in her throat, flames heating her face. She shut her eyes and pressed her fingers to her temples. “Oh, this is not good,” she muttered. She was dream sharing . That must be what this was. How in all the realms had she allowed such an intimacy to occur?

“Is everything all right?” Evryn took a step closer.

She lowered her hands, took a deep breath, and tried not to feel supremely awkward as she said, “You are, ah … in my dream.”

His brows rose as if in polite query. “Your dream?”

“My dream. Not Dreamland. My dream. ”

His eyes narrowed a touch. “This feels considerably more real than a dream.”

“Yes, well, that’s—I believe that’s—I mean to say … yes. I think that’s how it works.”

He watched her for a moment longer, then let out a quiet laugh, warm and disbelieving. “I’ve really never seen you like this before.”

“Because you’re in my dream!” she burst out, unable to quite meet his eyes. “And it’s terribly awkward!”

“Why?”

Did she truly need to explain this? Had he never encountered the concept of dream sharing?

That phenomenon where trust forged a pathway between two sleeping minds, possible only when one of the two possessed some form of dream magic.

It was considered terribly intimate, and as she’d reminded Petunia not long ago, the experience was rumored to be quite …

pleasurable. Though at present, she felt herself slowly perishing from mortification, which was decidedly un pleasant.

Perhaps this wasn’t dream sharing after all.

“Because it means that I … I’ve … let my guard down. I … allowed you in. Somehow. Without knowing it.” She cringed internally at her sheer lack of eloquence. Her face was surely the color of a tomato by now.

Evryn watched her a while longer, his expression softening. “Should I leave?” he asked. “I don’t want to upset you further.”

Gracious, that voice again. Like warm honey poured over her senses, settling somewhere deep within her chest and unraveling all her defenses.

“It’s … well … no. I don’t mind. Having you here, that is.” The admission felt like stepping off a ledge, exhilarating and terrifying at once. She pressed both hands to her midriff, shoulders drawn back as she attempted to reclaim some semblance of dignity. “You merely … startled me. ”

“My apologies. I’m not sure how I ended up here. Or why I appear to be in my riding gear,” he added, looking down at himself with a frown. “And if I were to leave, I don’t quite know how I’d accomplish that.”

“I don’t know either,” Mariselle admitted. “This hasn’t happened before.”

His gaze captured hers once more, and stars above, was it the enchanted twilight of her dreamscape that rendered his eyes so mesmerizing? She couldn’t look away.

The silence between them stretched, filled only by the gentle percussion of waves against the shore and the distant call of dream-birds that existed nowhere in the waking world. The stars above them seemed to pulse with each heartbeat.

“Did you create all of this?” he asked eventually, his gaze sweeping over the cottage, the shore, the endless twilight sky.

Relief washed over her as his attention shifted away, freeing her from that magnetic gaze and offering safer conversational ground.

She drew a deep breath, salt air filling her lungs.

“Yes. When I manifested, soon after I turned eighteen, my dreams became far more vivid. More real.” She turned slowly, surveying her creation.

“I discovered I could control them, could fill them with anything I desired. That was when I realized I possess dream architect magic.”