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“Fuck,” I whisper. “That’s why my mother was so upset I didn’t seem to have powers. It’s why the two of them got so distant as Fer and I got older. Neither of us was who they said we were, and they were worried that when we ascended, it would come out.”

The vampire takes the parchment from me and studies it for a moment, and then sighs. “Not only that, but this list is riddled with deaths, witchling. See the sigils? Those are deaths, not just pretty family markings. At least, I believe they are. I have seen documents similar to this in elder vampire clans. It was their way of keeping records of feuds and payback owed for unnatural deaths.”

Revelin frowns, looking at it. “I think my father has something like this in his study. I’ve only seen it once; he keeps all the political workings of our court from me. Your theory is solid, fang face.”

I flip the page, not ready to deal with the implications of what either of them is telling me yet. The next sheet is a ritual diagram, complete with instructions, sacrifice quantities, and a list of reagents. “I don’t know why this is here, but I’m guessing it isn’t good.”

“This is what they used in the Briarvale woods,” Revelin says as he leans over my shoulder. “This is the ritual that nearly got us all killed. It’s not a Fae ritual at all, though. See those symbols and how it’s set up? This is a demon ritual, Sassy.”

Well, isn’t that fucking fabulous—more enemies reaching out to touch us from beyond the Veil.

Six

TIERNAN

It’s not the kind of library that makes you want to curl up with a book. The place smells like it’s been marinated in incense, decay, and the sooty residue of old ambitions. Light seeps in through glass so stained it looks like a bruise. Somewhere overhead, stone cherubs dangle from the chandelier, watching us with the jaundiced boredom of the truly damned.

That vibe matches perfectly with discovering our mate is from an ancient Fae bloodline that’s been hunted since some crazy-ass war, I guess.

Khol’s pacing with his arms folded, moving in a perfect triangular path in front of the desk. His eyes stay on the door as he moves, which would be comforting if I didn’t know he’s worried about doors being security risks. The basilisk doesn’t mind if Fiadh is from Faerie as much as he wants her to be safe, which makes this discovery difficult.

Rev is slumped in a library chair, another parchment in one hand, and a pen he’s twirling in the other. The paper has a thin, onion-skin translucency reserved for legal contracts and ancient grudges—apparently. He doesn’t look up when Khol runs a hand through his hair for the fifth time in as many minutes, making another slithery pass.

They’re all worried about what will happen if anyone here figures Knuckles out, especially since we can’t just up and boogie off to the next court.

In the background, Dezi watches us, his perfect appearance unruffled as he ruminates on the new information. The vampire has vastly more experience with the practical part of warring lines of supernaturals because Rev’s dad hasn’t trusted him enough to clue him into the politics yet. His knowledge is baseline and mostly from school and rumors; Dezi has lived through these sorts of things amongst his kind many times. His input will be invaluable—once he shares it.

“Do we want to talk about the fact that this document,” I say, “just declared you as part of the royal bloodline of this fucking court or are we ignoring that?”

Fiadh looks down at the original parchment as if it’s a particularly repulsive insect. Even though she mated with a prince, I think she was shoving all of that shit to the side so she didn’t have to deal with it. This stupid paper has forced her to come to terms not only with the lies she grew up with, but with his bullshit, too.

How in the fuck is she going to deal with one court full of ass kissing jackholes, much less two opposing ones?

When she finally speaks, it comes out raspy. “This doesn’t mean anything. My supposed ‘mother’ left me with the Morgensterns before I was born. I don’t know anything about my bio parents or any of this… Fae… shit. And… for all we know, this is a forgery.”

“Seems elaborate for a fake,” Revelin points out, his voice a lazy drawl. “The sigil isn’t just official; it’s old-school official. No one’s used that stamp since the Treaty of Perpetual Dusk.”

I arch a brow at him, waiting for an explanation. “And that means…?”

“It was a really fucking long time ago. It happened when I was a wee lad, and that’s saying something. The Treaty stopped the wars between Daybreak/Harvest and Midnight/Reaping. I think they started over land or some artifact—fuck, all the wars here start over that shit, so I don’t remember.”

“If it’s real, it would make you a princess by birth,” Dezi murmurs, staring at her with a mixture of pity and horror. “It would mean Revelin has mated with a lost royal heir whose courts have opposed his in wars on and off for millennia.”

“Don’t call me that,” she hisses, and the air around us shivers with her temper. “Shit, did you guys feel that?”

I nod. “I did, Knuckles.”

“What the fuck is that?” I frown as I look at the other guys.

Revelin sighs as he leans his head back against the chair. “Fae don’t ‘ascend’ like the fools on your side of the Veil do. They attend the ceremony if they’re living there, but we’re taught to use our magic in our way from the time we’re young. Because you’ve been over there for… fuck knows how long…”

Knuckles gives him a wide-eyed look, sputtering, “What do you mean, fuck knows how long?!”

Dezi sighs and slaps his thighs before he answers, “He means the ‘Morgensterns’ probably were not your first guardians. Given how long ago he believes that war was, you could have had a dampening spell put on your growth for a very long time to keep you hidden. They may have even handed you down from keeper to keeper—they may not have been your first set of parents.”

By the look on her face, she was not ready for that revelation.

Walking over to our mate, I tug her away from the desk and into my arms. I look down into her eyes as I brush the hair away from her face. “None of that changes anything, Knuckles. You’re still you, Feray is still your sister, and we are still your mates. Everything else? We’ll figure it out as we go. That doesn’t have to be now, either.”