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BLURB

The man she vowed to hate is the only one who can save her.

Ana should be dead. Instead, she is trapped in the depths of the Temple, a prisoner of Caledon—a zealot who wants to break her, strip away her powers, her throne…her very will to fight.

Tortured and alone, Ana clings to one impossible hope: that Leon, the ruthless fae prince who kidnapped and betrayed her, will come to her rescue.

And he does.

But war is coming too, and her enemies are more powerful than ever.

To reclaim her kingdom, Ana must forge alliances with those she cannot trust and wield magic she can no longer control. Yet the greatest threat isn’t the battle ahead—it’s the bond that ties her to Leon.

She once swore to destroy him.

Now, she can't survive without him.

As the fire between her and Leon grows, so does the truth she can no longer deny. The bond between them is no accident. It was fate.

And some fates are more terrifying than death.

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Available September 24, 2025

EXCERPT

Chapter 1

Morgana

I stand before the god Ethira and await my judgement.

The image of him might just be a mosaic—the god holding a drawn bow, pointing his arrow to the stars—but I’m sure he’s about to watch my final moments in this world.

Clerics line the walls, their scarlet robes like splashes of blood against the white marble. I think I might prefer it if they were glaring at me or sneering—acknowledging me in any way. But they don’t even glance at me. As far as they’re concerned, I’m already dead.

I don't know how long I've been here. A week maybe. Two?

One moment I was reading the codex in the back room of the The Hand’s safehouse, and the next I was waking up in a windowless cell. The book must’ve had some kind of transportation spell on it—something powerful and complex, because I’ve never heard of such magic before.

Ever since it dragged me here, I’ve seen nothing but those four impenetrable walls—until today, when the clerics led me up sweeping white steps and I glimpsed a city through a window.

A sea of ivory buildings baking in the sun.

The holy city, Qimorna, beautiful and pristine.

Cold and forbidding. Cloaked in blood-soaked secrets.

And tucked away in the heart of it…me. The latest body to add to the pyre. I shiver, in spite of myself. I want to be strong, to be brave. But what I really am is alone and scared, clinging to the one thought that brings me comfort.

Leon. I’m certain he got out of Bastion, that wherever he is, he’s alive and safe.

When I huddle into a ball on my cell floor, trying to sleep, it’s him I imagine with me.

His warmth and strength I draw on. When I felt like the fear might overtake me, I pictured his gray eyes and low voice, bringing me some sense of calm. It’s not much, but it’s all I have.

Footsteps sound behind me, and my whole body goes rigid.

“Get on your knees,” a cold voice snaps. Before I can respond a hand is on my shoulder, shoving me down so I hit the hard floor with a bang.

A man with long black hair and a purple sash across his robes comes to stand before me.

“I am Bearer Tributin,” he announces. “I have come to read you your crimes, heretic, so that you might repent before Ethira ahead of your execution.”

A chill sweeps through me. So, today is the day I die.

“You are a heretic and a thief,” he intones, “a blasphemer against all that is sacred and pure. You violated the sanctity of the very heavens to steal power from the gods. But the Grand Bearer’s wisdom has ensured your wickedness came to nothing, and the sacred ground of Bastion became the net that would snare you. ”

“It was a trap,” I said numbly, my stomach dropping to the floor. “You knew we were coming all along.” All those lives at risk. The injuries. The deaths . And we were just playing right into the Temple’s hands.

His eyes glitter with malicious delight.

“His Grace knew that murderous group of blasphemers who call themselves The Hand of Ralus would try to make contact with you. So when their spies started probing our clerics about his plans, we made sure they supplied The Hand with the information we wanted them to.”

Gods, we’re such fools to ever think we were a step ahead of the Temple. We’ve been playing catch up this whole time. He even kept the Temple members at Bastion in the dark, all so we didn’t get spooked and abandon the mission.

“You know, some of your acolytes died because you led The Hand to Bastion. Clerics too.” I glance at the red-robed figures lining the room, wondering if they feel any horror about the way Caledon used their colleagues as fodder for his schemes. If they do, they know better than to show it.

Tributin takes a step towards me. “There is no nobler death than one earned fighting the forces of evil. My brethren would have been grateful to have the chance to give their lives to stem the tide of heresy in this land, and they are even now receiving their reward in the celestial realm.”

