Page 1

Chapter one

A strid bowed her head and slowly lowered to her knees, surrounded by the scaled rasp of serpentine bodies coiling against stone.

She flattened her hands against the chilled tiles beneath the altar.

The sunlight was warm on her skin, filtering in through paneless, elegant windows cascading down the east and west walls.

It bathed the Serpents’ Temple in golden hues, intensifying the shadows of the retreating day.

Mothers, hear me. My fate cannot lie beneath yet another male. Open my path. Guide my hand to where I truly belong. Liberate me from my father’s grasp and show me how I might live in your service.

A tepid breeze tossed her long dark hair, and Astrid took a slow breath. The sweet floral scent of the gardens filled the space making Astrid clench her teeth. Fates, she would miss it here.

Years of meticulous planning, wasted, because she anticipated every outcome… except the one that entrapped her now.

For all the pairings her father could have made, for every path he could have taken, she never expected her hand would be sold to the very kingdom she planned to raze.

Indignation and temper infested her mind.

If she were a male, her father and Clorea’s nobility would listen to her.

She would be conquering new territories with her cousins, expanding the reach of her kingdom.

Astrid slicked the torrent of emotions down—smoothing them into silence with cold calculations. She must adjust her strategy to her new circumstances.

Her future husband and king would view her as an extraordinary asset, while she orchestrated the fall of his kingdom from within.

Astrid opened her eyes to the Three-Faced Mother, beseeching the marble statues. The Mothers were silent. Three motionless females, shrouded in long, flowing cloaks that obscured their faces. Each cradled a portion of life—the egg, the serpent, and the shed—in an outstretched hand.

Birth, life, and death.

The endless cycle with fate its vanguard.

A gray python lowered from the center statue onto the white marble altar and hissed before it surged past her.

A choir of hisses arose at the disruption when the cadenced click of boots echoed through the cathedral.

Astrid dug her nails into her palm, burying her turmoil.

Her father regularly interrupted her prayers, deeming her faith inconsequential while ironically insisting her place was in the healers’ ward.

Or on her back to placate the beastly king and his grotesque wings.

A silenced rage festered within her chest as she donned a cold mask of neutrality and turned. Her father had sold her and leaving her a final night of prayer inconvenienced his transaction.

Astrid’s barbed words fell mute at the sight of her only male ally.

Sterling carefully stepped around the plethora of dark, serpentine bodies slithering across the temple and pews.

Fates, she would miss him most of all. He’d accepted the position of executioner in court, overseeing the dungeon and game houses of the city when she was sixteen.

She would never admit it, but she shared in the young females’ infatuation when he first arrived.

The court ladies fawned over him. He was tall with thick black hair and clear, luminous eyes the color of the finest jade.

The top two buttons of Sterling’s shirt were undone.

A habitual practice she noticed he performed when prisoners refused to answer his questions.

Astrid had asked him about it when she began her transition from the healers’ ward to the dungeons.

He’d tugged on his collar and admitted, “I need more room to breathe when I extract their secrets.”

Sterling lifted his stubbled chin in greeting. His sleeves were rolled, exposing his toned forearms. The metal bowl in his hands caught Astrid’s attention and her expression softened.

“The Mothers appreciate your diligent offerings,” she teased, rising to her feet.

“Someone needs to dirty their hands since our sole princess is…” his bright green eyes lifted to the Three-Faced Mother, “ occupied this evening.”

“Trust me,” Astrid sighed, “I would much rather be in the dungeons with you.” She took the pristine silver dish filled with slices of raw meat and skin and jostled it, revealing a male’s finger.

Someone’s been busy .

Sterling leaned against the altar and crossed his arms. “Shouldn’t you be in the Royal Hall right now? You’re already dressed.” Sterling gestured at her ensemble.

Astrid glanced down at herself. Wide strips of peacock-teal silk draped over her high breasts.

The fabric connected to an elaborate gold lotus belt cinching her waist and tied into a small, golden pauldron harness with elegant scrollwork across her back.

The royal dress of her people left most of her torso exposed.

“I’d rather show it to our caged friends,” Astrid said as she poured the offering of fresh meat over the altar.

