Page 1 of A Crown of Tears and Treason (The Curse of Silver Secrets and Cruel Shadows #1)

EVIE

Clan weddings were one of the most dangerous events in all of Malhaven. Even I knew that, and I’d been sheltered from this vicious life for more than a decade.

My family had taken extra precautions to make sure my wedding was the exception, though. Warding spells up, no weapons, and enough sentinels to make our small sacred island shake when they marched.

I came prepared, too.

The endless rows of borrowed jewels caging my neck would draw all the guests’ attention away from the family bone pendant I’d insisted on wearing–and the secret pocket I’d sewn into the corset myself, which hid a bigger secret.

The risk of being discovered drew beads of sweat above my brows.

I was scared.

I was being forced to get married.

I hated my groom, the heir of the Serpent Clan, and wished nothing but the worst on him.

And, worst of all, I had to lie to my family about all of it.

“I still don’t like it.” Allie, my closest cousin, paced in the middle of the luxurious room, going from throwing me concerned glances to narrowing her eyes at the hulk of a man standing guard at the door. He was nameless and emotionless, staring at nothing and saying even less. His hands were big enough to snap Allie’s neck. “This is a family matter and he’s a stranger.”

No, he was a safety precaution in case I got cold feet and vanished.

“Oh, you know Fabrian.” I tried waving off her concerns, but my hands shook to the same frightened beat as my voice. If anybody asked, these were just wedding jitters. “He just wants to keep me safe.”

Safe, imprisoned–Fabrian didn’t know the difference. But I finally did.

Allie stomped right over to the Serpent guard, staring up at him with the confidence only a name like hers could have in the ruthless Clan world. Even while annoyed beyond belief, Allegra “Allie” Vegheara was a vision of confidence in a blue dress that looked like it had been tailored by the Marea Luminara sea surrounding us. The gauzy fabric clashed with the blinding white marble floor. She was no longer the toothless four-year-old I’d run around in the mud with during summers spent at our grandfather Constantine’s fortress.

She was half the guard’s size, but ready to throw spells if need be. “Are you going to tell him everything that’s said in this room?”

The guard nodded.

“Perfect.” She looked at me over her shoulder. “Evie, you can’t marry that whoring, ruthless waste of a man.”

My eyes widened with fear. “Allie–”

“What’s Fabrian going to do?” She waved an elegant hand. “Drag me in front of the Council for speaking the truth? Not even he can summon the magistrates for such a petty grievance.”

I had no idea. Unlike my cousins, I’d grown up wild. I didn’t know how to negotiate a deal, sniff out lies, hide cargo, or use protection spells. Shameful.

“Out of all Clan heirs, what could possibly possess you to marry Fabrian?” Allie sighed as she readjusted my ridiculous train.

It was either walk down that aisle or my cousins, the only family I had left, would be killed. I’d already lost my parents, nobody else was dying because of me.

“He saved me,” I lied, hoping the veil shrouding my face was enough of a cover. Fabrian really had spared no expense when it came to this blasted wedding. The veil was made out of Elekan silk, woven by the vestals in the sacred mountain cloisters. Light as air and opaque on one side, I could see everything, from the way the guard fisted his hands, to how Allie’s eyes filled with concern, but they couldn’t see my face.

I wouldn’t have been able to lie to Allie otherwise. She was The Huntress, future leader of the Protectorate, one of the oldest and most powerful Clans in all the continent. Our Clan. Her piercing green eyes could make assassins kneel with one glance. Songs had been written about her long, dark hair that looked untamed even while pulled back in intricate braids. Her mind was as sharp as her tongue, and her heart as true as her arrows.

“Evie.” Allie pinched the bridge of her nose and flicked her fingers. “I know you’re not used to Clan life and rules. But if someone saves you, you send them a dozen of your best cattle, a case of your oldest wine, and promise to name your firstborn after them, if they trust you enough to give you their full real name. You don’t go around marrying them. You’d have a damn harem by the time you hit twenty-five.”

“It’s more than that. Fabrian–” Threatened to drain the blood out of you, scorch the entire Protectorate Clan to the ground, and make me watch. “–rescued me when I most needed it. You know how horrible living in the mountains was for me.”

At least the parts I’d told her, after I’d shown up drenched in my parents’ blood at the Protectorate stronghold, scared and scarred.

By then, I’d been missing for sixteen long years.

