Prologue
The raven watched from the shadows as the female raised her chin and looked into the eyes of the one who would kill her.
If she was afraid in these final moments, she did not show it. She did not cry or beg for her life, as he’d seen so many others do.
The raven was not surprised by this; from all he had seen of her, she was defiant and bold. Certainly impertinent, with a reckless streak that had culminated in this moment.
He had observed her over these past weeks, every decision bringing her closer to this harrowing fate. Did she regret her actions? Given the choice, would she do it all differently?
The female’s lip curled as she mocked the monster who’d ensnared her. The raven didn’t know if it was incredibly impressive or exceedingly foolish. Either way, it would not change the outcome. Death would come for her as surely as the full moon would emerge from behind the thick blanket of clouds in the sky.
The raven scanned the scene of smoke and blood and bodies—the pool of sickness on the forest floor.
There was no one to save her now. Not when life itself avoided these parts like a graveyard. There was no chance of escape. Not while she was held by a force as immovable as her shackles were unbreakable.
The raven’s black eyes remained trained on the female as the monster leaned in close. Tilting her chin up with the tip of a bloody dagger, the monster murmured something to the female, then stroked her cheek with the tenderness of a lover. Nostrils flared, the female recoiled from the touch like it was deadly venom.
As quick as a cobra, the monster struck.
With a flap of his wings, the raven was gone.
Chapter 1
Twenty-two days earlier
The cake was an abomination. The embodiment of everything that enraged me about tonight, packaged into four tiers of frosting and flamboyance. Still, morbid curiosity got the better of me, so I raised a finger to the offensive dessert.
“Touch that, and I’ll have your neck,” said Mae by way of greeting. I barely heard her over the chorus of loud voices, the clang of kitchen knives, and the bubble of copper pots on heated stovetops.
Too late—not that her threats had ever stopped me before—a fingertip of frosting was already in my mouth. I wrinkled my nose at the tartness. Just as I’d suspected: lemon.
She hummed her disapproval. “Why are you not at breakfast?”
I lifted a shoulder. “I’m not hungry,” I said, eying the thick slice of berry tart in her hand. The lie was betrayed by a mighty grumble of my belly—an involuntary reaction to the scent of fresh bread in the air.
With a snort, she handed me the tart. “You’re like a stray searching for scraps.”
I swallowed a mouthful of sweet pastry. “If you want to see less of me, you should try sending up some decent food for a change,” I said in a sing-song voice.
She barked a laugh. It wasn’t her fault my grandmother insisted on bland porridge and hard-boiled eggs for breakfast every morning, and we both knew that food wasn’t what brought me to the chaotic kitchen of Vellamere Palace.
Crossing her arms, she quirked an eyebrow as I polished off the remainder of the tart in one bite. “And why are you hiding this time?”
Sucking on my sticky fingertips, I considered my next words. I’d always been skilled at bending the truth when it served me. But not with Mae. Over the years, she had become a master at sniffing out my little white lies. But that didn’t mean I needed to make it easy for her.
“It’s very tall,” I said, studying the ridiculous cake on its gilded pedestal, leaving her question hanging.
Her response carried a warning tone. “Alara?” The second syllable of my name stretched out like a wary growl.
“Are these real?” I wrinkled my nose again, pointing to the too-perfect seashells, pearls, and frangipani flowers ornamenting the ivory structure.
“Yes.” She narrowed her eyes at me.
“Her Majesty will be most pleased,” I said, unable to leash my sarcasm. While tonight was meant to be about me, my grandmother had found a way to get everything she wanted.
Well, almost everything.
“You don’t like it.” It wasn’t a question.
