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Chapter One

Stella

Emerging from the bathroom, I practically skip down the hall, excited to continue my “wine and witchcraft” birthday celebration with my bestie-from-another-teste. Elara may not believe in the mystical or magickal like I do, but she’s always humored my eccentricities, and I love her all the more for it.

This weekend was supposed to be different—a romantic getaway to Niagara Falls with my fiancé, Darrel. But that was before I caught him slinking out of my neighbor’s apartment, fumbling with his zipper, Keesha’s fuchsia lipstick smeared all over his smug face. Three years together, and he destroyed it all in a single moment. His betrayal upended my life—everything I thought I knew.

It was then—standing in the hall, wearing my favorite tie-dyed sundress that suddenly felt too bright and cheerful for what I was witnessing, my hands full of groceries I’d just lugged up three flights of stairs—that I realized happily ever afters don’t exist. They’re nothing more than fairy-tale traps, glittering illusions that bind us to inevitable disappointment. I’m done with HEAs. From now on, I’m all about the HFBs: hookups, flings, and booty calls.

The only relationship I can trust is the one with my best friend. Elara would never leave me.

At least that’s what I thought.

Reentering my living room, I fully expect to see Elara where I left her—sitting on the throw pillows in front of the coffee table, shuffling that gorgeous, ancient tarot deck I found earlier today when I treated myself to a birthday present from a dusty, back-alley antique store. But she’s not there.

“El?” I call out.

Loose sheets from my notebook litter the floor, like a gust of wind had taken them for a joyride, then abandoned them midflight. But my windows are shut tight, the candles on the table flicker steadily, and none of that explains where Elara is.

“El, where are you?”

The silence that answers sends a shiver crawling up my spine. This is New York; my apartment is the size of a shoebox, so it’s not like there are hidden nooks for her to vanish into. The logical assumption would be that she had to leave—ironic considering my recent thought about her never leaving me—except her purse and cell phone are still on the couch, and she’d be as likely to leave them behind as she would her arms.

“Elara?” My voice falters as I tiptoe around my apartment.

The space feels…off. The energy is charged, electric, unsettling. A strange hum prickles my skin, and the tiny hairs on my arms stand on end. The air grows heavier as I shuffle closer to the couch.

I feel it before I consciously acknowledge it—the pull toward the tarot deck resting in the center of the coffee table.

It’s as if the cards are calling to me, a subtle yet insistent tug in my chest. My legs move of their own accord, carrying me to the table, where I fold myself onto the tasseled throw pillow. My pulse quickens as I reach for it. My fingertips brush the feathery, worn edges of the deck, and a cold shiver frosts my veins the moment I lift the cards.

A single card slips free and flutters to the floor, landing face up. I lean down to retrieve it, my heart lurching as I take in the image: a blindfolded woman sits at the edge of a dark sea, two crossed blades clutched against her chest.

The Two of Swords.

I know this card well, and as much as I love tarot, it’s not the one I wanted to pull on my birthday. It’s a card about choices, about indecision, about being at a crossroads. It’s about pausing in the eye of the storm, balancing possibilities, and knowing deep down that inaction is its own form of surrender. It’s a reminder that refusing to choose is also a choice—one that comes with its own consequences.

“I’m not at a crossroads,” I scoff.

There are zero deliberations here. I’ve made my choice. Darrel is a pig, a walking cliché of betrayal, and I’m swearing off men forever. The end. This is my spell of sovereignty, my mantra of independence. This is what my twenty-seventh birthday is all about. This is how I’m crafting my life now, weaving it into something new and unbreakable.

But even as I say it, a chill skates along my shoulders, and the thread in my chest, the one that pulled me toward the deck in the first place, tightens around my heart.

“No,” I whisper to the deck, to the Universe, to myself. “I’m done.”

But am I?

The words sound hollow, as though the truth of what’s inside lies just beyond my reach. Despite my objections, I feel it—the call of something larger, something unseen, something that makes my certainty waver.

It’s as though the Universe Herself is watching me, testing me, daring me to move forward, to learn that perhaps the next step isn’t about clinging to what I’ve already decided but about embracing what I’m willing to summon.

“No, no.” I shake my head, the movement sending a cascade of my short, curly brown hair bouncing around my face. “This is ridiculous,” I mutter, my voice rising as I gesture to the empty room. “I believe in magicks and tarot, but I’m over here freaking out like the Universe is conspiring against me because I’m turning twenty-seven and my relationship, my life, is falling apart.” I blow out a long breath and glance around the room. “And where the hell is Elara?”

I reach down to pick up the card. The moment my fingers close around it, the air shifts. It crackles with an electric charge that raises goose bumps along my skin. A sudden, impossible gust of wind howls through the room, whipping my hair into my face and lifting the loose pages into a swirling tornado. The candle flames dance wildly, casting frantic, distorted shadows on the walls. A scream catches in my throat as the room tilts. The floor drops out from beneath me, and before I can make sense of the chaos, it’s gone.

I’m falling.

The world spirals around me into shadow and light. My body feels weightless, and I can’t tell which way is up or down. I twist, disoriented, my heart hammering in my chest, and just when I think I might be trapped here forever, the darkness splits open. A burst of light stains my vision, and suddenly, I’m plummeting toward the top of a massive tree.

