Page 105 of Prince of Darkness and Deceit

My chest tightens. My fingers curl into the sheets.

Enough!

I should be consumed with finding an answer to my problems in the forbidden Fae text tucked under my mattress, not dwelling on thoughts of the male who holds my fate in his shadow-wielding hands.

I fling back my covers and untangle my legs from my sheets, slipping out of bed, careful not to disturb Ferria in the bed across from mine. My sister lies on her back, one arm thrown over her forehead while the other dangles off the edge. Quiet snores float into the air.

She doesn’t wake.

Good.

Juniper wasn’t exaggerating when she said Ferria needs rest. I’ve never seen my sister so exhausted. The dark circles under her eyes resemble bruises, but not the sort my healing magic has any effect on. I cannot rid someone of fatigue.

General Ironheart’s order must be massive. That, on top of her normal workload refining astlerium, and it’s a wonder she hasn’t passed out while working and fallen into the fiery forge.

Not that fire would harm her, but Anton would certainly have questions if her arm slipped into the blaze and came out unmarred.

I pad into the sitting room and retrieve the small leather diary from between the couch cushions. I settle on the lumpy seat and open to the first page.

Beautiful handwriting scrolls across the page. The elegant swoops and sharp lines speak of discipline and art. Tonight is the first time I’ve found the energy to open the leather-bound journal Juniper slipped into my hands at the temple.

I read the opening date and frown. I turn the page, only to be met with a similar problem.

The First Stars Watch

The Day of Pommel Rite

The Second Setting of the Blood Moon

I have no idea what time in history correlates to those unusual phrases. Mention of The Mother and the Fae language confirms the author is Fae, but other than that, very little information makes sense.

The flame in the lantern gutters. I reach over and turn the knob, feeding it more oil.

With a mind-clearing breath, I turn the page and read the next diary entry, eager to escape the Shadow Fae haunting my thoughts and learn as much as I can about the unknown Fae author and the mysterious life she lived on the other side of the Veil.

The summer estate is more breathtaking than I remember.

The lake sings at night, silver-bright under the moons, and the roses along the western hedge have bloomed early—blush-pink and heavy with scent.

I’ve taken to sitting beneath the myrtle tree in the mornings, sketching the hills before the sun makes them too gold to look at without squinting. Here, everything feels gentler. Slower. It almost makes me forget the strain of what awaits me back in the city.

But this peace won’t last.

The nobles, with their polished smiles and agendas wrapped in silky words and insincere compliments, arrive tomorrow.

And among them, him.

He watches too much. Speaks too little.

I never know what my father’s brother is thinking, only that I know it’s about me.

Mother has tried to tell Father of my discomfort. As have I. But to no avail.

Mother says Father is blind by sibling love—that he doesn’t want to think poorly of the younger male he helped raise when their mother faded from grief all those years ago.

Would I be the same if The Mother deigned to bless my parents with another child? Would I be blind to a sibling's faults out of affection?

I hope not.