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September 7 - September 11, 2025
As the Maiden, the Chosen, a veil usually covered my face and hair at all times, all except for my lips and jaw.
Death always found a way in.
And I…I was Penellaphe of Castle Teerman, Kin of the Balfours, and the Queen’s favorite. I was the Maiden.
Chosen.
Still, it was hard to imagine how one could go to sleep healthy and whole and never wake up again.
Hawke was always in pain.
Death was constant.
“You’re the Chosen, ‘born in the shroud of the gods, protected even inside the womb, veiled from birth.’”
I opened my eyes and saw nothing but darkness.
Death is like an old friend who pays a visit, sometimes when it’s least expected and other times when you’re waiting for her. Death had indeed paid an unexpected visit.
“The arrow used on Rylan was marked,” Vikter answered. “It carried the Dark One’s promise.” His promise.
From Blood and Ash We Shall Rise.
“The Dark One has come for you, Penellaphe.”
The gods hated me.
“Both halves are as beautiful as the whole.”
Beside her, Loren, the second daughter of a successful trader, had all but given up on sewing the tiny crystals onto her mask that was to be worn during the upcoming Rite, and had fully committed herself to watching every move the dark-haired Royal Guard made. I was confident she knew just how many breaths Hawke took in a minute.
My head snapped in her direction in shock. I had no idea what she was talking about or how the subject had come up, but I couldn’t believe she had actually spoken his name aloud. My lips parted. No one other than the Descenters would dare utter his actual name, and I doubted that any of them would even speak it in the castle. It was treasonous to call him a prince. He was the Dark One.
The Craven were here.
“Once your fingers take hold of the string, the world around you must cease to exist.” Vikter’s instructions echoed in my mind. “It’s just you, the pull of the string, and your aim. Nothing else matters.” And that was all it could be.
“You are…” His stare was intense and unblinking as he sheathed his sword at his side. “You’re absolutely magnificent. Beautiful.”
“You’re an absolutely stunning, murderous little creature.”
“Whatever you need to tell yourself, Princess.” “Don’t call me that!” I stomped my foot. Hawke lifted an eyebrow. “Did that make you feel good?”
“I won’t…I refuse to be helpless.”
“You know I’ll never replace your father, nor would I ever try to, but you’re like a daughter to me.” I hugged him tighter.
His chuckle was rough as he dropped his chin to the top of my head. “Your punches are weak when you’re not doing them correctly.” He pulled back, clasping my cheeks. “But, girl, your aim is deadly. Don’t ever forget that.”
“You have a choice now.” “I do.” But it was hard to explain that the veil also served as a barrier. With it, I remembered what I was, and the importance of that. Without it, well, it was easy to want…to simply want.
I didn’t say that. Instead, I took a deep, long breath and tried to ignore the almost overwhelming urge to throw the book at her face. It would do some damage. Probably break her nose. The image of her clasping her bloodied face brought forth a disturbing amount of glee.
“Only the bad can be influenced, Princess.”
“I’m the Maiden, Hawke,” I reminded him—or myself, I wasn’t sure. “And I don’t care.” My eyes flew open in shock. “I can’t believe you just said that.” “I did. And I’ll say it again. I don’t care what you are.” Hawke’s hand slid off my back. A moment later, I felt his palm flatten against my cheek with unerring accuracy. “I care about who you are.”