Branches rush toward me, their outlines sharp against the grass below. I brace myself for a torturous trip through the boughs, but an invisible force slows my descent at the last second. I land on a thick, gnarled branch, the impact jarring my whole body. Pain radiates through my limbs as I cling to the rough bark, its surface biting into my palms. My breath hitches from shock and the ache of bruises I’m certain are already forming.

Before I can get my bearings, the clash of steel slices through the air below, sharp and violent. I blink past the leaves and catch glimpses of movement—two figures, shirtless and gleaming with sweat, locked in a…sword fight? That’s not something you see every—

A sharp crack vibrates up my legs, the unmistakable sound of wood giving way. The branch shudders beneath me, and I freeze, every muscle locking up. Another crack, louder this time, and the branch splinters completely. Gravity yanks me downward, leaves and twigs tearing at my skin and clothes as I tumble through the air.

My scream alerts the men, and they retract their swords just in time to avoid slicing me in half. The ground rushes up to meet me, the impact rattling every bone in my body and knocking the wind from my lungs. I land in an ungraceful heap, gasping for breath as the two men whirl to face me with their swords raised and glinting in the sunlight.

Gasping for breath, I push myself onto my knees, my vision swimming as I tilt my head back and stop dead. Towering over me are two men who look like they’ve stepped out of an action movie—bare-chested and sweat-streaked, every inch carved from stone.

The first’s raven-black hair is sweat dampened and curls against his temples. His sharp jawline is dusted with stubble, and his full lips are pressed into a severe line. His bare chest rises and falls as he catches his breath, his muscles taut beneath a sheen of sweat that glimmers like molten gold. The sword he grips tightly in his hand is as sharp and deadly as the aura surrounding him, a warning in the set of his shoulders and the way his narrowed gaze locks on to mine.

The other man sheathes his weapon, his golden hair catching the sunlight in a way that makes it glow. His sparkling blue eyes are startling against his sun-kissed skin, and unlike his companion, he’s smiling. The curve of his lips is framed by dimples that soften his strong jaw. There’s a confidence in the way he reaches out to help me as though a woman falling out of a tree—out of the sky—crash-landing between dueling swords is the most natural thing in the world.

“That was quite the entrance, my lady. Are you all right?”

I blink, struggling to process his words as the dark-haired man shifts slightly, his posture rigid, his gaze still locked on me. If I wasn’t already out of breath, the sheer magnetism radiating from the two of them would’ve stolen it anyway.

I nod weakly, my lungs finally expanding enough to draw in air as I take his offered hand. “Y-yeah,” I manage, though every part of me aches. “I think so. Nothing’s broken.”

I release his hand and try to stand on my own, but I instantly regret it when I lose my balance. The dizziness from my fall gets the better of me, and I stumble. Both men move with startling speed, catching me by the arms before I hit the ground again. They steady me between them, and their hands, firm and warm, press against my lower back. I’m sandwiched between them, my head spinning from more than just the fall.

“Easy now. Take it slow,” the blond says. “What’s your name?”

The dark-haired man takes two steps back as though he’s suddenly realized he never meant to get that close to me. His intense black eyes narrow as he bends to collect his sword before sheathing it and crossing his arms over his massive chest. Without the blade, he’s less overtly threatening, though he’s still dangerous. There’s no mistaking it. But danger has a way of being intoxicating.

“Stella,” I finally say, swallowing hard as I meet the blond’s expectant gaze.

A charming grin spreads across his face “Greetings, Lady Stella. I am Valen Greymourn, and this ray of sunshine is Marek Drayk, captain of my personal guard and general pain in my arse.”

Marek snorts and flips him off before tucking his hand back under his arm and regarding me with those black eyes. “What were you doing in the tree?” he demands. “Spying on the crown prince? Tell me, Stella, how did you breach the castle walls?”

“That’s enough, Captain,” Valen says, an edge to his tone that sends Marek’s gaze to the ground in acquiescence. “She’s in no condition to be interrogated.”

Reluctantly, Marek dips his head in acknowledgment. “Apologies, Your Highness,” he grates out through clenched teeth.

“I wasn’t in the tree. I mean, I was, but not for long,” I stammer, realizing how absurd the truth will sound. “I…I think I fell out of the sky.”

Both men stiffen at my words. Valen’s grin fades, replaced by something more guarded, and Marek’s dark gaze snaps back to me.

“From another realm?” Marek mutters. “Impossible.”

“My thoughts exactly,” I mumble, glancing around for the first time. My head is still swimming as I take in the palace courtyard, the stone walls rising high around us, and the gilded spires that scrape the sky. This is not New York. Not even close.

“Wh-where am I?” The world begins to sway as I glance between the towering men.

“You’re in the Kingdom of Swords,” Valen says with a sweeping gesture, his smile returning faintly, though it now holds a trace of something unreadable. “Welcome, Lady Stella, to the realm of Towerfall.”

The weight of his words—the realization that I’ve fallen through some kind of celestial wormhole—hits me like a tidal wave, and the world tilts again. My legs buckle beneath me, and as the darkness closes in, I faintly hear Valen calling my name.