I learned about Father’s crimes—murdering Wolfe’s father, the previous king of Galaythia, and taking the ring of the kings.
I learned about the Phantom Moon, the circumstances of my captivity, and the quest to find the ring.
I learned about Arielle and the Bloodsworn, the dragons, Vyrenth Hollow, and Wolfe’s horrid uncle Dreynthor.
I learned about Wolfe’s sister, Zyrra—and how she tricked me. I learned about the Seer’s council, my time magic, and what I would need to become if I meant to find the ring. But most of all, I learned about my love for Wolfe.
I’d lost my virginity to him. And I’d loved him, really, truly loved him.
Loved him enough to want to stay in the magical realm. I’d fallen for the place too, but it was clear I’d wanted to bewhereverWolfe was.
Now Wolfe Nightblade was a stranger to me. And it was terrifying how easily my curse could turn love into something that could simply be switched off. All I had were words on a page. Reports. Stories. Information… without the feeling to match.
I couldn’t feel it—love. Not even a flicker.
The thought twisted my insides, sharp and guilty, as if I’d betrayed the girl who wrote these pages, betrayed the version of me who had lived it.
But that was the nature of the curse, wasn’t it? It didn’t just steal memories. It stole the way they had shaped me. Every new moon, it erased the good along with the bad.
Now I knew the truth. The whole truth.
But still—there were missing pieces.
I still didn’t know how I’d ended up back here with my family.
Had I fled on instinct? Portaled away from danger the moment the attack happened? Or had someone brought me back?
LikeThayden.
The thought landed like a stone in my gut.
Did he have something to do with it? And if he did… did he know where Wolfe was?
Thayden—no matter how strong he thought himself—was no match for the Fae. And not for a three-hundred-year-old warrior prince who commanded dragons.
But he didn’t have to match Wolfe in a fight to be dangerous.
He only had to know the right people. Pull the right strings. Find the right way to get me back.
Then there was my family.
They’d lied to me.
Every last one of them.
The thought settled heavily inside my chest.
Grandmother.
Mother.
Emabelle.
They’d lied.
I closed the journal slowly, my fingers numb, my pulse roaring in my ears.
When I looked up at the window, the sun had just risen—the first light of day chasing away the thick blanket of night.
