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FOURTEEN YEARS OLD

W ithout my grimoire, I needed to find new ways to become powerful. I was living in the castle full time, right under Osiris’ wing, and could hear every traitorous word Alastir spoke into his ear.

That maybe Stormshades weren’t the problem. That maybe we shouldn’t be hunting them so ruthlessly. If you asked me, we needed to do away with him, too. He might not be a Stormshade, but he was a sympathizer, and in my opinion that was just as bad.

Luckily, Osiris agreed with me.

Stormshades were a plague to this realm, and they needed to be dealt with. I relished the days we were sent out in groups to hunt them, bringing their limp, lifeless bodies back to the castle. Those were the best days.

I was climbing the ranks quickly—the general saw the potential in me and reported back to the king.

After that, Osiris took a special interest in me.

He took me under his wing personally. He could see my thirst for power, for a better realm for the Nightshade witches.

If it were up to me, I would eliminate the Shades, too.

The realm would finally be clean with Nightshade blood.

But I needed to focus on one war at a time.

The Stone Palace had been purged of all Stormshades and for that I was grateful.

The day they had strung up Malec and hung him…

that was one of the best days of my life.

He had watched me, fear in his eyes as they tied the noose around his neck.

My only regret is that the dark curse I placed upon him only had a few years to enact itself, seeping into his every thought.

If it were up to me, I would have wished him to suffer a little longer.

Zion had come to visit me, but it had been brief.

Annelise wasn’t with him. I had asked after her, and after my sister , but he hadn’t given me any information.

There were murmurings and whispers of a revolution, a resistance force who backed the Stormshades in Istmere.

I had a suspicion that Annelise and Zion were involved, but I had no proof.

Zion was still enamored with Annelise…he would do anything for her.

He couldn’t see how she was simply taking advantage of him. She didn’t care about him. Or us. She only cared for herself and that filthy little Stormshade baby.

After Persephone had destroyed the Grishina grimoire, I was left craving blood magic and dark magic like never before. I remembered a good portion of the spells I had studied, but I was always seeking more.

It was never enough.

I found a like-minded Shade on the outskirts of Akra, and though I wouldn’t call her a friend, we became acquaintances. She had a grimoire of her own from her family’s bloodline. I would spend my weekends at her hut, studying the book, looking for new ways to turn the spells dark.

Make them better.

Stronger.

I could see my humanity slipping away even further, little by little, as the days went on. My soul was turning as black as my eyes.

But I didn’t care.

This wasn’t something that was done to me. I was the one in control.

My only regret were the scars on my arms left from the blood magic. They were stark red, then purple, but over time they faded to white.

I would need to find a powerful spell to eliminate them entirely.

I strived for perfection, and that meant my physical appearance, too.

The queen of Istmere would need to be held in the highest regard, after all.