Some boxes should never be opened. Some truths aren’t meant for mortal hearts. And not everyone is who they say they are.
Willow Braselton has always believed in fairy tales. As a child, she glimpsed a magical world no one else could see. At thirteen, she dreamed of a fae prince. At nineteen, those dreams crystallized into certainty: her prince was real—and he needed her just as much as she needed him.
But no one believed her.
Not when she spoke of the other world.
Not when she told the truth about what happened her senior year, the night she was alone with her...
Some boxes should never be opened. Some truths aren’t meant for mortal hearts. And not everyone is who they say they are.
Willow Braselton has always believed in fairy tales. As a child, she glimpsed a magical world no one else could see. At thirteen, she dreamed of a fae prince. At nineteen, those dreams crystallized into certainty: her prince was real—and he needed her just as much as she needed him.
But no one believed her.
Not when she spoke of the other world.
Not when she told the truth about what happened her senior year, the night she was alone with her adored drama teacher.
Not her sisters. Not her father. Not the polished world that told her to smile, look pretty, and stay quiet.
So when a renowned folklorist hints that the Old Blood might run in her veins, Willow bolts—trading pearls and parties in Atlanta for the watchful mountain town of Hemridge, North Carolina. There, she meets Cole, a quiet, sharp-eyed local who carries grief like a second skin. With his help, Willow uncovers a fabled relic: a coffin-shaped box said to open only for the right ones.
It opens for her.
And then it slams shut—locking her into the unseen seams between worlds, the cracks where lost things wait.
When the Box releases her, it’s into the spun-sugar realm of Eryth, where Queen Severine welcomes her like kin. The queen’s son, Serrin—the prince from Willow’s dreams—is dying. Only Willow can save him.
Or so she’s told.
But Eryth is built on secrets. Stolen children. Stunted dragons. Curdled blood rites. And all of it, somehow, leads back to Hemridge…
