PROLOGUE
30 yearsago
Ronan clenched his teeth and fought the urge to fidget with the sleeve of his tunic. It was itchy and hot, but his father had already warned him that he must be on his best behavior today. That the visitors to their kingdom could bring it great luck and help it thrive.
He’d waited until his father’s back was turned before he rolled his eyes. How fairy godmothers could bring luck and prosperity to the kingdom, he didn’t know. All they did was find fae their perfect match. Whoop-dee-do. It wasn’t like they slayed dragons or conquered the bog monsters. Though Ronan wasn’t sure he’d want to kill a dragon anyway. Dragons interested him.
Many things interested him. His brain was always tick, tick, ticking along—observing people, things, and the world around him. His father thought he was an imbecile because he so rarely talked, but, in reality, he was so focused on absorbing the world around him that he didn’t feel the need to contribute to conversation.
Even worse than the fairy godmothers, the enchantress, Zephira, was in attendance today. Ronan sometimes heard his parents talking about her, and it was clear they didn’t like her.At all. Yet she was invited to their castle on a regular basis. His mother had said something along the lines of keeping enemies close.
Ronan found Zephira very interesting indeed, but she’d made it clear that she had no time for silly little boys and threatened to turn him into a toad on more than one occasion, crown prince of the Southern Isle or not. So, he settled for watching her from afar.
“Stand up straight,” his mother hissed beneath her breath, poking him in the ribs.
Ronan sighed and returned his posture to what he thought of as his “parade pose.” Shoulders back, chin up, hands clasped behind his back, and legs planted shoulder-width apart and straight. He’d seen his father’s captain of the guard stand like this and thought the man looked ready to take on any foe and win. Though Ronan didn’t think he could take on an enemy, that was the image he wanted to project. Strength and honor.
Too bad his family didn’t seem interested in building either of those character traits in themselves or instilling it in their only child. Either way, Ronan had decided that it was time to be strong. He was thirteen. Mostly a mature male. He needed to act like it.
Those words may have sounded like his father’s attitude, except Ronan and Caden Byrne had completely different ideas of how an adult fae male should behave.
The double doors at the end of the throne room began to slowly open, their heavy weight pushed by two footmen on each door. The royal herald stepped inside, clicking his heels together. “The Proxa ladies and Jurgen Mueller,” he began. As Ronan watched, the herald called their names. “Mother, Graciella Proxa. Sisters Frederique, Monique, and Dominique Proxa.”
Ronan watched as the women entered the room in the order they were announced. It was strange that the three sisters were so close in age. Fae couples often had trouble with fertility. Siblings tended to have decades between them due to this. Yet the three sisters were no more than a year or two apart in age. His busy mind wondered if it was because their mother was a fairy godmother. Or if it was something else.
Another sharp nudge from his mother’s elbow brought his thoughts back to the throne room. As his family was obsessed with tradition, the ladies’ names were read from oldest to youngest. He watched dispassionately as a woman about his mother’s age stepped inside, curtsied, and moved to her right. A girl a few years older than him followed, her rich brown hair gleaming in the sunlight. She curtsied as well, her eyes going first to his parents before settling on him.
Ronan didn’t like the way she looked at him. As though she were the predator and he the prey. His eyes narrowed on her and she dropped her gaze, but he got the sense it was more to put him at ease than show submission. She was one he would have to watch. With one glance, Frederique Proxa had made herself an enemy.
Monique was close behind, her hair the same color as her mother and older sister’s. Her skin was the same golden tone as her mother’s as well, while her eldest sister had the pale freckled skin of her father. The middle Proxa sister was about his age and kept her eyes slightly lowered as though she were looking at everyone’s chin rather than meeting their gaze. Maybe she meant it to be respectful, but Ronan got the impression it was more dismissive than anything else.
She would be another one to watch.
As Monique stepped aside, the youngest Proxa girl entered. She had to be a year or two younger than him, though she was nearly as tall as he was. Brilliant blonde hair gleamed in thesunlight, shimmering like spun gold. Her skin was also the same tan as her mother and middle sister, but her cheeks bloomed with pink. Her eyes were so big and bright that he could see the pale bluish-green hue of them all the way across the room.
Blinking, the girl curtsied as well, her movements even more graceful than her sister and mother’s. Though her eyes were large, there was no expression in them. Only mild interest sparked there, as though the people in the room existed on the periphery of her notice.
For a split second, her eyes met his, and Ronan suddenly felt off-balance. He recognized a kindred spirit immediately. She wanted to be here about as much as he did. Another blink and the expression was gone, leaving only a blankness behind.
Once the announcement of names was complete, his mother nudged him with her elbow again, subtly shoving him forward. Growling beneath his breath, Ronan moved with his parents toward the family.
Bows and curtsies were exchanged again. Frederique tried to engage him in another staring contest, but he looked down his nose at her. He had better things to do than engage in ridiculous behavior. Monique kept her gaze down, only looking up when someone spoke to her directly, which wasn’t often.
However, it was Dominique that interested him the most. She stood utterly still next to her sisters, her hands clasped together in front of her. Her eyes moved between the adults as they spoke, but she didn’t say a word. No one asked her any questions either. It was as if none of them wanted to see her, so they didn’t.
But Ronan did.
The herald interrupted their boring civility by announcing Zephira the Enchantress. When the sorceress entered the throne room, everyone turned to look at her. Even Dominique. Her shoulders went tight as she looked at Zephira, and he watchedher knuckles turn white as she squeezed her hands together tightly.
He took a small step to the side, bringing himself right behind her. “Do not be afraid,” he murmured beneath his breath. “She is an ally of our kingdom.”
Her shoulders rose a half inch before she took a deep breath and forced them to lower. “I am not afraid. More like…curious.”
Her words echoed his own feelings about Zephira. He wasn’t exactly afraid of her, though he did have a healthy respect for her magic. He was curious about her. He often wondered what her life was like. If she had a mate. A family. If so, she must not be very happy with them because she wore a black scowl most of the time she spent in his family’s kingdom.
Once Zephira entered, the children were ushered out of the throne room with the directive to “entertain themselves.”
Ronan didn’t bother to play host. He merely bowed to the three sisters and marched away. He was tired of the stuffy heat of the castle, the restrictive material of his tunic, and the shoes that pinched his toes.