Sixteen years of surviving between mountain peaks that didn’t bother to thaw in the summer, in a small, forgotten cabin with nothing but hunger, cold, and my parents’ disappointed stares to keep me company.

After my cousins had made absolutely sure it was me and not some imposter, they hadn’t pressed me for answers about my life away from them. They could see the hardship on me.

My sunken cheeks and slight frame, the cuts that hadn’t healed properly, the coarse skin on my fingers, my clavicle that stuck out too much. I’d been soaking in the best creams and fragrances since my less-than-triumphant return to the Protectorate two weeks ago, but the marks of survival ran deep.

Allie’s shoulders fell. “I’m sorry we weren’t the ones to find you.”

My parents, Mara and Falor Vegheara, had done everything in their terrifying power to keep me hidden, as far away from Clan life as possible. Yet here I was, living their nightmare.

I was on the Sanctua Sirena island, dressed in the riches they’d cursed, marrying a Clan heir they probably would have despised even more than the one they’d tried to shield me from.

“What’s done is done.” I walked toward the open window. Allie couldn’t examine me too closely if I was admiring the scenery. I hoped.

I needed to look calm, poised, and most important of all, happy.

Inside, I was quaking. With fear, with uncertainty, and with rage . Deep, hot, seething rage.

I ran a hand down the front of my corset, fingers lingering on the bump. It grounded me as I stared down into the lavish courtyard.

My husband-to-be stood behind the altar in all his overlording glory. He dropped his glass, the amber liquid splashing onto the stone path near the roses. He snapped his fingers at his nearest guard to clean it up. The man trembled when Fabrian hissed at him to hurry. Even his closest were terrified of him.

My stomach roiled with fury.

Allie’s nose wrinkled. “Charming.”

“He’s just nervous.” I sighed, hoping it sounded wistful.

“He’s a vicious bastard.”

“He’s my bastard,” I said past the bile rising in my throat.

“Stop defending the idiot.”

Don’t, Allie, please. Don’t get in the middle of this. Let me save you.

I chanced a look at the mountain of a guard. Fabrian’s assassins had been bigger and more menacing. He must have had power my cousins didn’t know about, there was no other explanation, and I wouldn’t risk all his malice directed at them for nothing in this world.

“Stop trying to ruin my wedding,” I said with a courage I didn’t feel and instantly recoiled inside when I saw the way her eyes softened. I was doing this to keep her alive, I needed to remember that. “What else would you have me do? You know who’s waiting for me out there.”

“Don’t say his name.” Allie clenched her jaw.

I wouldn’t have dared say his name even if I’d known it. Nobody did. They all called him The Dragon, the feared crown prince of the Blood Brotherhood Clan–and the man I was supposed to marry all along.

My betrothed, since the day I was born. The reason my parents had hidden me in the mountains since I was five.

In Malhaven, names were a powerful commodity. Give yours to the wrong person and they could tie it to a spell that could wreck your life. It’s why almost everyone had a nickname or a codename. I’d gone from the firstborn of the First Son of the Protectorate and future leader of my Clan, to the Lost Daughter. I’d heard the sentinels whispering my new “title”, thinking I didn’t hear. Living in the wilderness had taught me to pay attention. Smells, sounds, vibrations. You got distracted, a bear gulped you up or a snake stuck its fangs in your leg. I’d been raised to hear everything .

And I hated them calling me the Lost Daughter.

But I couldn’t be the Protectorate leader ever again. That title had officially gone to Allie on her eighteenth birthday, after grandpa Constantine had taught her all the leadership lessons that should have been mine. She would be a great ruler. Kind and fierce in a way I couldn’t be now, not after everything that had happened.

At least my true given name was still mostly a secret. The Blood Brotherhood prince had been wise to hide his.

“It’s a Blood Moon today.” Allie drummed her fingers onto the windowsill as if she wanted to stab the wood with her nails. “He and all his creepy Brothers and Sisters will be busy with their weird rituals that give them power.”

So the rumors said.

Nobody really knew what went on inside the Clans who controlled all magic in Malhaven. Each had their own specific powers, which they used to defend their lands, people, and interests as fiercely as lionesses protected their cubs. Even a novice like me knew some of the civilians thought the Protectorate Clan called on the ocean gods to power our special protective spells.

As if gods ever listened. None of them had bothered with my pleas so far.

