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“Beware of the demon with the flaming hair. She hunts for you,” he hisses,
This is wild.
“The gilded doe has been here. She knows what you are—”
This is her father speaking
The last thing I hear before he slams the door shut is my father’s garbled cry: “Find the gilded doe!”
And in the center of the carnage, seated cross-legged in Korsakov’s chair, is a woman with copper-red hair, observing us with a taunting smile.
“Should we or should we not leave them breathing, Romeria?”
Holy shit. She KNOWS her real name!
My mother said it came to her in a dream one night, before I was born.
I witnessed her and the others tie a “witch” to a post on a pile of dry kindling and strike a match.
Holy Shit!
“Now.” A gentle smile touches her lips. “And in order to take you there, first, this mortal form must die.”
her. The fate hadn’t been ignoring her. He’d been weaving his scheme all along.
His jaw clenches as he studies a long, gold hair pin in his palm. “And
???
“It is complete. She is now tied to Islor for as long as she lives.”
Holy fucking shit ‼️‼️
Through her sycophants, she persuaded the High Priestess Margrethe to summon Malachi for the purpose of unleashing chaos on us.
that Malachi’s primary focus was not to help him, but to open the door in the nymphaeum.
“Not only did it not open that door, but combining all that power tore a seam in the fold between our world and another, a dark place called the Nulling
Hawkish black eyes grab my attention. It’s the tall, thin woman with the black hair. She’s standing next to a man with matching dark hair and pale skin.
I keep wondering about her.
“Saoirse wouldn’t happen to be in the front row, would she?” Zander’s mouth curls at the corners. “However did you guess?”
Oh, that explains that!
I frown. “Who is he?” “Prince Tyree of Argon.” Atticus smiles. “Your brother.”
Oh Fuck
“You are a key caster, and I assume Malachi has sent you here to try to open the nymphaeum door.”
“I also tested Princess Romeria when she first arrived here,
she only had an elven affinity to Aoife. And since the fates cannot gift affinities,
My body responds, slick and undulating and aching with need, my legs hooking
“Fine,” she huffs. “I will consider training you.”
🤣🤣
I’ve seen that mark before, tattooed on the hands of the People’s Sentinel. “What is that symbol?” I whisper.
“Fates, it isn’t merth that they’re taking. It’s your blood. How did I not see this?” Again,
Holy Fucking Shit‼️
