She tips her head, and then she’s gone. No, not gone. She’s become a misty shadow, much like Cousin Remus but with a less-distinct shape, and shoots from the room faster than any storm wind. I stare at the open doorway for several long moments before I note the wide-eyed faces staring through it. The three servants who were ordered from the room when Thorne first made his threats are there, as is the feline fae and the two foxes. Did they hear my exchange with Nyxia? Do they know the full extent of what has happened here?
One of the foxes crosses the threshold and bows on his front paws. “Princess Rosaline.” Based on his deep voice, it’s the same fox who announced my arrival at dinner. “As acting ruler, we await your commands.”
I inhale a sharp breath. I’m…acting ruler? Stars above.
I look from the fox to the small handful of servants, then to the bodies of my family. Those I’ve failed. Those I’ve unwittingly betrayed.
Those I’ll save.
Lifting my chin, I fold my hands at my waist and try to evoke the princess I’m supposed to be. “First, state your names. Second, tell me if any of you have human blood and can lie. Third, locate Thorne Blackwood’s flagship bakery and gather all the resources I’ll need to get there.”
18
THORNE
Revenge isn’t sweet. It’s hardly satisfying. Revenge is necessary. Cruel. As sharp as the blade that made my vengeance possible. I knew it would be like this. I knew my actions wouldn’t bring peace. I never expected them to. My father warned me it would be so.
Promise me you’ll give up on revenge. If you continue down this path, my son, your hatred will burn you from the inside.
Then I’ll burn.
Despite those bitter words uttered six months past, I feel more cold than anything. Not even the warmth of the kitchen ovens around me can rid me of this chill. I feel it every time I close my eyes. Every time I recall Briony Rose’s stricken face when I left her three days ago. I thought I’d enjoy it more. I thought I’d relish the pain of someone experiencing the same terrors I’ve already felt. The same shock of being tricked. The same agony over bearing the responsibility for your family’s forced slumber.
But I didn’t enjoy seeing those echoes of my past in Briony’s present. Because she was never my true target.
Her parents were.
She was simply the sharpest weapon I could use against them.
I shake thoughts of Miss Rose from my mind and pour all my attention into the dough beneath my hands. The first blush of sunrise lights the window over the sink, though the kitchen inside Blackwood Bakery’s Gibbous Peak location is already bright from the electric bulbs that illuminate it. Thanks to the ley lines of fae magic that crisscross the isle, most cities in Faerwyvae utilize electricity. The town of Gibbous Peak, one of the most famous shopping and dining districts in the Lunar Court, is no exception.
The rich aroma of butter fills my worktable as I roll my triangle of dough into a crescent. Last night, I spent hours folding butter into this very dough, and this morning I’ll get to see it come to life, rising into a delectably flaky pastry. Since Blackwood Bakery is known for cakes more than anything else, we only serve crescent bread in the morning. Even so, it remains one of my favorite things to make.
I fold each crescent with care, then line them up on the baking sheet with precision. The result is orderly. Pleasing. Perfect. A balm on my nerves. A slight thawing of my inner chill.
“Mr. Blackwood! Don’t tell me you’ve been working all night.”
I lift my eyes to find my favorite baker, Mrs. Fernly, shuffling into the kitchen from the still-dark storefront. Hearing her call me Mr. Blackwood serves as further comfort. It’s a name free of scorn and hatred. A name that has provided me a quiet life for the last fifteen years. Mrs. Fernly doesn’t know I ever went by any other name. No one in my life does, nor do they know I’m half fae. To them, I’ve always been Thorne Blackwood, son of Edwyn and Alina Blackwood. No one knows that one of my parents holds no blood relation to me. That half of me owes allegiance to a different family. A different name. That I carry a past tinged with blood and darkness.
Mrs. Fernly wags a finger at me. “I’m right, aren’t I? You did work all night.”
I don’t bother confirming her suspicions, but she’s right. Sleep has eluded me. Or perhaps I’ve eluded it. All I know is dreams are the last thing I want right now.
I nudge the bridge of my spectacles and cast a warm grin at the baker. “Are you trying to insult me, Mrs. Fernly? You must be hinting that I look like yesterday’s leftovers. Meanwhile, you look as bright and lovely as the dawn.”
She scoffs as she ties an apron around her wide hips and burns me with a look of mock scolding. “Don’t think for a moment flattery will make up for you taking over my job. You know crescent bread is my specialty, and you already stole three cakes from me yesterday. I get paid by the hour, Mr. Blackwood, and I like to earn my wage. I don’t appreciate being forced to have idle hands.”
With a chuckle, I lift the tray of buttery crescents and set them on the rising rack. “It almost sounds like you don’t want me here.”
“No one wants the boss here. How are we supposed to gossip freely with you sulking about?”
“Sulking. You think I’m sulking?”
She arches a brow. “You’ve been in a state ever since you showed up out of the blue, and you never did tell us why you’re here. You don’t normally arrive unannounced or without a purpose.”
“You know the Gibbous Peak bakery is my favorite. Besides, how do you know I didn’t come just to see your bright and sunny face?”
She gives me a glare that is anything but bright and sunny, yet somehow carries as much warmth. “I’ve already told you, flattery will get you nowhere with me. Nor will it hide your brooding state. I’ve known you since you were a boy, Mr. Blackwood, and I’ve seen all your moods. Don’t you dare touch that oven!”