“If that's what you’re afraid of, we can protect you,” Allie whispered. “You’re part of the Protectorate First Family. Nobody can touch you.”

I huffed a sad laugh. More promises I didn’t dare believe.

Yes, they could. They had and they would do it again.

Fabrian’ assassins had found our shabby cabin in the mountains and had murdered my parents.

Nobody even suspected . For now. They would all curse the murderers’ names one day, this I swore.

Allie’s hand hovered over my own for the briefest moment.

Cautious. Unused to having me around after sixteen years of worrying I’d died.

These moments hurt the most.

Neither I nor my cousins knew how to act like the tight-knit First Family we were supposed to be. They were too worried they might damage me if their hugs lasted too long or scare me if they pressed an issue too strongly. That they could break me, physically or emotionally, with one wrong move or word.

Did I look that powerless to them?

In some ways, I was powerless. But fewer questions helped me keep up the appearance of the perfect little bride besotted with her savior.

“Grandpa Constantine would have hated this.” She finally grabbed my hand, like she used to do when we were four, right before we dove into grandpa Constantine’s pool.

I squeezed back, thankful for this small contact. A few beats of silence passed as we looked over the quickly-filling garden.

“Say the word and Fabrian vanishes,” Allie’s deadly voice cut the stillness.

I yanked on her hand, eyes slashing to the guard.

“Don’t worry, I cast a protective silencing spell.” Allie flicked the fingers of her free hand, small blue tendrils lighting between them. “He thinks I’m telling you about your “wifely duties” on the wedding night.”

The thought of Fabrian touching a single hair on my head made me gag.

I stared in awe at the simple show of magic, hungry for even a fraction of that power. My parents had forbidden me from practicing. I couldn’t light a candle with a snap to save my life, let alone cast a protective silencing spell.

I was so ashamed because of it. Who had ever heard of a Protectorate First Family member that wasn’t an excellent spellcaster? My ancestors were probably rolling in their graves.

“Well? We can take care of him, Evie,” Allie went on. “We’d do his Clan and all of Malhaven a favor, too.”

I loved my cousins, I did. But they hadn’t been able to find me. Fabrian had. I believed his threats of revenge more than my cousins’ promises of safety.

Marrying Fabrian would keep my cousins alive and safe–and get me closer to finding the identities of my parents’ assassins. For my family, I would do anything.

Even though I was dying inside. My entire body recoiled at the sight of Fabrian–and this talk of murder wasn’t helping.

“Enough,” I said in that imperious tone grandpa Constantine had taught me. Right now, he would have been proud of me. My cousin looked at me with surprise. “This is my wedding. I am marrying Fabrian. That. Is. Final .”

An ugly silence fell between us. Allie’s hand slowly slipped away from mine.

“Hate me if you must.” Allie took a deep, centering breath. “But you’re making a big mistake.”

It took all my strength to not throw myself into her arms.

“It’s my mistake to make,” I said, unshed tears strangling my voice.

“Very well.” She smiled, but her eyes narrowed with suspicion. “One sign. One single sign and I’m interfering.”

My insides clenched. She would do it. I had to put on the show of my life today.

Allie turned, dress and hair swinging dramatically, and sneered at the guard for good measure. She flicked her fingers again, blue tendrils sparking, picked up her crimson-red bouquet and headed for the door.

At the last second, she turned and raised one elegant finger. “One sign,” she mouthed.

I waited for her to shut the door, before squaring toward the guard. “Satisfied?”

He nodded.

Good. One more step to go–actually getting married–and then I could start finding answers to the questions that had haunted me since that wretched night.

I knew why I had to marry Fabrian–but why did he want to marry me ?

Why risk his life and his Clan for a girl most of the world had forgotten about and thought dead? I wasn’t the future leader of the Protectorate. I had no title, no power, and I wasn’t exactly renowned for my beauty. So why?

And how had he found me when grandpa Constantine and my cousins hadn’t been able to?

I picked up my own bouquet, a cloud of blue, white, and silver, Protectorate colors, and ran a hand down the front of my corset. The small, almost imperceptible bump of my blade gave me a drop of courage. I needed bucket-fulls, but I took what I could get.

I’d been raised to survive on scraps, and I could do it again.

Straightening my spine, I stepped out of the room, and toward my new, dangerous, bloody future.

One wrong move, and everyone I cared for would be dead.