A student finds herself accidentally betrothed to a demon—and investigating his connection to the magical irregularities plaguing her city—in this cozy, whimsical YA romantasy. As a scholarship student at the magical Lyceum, Naomi would rather focus on deciphering ancient scrolls than dating. Especially since the only boys asking her out are less interested in a night in Naomi's company than an introduction to her influential aunt. So Naomi devises an excuse to turn down her persistent suitors: She claims to be betrothed to a demon. Her story works perfectly. Until she arrives home one night and finds the demon Daziel lounging in her rooms, insisting he's her betrothed. Naomi knows he’s lying—after all, the betrothal was never real—but the gorgeous and infuriating demon is surprisingly resistant to her banishing spells. And with his penchant for baking and home décor, it’s not so bad having him around. Besides, she has other worries—like the ancient scroll she’s trying to translate, and the way the city’s magic has become suddenly unstable. But the more Naomi learns about the scroll, and the more she gets to know Daziel, the more it seems like she might be at the center of something bigger than she could have imagined. ★ “With a conversational narrative style and a main character who brings quite a bit of common sense to the table, Reynolds’ step into the fantastical is a welcome breath of fresh air in this popular genre. With fast pacing and a plot that stands its ground alongside the romance, this is a well-rounded must-read for fantasy and romance lovers alike.” —Booklist , starred review “A cozy fantasy that intertwines academic intrigue, magical peril, and slow-burn supernatural romance.” —Kirkus Reviews “With its charming supernatural relationship in a fantasy academia setting, blended with humor, and the adventure and intensity of end-of-the-world stakes, this will appeal to fans of Harry Potter.” —SLJ “Devilishly delightful, Hannah Reynolds weaves a rich tapestry of a world filled with complex magical systems, archaeological mysteries and a fake-dating story for the ages. Naomi and Daziel are captivating together, every witty and clever exchange dancing off the page.” —C.B. Lee, New York Times bestselling author of Coffeeshop in an Alternate Universe Hannah Reynolds grew up outside of Boston, where she spent most of her childhood and teenage years recommending books to friends, working at a bookstore, and making chocolate desserts. She received her BA in creative writing and archaeology from Ithaca College, which meant she never needed to stop telling romantic stories or playing in the dirt. After living in San Francisco, New York, and Paris, she came back to Massachusetts and now lives in Cambridge. In the city of Talum, the winds were strong, the magic thick, and everyone knew each other’s business. My floormate, Leah, nudged me as we crossed campus. It was late in the ­day—​­the setting sun painted the Lyceum’s marble buildings a tawny gold, and warblers sung from leafy branches as students laughed and shouted. “Your latest suitor,” Leah said with a wicked grin. I groaned. Sure enough, a boy in a gray blazer lingered before the open brass gate. Beyond, a land bridge led from the Lyceum’s peninsula to the rest of the island. Everyone crossed here to leave campus, so it was a great place to catch someone. “Let’s hide.” “Too late.” Leah’s brown eyes were bright, her expression impish. “What number are we up to now?” “I’m not telling.” We slowed, other students swirling around us. The majority of us wore ­school-​­issued blazers made of ­twill-​­worsted wool to protect against the winds. They varied in color based on which of the five Lyceum schools we attended, but the gold emblem emblazoned on the breast remained the ­same—​­an open book against a stylized tree. Leah and I wore blue, for the School of Humanities, paired with sensible blouses and trousers tucked into sturdy boots. Leah smirked. “Eight, is it?” “Seven,” I corrected quickly, as though one fewer were any better. Leah cackled while the boy caught sight of us. Ephraim was ­reed-​­thin with freckles stark against his pale face. We had the same Old Cinnaian language class, and we’d worked together on a project last week. He seemed smart and nice enough, save an irritating habit of ­second-​­guessing my work. “Naomi.” He wiped damp hands on his pants and swallowed hard enough to bob the amulet around his neck. “Hi.” My father’s advice about confronting mice back home flashed through my mind: They’re more scared of you than you are of them. I suppressed a sigh. “Hey, Ephraim.” “Well, I’m off.” Leah sounded delighted to leave me in this awkward situation, which would make a good story for her tomorrow. “You two have fun.” I shot her a pleading look. If she stayed, maybe I’d avoid Ephraim’s inevitable question. “Aren’t we walking home together?” She shook her head, the crystal studs in her ears glinting in the ­