Page 6

Careful to keep her hair hidden in her hood, Alora poked her head around the corner, raking her eyes over the main street.

Nearly ten yards over, stumbling into a crowd outside a tavern whose night lanterns were still burning on the rusted iron hook, a silver-haired male with broken and shredded membranous wings desperately clawed at a female. Her sun-bright hair waving down her back caught in his grip as he shrieked in her face with terror and tears streaming down his own.

Alora could hear him then. His desperate pleas for someone—anyone—to listen to him.

Every face in the crowd turned from him. Dismissed him like breath on the wind.

But even when he landed on his knees, still, he pushed himself up and found the next. Crawling closer and closer to her.

Likely a drunken fool.

His choked voice rippled to her ears, never cracking the desperation. “Please! They’re coming.They’ll kill us all.”

Her ears perked.

“The gray-haired demon of Elysian rides to our border!” he beseeched.

Not this again, Alora thought as she heavily sighed.The gray-haired demon of Elysian.

More stories. Myths spread through the kingdoms and spun in the markets from weary travelers of their crossings with the fabled force. No one there believed them. The High King’s army hadn’t been in Telldaira for nearly twenty years. And Kaine was meticulous with his guardsmen; they scrutinized every single faerie who crossed the gates. Allowing no one with a magical mark on their left upper arm—no Marked Ones—through the walls. No one was foolish enough to try. The fear of being imprisoned and carted off to Castle Galdheir prevented anyone from attempting it.

Unless they were a Marked One born inside the walls.

Like her. Like?—

Wrinkled palms gripped her shoulders. “Please …please! I watched from the ashen earth as my mother, my sister, was burned in our home so long ago. The demon stood in the shadows of the rubble, his eyes of death watching everything I loved turn to dust. And he’s coming!He’s coming!” The elder’s face twisted in grief when she opened her mouth to speak, but his wails interrupted her. “The High King’s army stomped over their corpses, leaving our smoldering town behind. There were no survivors. Please, you have to listen to me!”

The male released her, and she watched as he stumbled up the street, repeating his story to the next.

No one believed him. Not even her.

The gray-haired, smoke and shadow-covered, faceless demon, who single-handedly leveled cities and feasted on faelings alive?

They were all spineless stories. Myth. Nothing more, surely … right?

“Before this night is over”—the male swatted away another male’s hands as the heavy rumble of footsteps drew closer—“you will see! You’ll all see. Get out before it’s too late!”

The sound of boots on wet stone drowned out his voice.

Telldairan guards were coming. She needed to leave. Being the only white-haired in the city, everyone knew who she was. Who she belonged to. Whose property she was.

Alora clasped the cloak around her body tighter.Just another story.And turned back into the alley.

By the timeshe made it back to the manor, the servants were out tending to the landscape. Which made her return more treacherous. Many loved her, but Kaine still paid them. They were his. And no one wanted to risk losing their wages or status to keep their lips sealed.

She couldn’t blame them. Working for Kaine was a luxury of its own. The fae-made forest, where she stood and carefully concealed her dagger, offered a view that was so captivating that it could easily leave anyone in a state of wonder.

The manor itself perched on a small incline in the western part of Telldaira. White-painted iron gates lined a marble-chipped walkway. Sparkling and glistening in the morning sun. At its end, six pillars of marble connected an obscene balcony above a long, welcoming ramada of the fifteen windowed front. Kaine had it fit for a king’s entrance, made to welcome his multitudes of guests for outside celebrations.

Below it, extending across the estate, twisted trees with green leaves and lavish shrubbery beautifully landscaped the view from the secluded street far below. The next nearest manor was no less than five hundred yards away in every direction.

In the front, the ten-foot-tall windows sat built into the three-story monstrosity. Curtains of the finest fabrics hungbehind the glass, making the inside appear dim in the bright morning light.

It was indeed a statement of luxury, wealth, and high status. Fit for any nobleman. Its beauty was the envy of the city. A place everyone wanted to own. A place that was said to hold the brightest of memories, beautiful dinner parties, integrous business deals, uncontrollable laughter, passionate love, and hope for the future.

It was none of those things.

Not a starsdamned one.