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He’s exactly the same height and muscular build as me, but our similarities end there. Thorne looks like his mother, with blond curly hair and pale blue eyes. My darker hair and green eyes are identical to our shared father—which is the entire reason I’ve spent more than half my life imprisoned in the frozen asshole of the universe.
“I’d ask you to come to me at court, but given the circumstances…” My nails bite into the flesh of my palms so hard I’m sure I’ve broken skin. “Why would you want to speak with me? I thought we’d settled all there was to say ninety years ago when you banished me here.”
Thorne’s expression darkens. “Before Isabelle left, I intended her to be my bride. Obviously, I couldn’t allow her to wither with age, so I gave her an enchanted necklace. As long as she wore it, she would remain just as young as she was on the day I met her.”
Nana is Isabelle Reading, world-renowned author extraordinaire. The mother of modern fairytales and the peddler of happily ever after. Her most famous book, A Kingdom of Thorns, has been a pop culture phenomenon for over forty years and this year is scheduled to be rereleased to coincide with the new movie.
My mother, who often travels with Nana as her assistant and caregiver, isn’t exactly the person I would
At my obvious fear and disgust, the woman stops short, looking at me with concern. “Isabelle? What’s wrong?” “Oh my God!” I burst out. “Can you all stop calling me Isabelle? My name is Alix!”
pause before Daemon speaks. “You mean you were going by Alix to avoid suspicion, right?” “No, genius, I mean my name is Alix. Alixandrea Knight.”
Odessa shakes her head. “She’s not. It’s been sixty years, but I remember my friend. Belle wasn’t afraid of me. This isn’t her.” “But she has the necklace,” Daemon insists, hurrying around the side of the bed to stand in front of me. “And I found this!” He reaches into his back pocket and extracts a paperback copy of Nana’s book. “Look,” he says, pointing at the cover. “Her name is on it.” “That’s not me.” I almost laugh. “Isabelle is my grandmother.”
He’s my cousin. Kind of. Really more of a brother, actually.” “Oh.” I blink at her, confused. “Okay…that’s good, I guess.” She laughs. “You need to stop jumping to the worst possible conclusion.”
“I have no idea how Isabelle made her way here. I was in Dyaspora.” “Belle found her way here on her own,” Odessa interjects. “Her father was a miner, and accidentally traveled through the Ironhill gate where King Thorne took him prisoner. Belle followed, and agreed to be the king’s prisoner in exchange for her father’s freedom.”
The smile he had for me in the throne room is gone. He’s looking at me like he’s admiring a very expensive car, and it’s uncomfortable. Not at all the look of a man in love. Then again, what the hell do I know about what a man looks like in love? I’ve certainly never been able to identify that look before. I’m overthinking this.
When it’s dark out, I can leave my room and do whatever I want—the problem is there’s nothing to fucking do. I have no phone, no Kindle, no TV, and no podcasts. I’ve never been more aware of how addicted to technology I am, until suddenly I’m living in basically 1750 and housework is starting to look like a fun and exciting alternative to staring at the walls.
Still, I feel an overwhelming compulsion to get her because she’s mine. I don’t understand it. Being jealous is not only insane, I don’t know where it’s coming from. But when it comes to that woman, I can’t think straight. I feel like an addict; I have to abstain completely from thinking about her or I’ll overdose on memories of the taste of her.
There’s something here between us—I know there is. Something that goes beyond just physical attraction. It’s small and unsteady, flickering in and out like the flame of a new candle, but it’s there. It’s not just me. The sound of cracking air, like a flag in the wind has me opening my eyes again, even as I tilt my head to deepen the kiss. “Wings…” I murmur against his
I whirl on Daemon, narrowing my eyes. “What the hell is this?” He frowns. “The library?” “Exactly,” I bite out. “It's the biggest, most beautiful library I’ve ever seen. I could have kept myself entertained here for months, and instead, you’ve been letting me stare at the walls!”
“Please don’t murder Foulo,” Alix says. “I don’t want that on my conscience.” “But—” “Unless he attacks you first,” she adds. “Then, I guess it’s self-defense. Just don’t hunt him down.” “But he knows you’re not Isabelle.”
“No, he suspects I’m not, but there’s got to be an easier way to deal with that than literal fucking murder. I’ll just tell Thorne I developed a fear of horses. That’s true, anyway.”
“I’m guarding her, that’s the point,” I snap. “And I’ve already said I think it’s suspicious how many near fatal accidents she’s had in only a few weeks.” “Do I really have to be the one to point out the obvious?” Jett blurts out. “She’s your bonded.”
Soul-bonds aren’t predestined—at least, most Fae believe they aren’t. They’re formed, usually through shared experience or extreme emotional upheaval. “I can’t be bonded to Alix,” I grit out, hoping my friends attribute my expression to pain from whatever Kastian is doing to my back. “Why?” Jett asks casually.
“Je pense que tu es mon soul-bond,” he says, breaking our kiss. My entire body is loose and lazy, but at those words, my
Dessa claps her hands. “It’s the only thing that makes sense. Why would a sorceress who just had her heart broken want to punish another woman? She wouldn’t. It’s not about his partner, it’s about him.”
