CHAPTER1
Once upon a time, in a not terribly far-off kingdom, there lived a king and his daughter who had been so fortunate in all their undertakings that the kingdom was enormously rich. The king and his daughter had everything they fancied and did not find their lives bore much burden at all. But the king stood against an unjust foe—an evil fae queen intent on stealing the kingdom—and soon misfortune befell him, one ill lot after another. And all the splendid furniture, books, and precious goods could not save the kingdom from danger. The king had suddenly lost everything by dint of accident, illness, and disaster. His courtiers betrayed him. His wheat stores turned foul.
The princess tried to stand brave and cheerful in the face of such wretchedness. But both she and the king knew it was not simply a run of bad luck. The evil queen was gathering power. With every kingdom she conquered, their defenses dashed like ships in a storm-tossed sea, her magic grew. Norcliffe was meant to be her next accession, and it was clear Princess Mireille specifically had become her prey. Norcliffe could not be protected by might alone and the king loved his daughter dearly, but the evil queen had to be stopped. Soon she would grow too powerful to be beaten.
When a fae queen was trying to have one murdered, it was usually quick work. So nothing was left for the princess but to take her departure with haste, to escape to a place outside the neighboring kingdom of Westrende where the secrets of fae magic were rooted deep. As the servants could no longer be trusted, she’d brought only her childhood friend Thomas, known to the kingdom as Lord Holden, skilled historian and seasoned bachelor.
One might think that a woman of such desperate fortune must be in want of a well-positioned ally, or at least of refuge. One would be right. But sometimes all that was available was an adversary in the form of a husband. Which was why Princess Mireille of Norcliffe stood in the midst of a dark forest that seemed to be the most dismal place on the face of the earth.
“Are you certain you’d not rather flee to the sea?” Thomas asked from beside her.
Mireille’s chuckle was grim. “Would that we could, Thomas. Would that we could.”
Before them rose a facade of the wall that marked the Rive—the ancient boundary separating the human kingdom of Westrende from the land of the fae. Beneath its carved stone glamour rested a skeleton of fine filigree metal, iron to be precise, binding the magic of the wilds and meant to keep conflict at bay. The marshal of Westrende stood at the edge of the trees with a company of kingsmen, all watching from a distance to ensure Mireille’s safety—at least until she’d made it across.
Law prevented Westrende officials from going any farther, and though the council governing the kingdom was firmly against anything fae, they could not stop Mireille. She was first and foremost a princess of Norcliffe, after all. They had no say in the deal she was about to strike, despite that the fae prince wanted nothing more than to destroy the wall and Westrende’s safety, and held kingdom officials ransom in his fight to do so.
The fae had been trapped within the boundary for so long that citizens of Westrende had begun to believe their existence nothing more than tales, that the warnings to never speak their name were only superstition. But the kingdom officials did not want to stop Mireille, not entirely, because the threat of the fae queen was much more dangerous than any human kingdom could face alone.
Which meant an empire of fae kingdoms was the only thing they could fathom that might be worse than the fae lands the princess was about to step into.
Mireille glanced at Thomas. “What about you? Last chance to sprint for freedom. I would not begrudge you any attempt at escape.”
His smile was wry. “You’ll not be rid of me so easily, Highness. You know how I adore adventure.”
Thomas did not adore adventure. But he was loyal, and Mireille knew he wasn’t about to let her walk into this mess alone. She turned to face him, brushing a hand over the skirt of her traveling gown. “Very well, no sense in putting it off any longer. How do I look?”
“As if you’ve trekked through a sinister forest. What about me?”
“As if you could slay a flock of maidens with just a wink.”
“That bad?” He frowned. “A lord does generally wish to win hearts without bothering to make eye contact first.”
She lifted a shoulder. “They’re maidens of very high willpower. I don’t make the rules.”
Thomas watched her patiently. In truth, the man had always won hearts with less than a glance. He was handsome, fair-haired, square-jawed, and finely dressed, with the sort of smile that felt at once intimate and playful. To Mireille, he had been both courtier and confidant. He was her truest friend, and he knew her well enough to guess that she was delaying.
He tapped the hilt of his sword. “Would you like me to say it for you? I’ve never called on a fae prince before. It would be a novelty to summon one. You know how I adore novelty.”
Thomas did not adore novelty. Mireille flexed her hands and shook out her fingers, then moved to stand beside him. She was about to seal her bargain with a fae—creatures so powerful, so dangerous, that the ancients had long ago built a wall to keep their kind in. She’d be a fool for what she was doing, if not for thenot doing itbeing a greater danger still.
She drew her shoulders back and spoke the true name of the fae prince of Rivenwilde. The magic that constrained the prince would force his appearance, but he was not its instrument. He would twist the situation to his advantage. Mireille had no intention of letting him use her for anything besides overcoming the fae queen.
He was there in an instant, stealing into view as if shifting from shadow, donned in black from head to toe, expression cold and magic prickling awareness over Mireille’s skin. The tines of his crown rose majestic and feral, his dress impeccable right down to the embroidered waistcoat and finely tied cravat. Too late for Mireille to swallow the words back and flee, she stood firm beneath his scrutiny.
The prince could not possibly be unaware of the kingsmen watching, given the way his jaw ticked, but he pointedly did not look toward their spot near the trees. He had known Mireille was coming, and that was all that truly mattered. He straightened to an impressive height, then dipped into a generous bow. “Your Highness.”
“Mireille,” she said automatically.
His dark eyes lifted, staying on hers as he rose. His voice was rich and steady, and, most unsettlingly, the forest around them seemed to hold its breath. “Mireille.”
She waited for him to return the courtesy, allowing her expectation of it to stand plainly between them.
The edge of his mouth seemed tempted to frown, but evidently he was not above caving to societal pressure. “You may call me Alder.”
It was a small win but she would take it. “May I introduce Lord Holden?”
The prince inclined his head, and Thomas said, “Thomas, please.”