“When they get to the celestial realm and find out your precious leader is full of shit, I’m pretty sure they’ll have a different opinion,” I hiss.

The slap hits me so hard I lose my balance and hit the floor.

My hands are bound, so I can’t catch myself as I fall.

My vision blackens at the edges and an iron taste on my tongue tells me I’ve cut my cheek against my teeth.

I stay down for a moment, waiting for the world to stop spinning and the throbbing between my ears to lessen.

Another set of footsteps echoes across the polished marble, slow and precise. The clerics watching me with faces blank as death masks must recognize the gait, because they straighten. An icy panic prickles across my skin.

He’s coming.

I hear the whisper of fabric sliding over the ground. I don’t dare turn my head, trying to delay the moment I have to look him in the eye.

A man in white robes steps into my field of vision, a scarlet cloak settling around him.

“Come now, Bearer Tributin, what is all this?” His voice is softer than I expected, almost breathy, like he knows he doesn’t have to raise it be heard. “I thought I told you to wait until I’d arrived before we proceeded with Morgana Angevire’s penance.”

I look up, setting eyes on Marek Caledon for the first time.

Even though I knew he doesn’t age like the rest of us, now he’s in front of me I can’t shake the strangeness of it.

I know that he’s nearly eighty, but he looks about forty-five.

Jet black hair, with only the tiniest traces of silver woven through it.

Clean-shaven, with a slightly crooked nose and full mouth.

Not especially tall. Not especially fit. Not remarkable in any way.

Except for the eyes. They’re too dark, the blackness of them seeming to suck you in.

I’m reminded of standing at the edge of a deep, gaping pit with a wind tugging at you, urging you to plummet down into the darkness.

I’ve seen those eyes before, watching me even when I didn’t know who they belonged to.

“I’m sorry, Your Grace.” Tributin bows his head. “The heretic spoke disrespectfully. I regret my lack of self-control.”

“I expect better of you,” Caledon says, gently reproachful.

“Better mastery of yourself…and better understanding of the pitiable state of the misguided souls in our care. I think you might be expecting a little too much of her, don’t you think?

Morgana Angevire wasn’t brought up in the ways of the Temple.

Her parents kept her closed off from the truth of our teachings.

Cruel, really. Starving a child of the transformative power of Ethira will only make them vicious and wicked, selfish and depraved.

We can’t expect her to understand concepts like respect and obedience.

If she did, she’d never have stolen the gods’ power in the first place. ”

I stare at him, counting the lies falling so easily from his lips. He doesn’t believe a word of it, I know he doesn’t. And yet, as he speaks, a small sliver of doubt worms its way into my heart.

Don’t fall for it, Ana. Remember who he is. What he’s done.

Leon’s voice in my head stops the doubt short. This man is nothing but a greedy hypocrite and it makes me angry, how good he is at this. I snatch hold of that anger like a lifeline. It’s better than this all-consuming fear. Sitting up slightly, I meet his gaze.

“You’re convincing, Caledon, I’ll give you that,” I say, watching closely for his reaction. “But I know what you are. I know about your power.”

There . It’s subtle, but I spot a flicker in his eyes, the black surfaces of them gleaming for a moment. He didn’t expect that. Maybe he even thought his performance would sway me—convince even myself that I’m a dirty heretic.

I smile a bloody smile, letting him see my triumph.

“Poor child,” he says, laying on a pitying tone. “What a confused, misguided mess they’ve made of you. Clerics, will you leave us? I would like to counsel Miss Angevire alone.”

The figures in red robes begin to file out, but I see Tributin hesitate.

“Your Grace, I haven’t yet?—”

“ Now , Tributin,” Caledon says, and there’s a sudden hardness in his tone that sends a jolt right down to my bones.

It’s obvious why Caledon isn’t concerned about being alone with me.

I’m helpless here. The black cord wrapped around my wrists is suppressing my power, making it hard for me to reach.

It must have dimane woven into it, and while cuffs like these can only do so much, I suspect they’ve been putting the same mineral in my food too.

Just a sprinkle—too much kills you—but the slop they’ve been serving me has a strange, bitterness I can always taste.

It would explain why I’ve felt nothing every time I’ve tried to touch my power.