“If you go into the dungeon now, your father will have my head,” he hissed, as though he were her older brother and she was asking him to lie while she snuck away.

Astrid spared him a glance and strolled toward the darkened corner behind the statues—her serpent’s favorite place to doze.

Foxglove was an albino cobra with gleaming white scales and blush-tinted plates covering his belly.

He coiled around her hand and lifted his head as she brought him to eye level.

Her snake flared his hood and swayed, watching her as his forked tongue flicked the air.

“Were you sleeping?” Astrid asked affectionately, stroking his throat. She kissed the side of his head and gently placed him on the altar before grasping Sterling’s wrist. “Come. He doesn’t eat in front of heretics.”

Sterling exhaled heavily and Astrid laughed, glancing back at him. Her dearest friend didn’t worship the Three-Faced Mother. He didn’t revere anything. She didn’t feel sorry for him, but she couldn’t imagine a life outside of her service. How lost she would feel.

“Your celebration is starting,” he insisted.

Astrid dropped his wrist. Celebration wasn’t a word she would use to describe the nobles gathering in the Royal Hall.

“You can show me where my talents might be useful or I’ll just pick one,” Astrid stated dryly. She didn’t need his permission to enter the dungeon, but his input would determine how she spent her last night in her kingdom.

He could let her break a spy, or she would take the first soul who didn’t begin sobbing the moment her shadow crossed their rancid cell.

Sterling pursed his lips as he looked down at her. A moment passed and he looked away, stepping into the corridor.

Wise choice.

Astrid followed him through several halls. Her skirt rustled across the stone steps as they descended a spiral staircase. Torchlight illuminated her fine silks. Soon enough, she was greeted by an ill-tuned symphony of screams and desperate wails.

Anguish she was responsible for.

Astrid was a soul weaver, blessed with the innate magic to stitch souls into bodies and keep death from claiming her charge.

The Fae were immortal but laughably fragile—existing only as long as the flesh and bones which housed them drew breath.

Astrid’s divine abilities bought the precious time needed for their immortal bodies to heal and regenerate.

Astrid grinned to herself; her gifts surpassed any soul weaver before her. The E’lan Vital served in the healers’ ward, but Astrid preferred to utilize her gifts in other ways.

“We have a tight-lipped scout.” Sterling’s jade eyes lowered to her ornamental gown. “You’ll get blood on your dress playing with him.”

Astrid lifted her head higher. For all her power, her father only saw her worth within the constraints of a marital bed.

“My father expects me to spread my legs and bleed for the beastly king.” Bitterness coated her tongue. “A little blood now will make no difference.”

Sterling’s expression fell and he glanced away. “I…I advised him against the match.”

Astrid knew he had. When she turned twenty, her abilities brought suitors from every kingdom and her father dragged the negotiations out for years. They fell into a bidding war, and the winged, war-mongering king purchased her hand with the promise of a third of his army instead of riches.

Her father immediately accepted the bride price, expecting her to bring her would-be husband into the fold. She would align his interests with her family’s dynasty along with the rest of his army for her cousins to command.

Astrid’s temper churned like spikes digging into her ribcage.

She was far more capable than any of her cousins, who routinely sought her judgment regarding battle tactics and strategies.

Her name was conveniently forgotten after each victory.

If she were born with a cock, she would have been her father’s shining son.

But her king dismissed her for one simple fact.

She was a female.

A royal daughter was expected to serve the family on her back and if her adoring husband could not be brought to heel… she’d been trained to kill him and maneuver his court to serve their mourning queen.

Astrid had no intention of letting the disgusting male touch her.

Ledivion was a kingdom which worshiped conquest. They were shortsighted and rash, living for the thrill of battle.

Worse than their disposition were their additional appendages.

While some admired their wings, Astrid hated them.

They were beastly attributes. Animal parts; never meant to sprout from a Fae’s back.

Ledivion’s customs demanded their king to collect her and bring her back to his kingdom where she would suffer in his marital bed. She was expected to flee her future husband, and he would chase her, like she was a common hind on a royal hunt.