“You’re fae.”
Terror wracks through me, and I stumble away, but they just watch me with detachment. Like I’m a snow bunny that’s been caught in their trap, and they distracted me so much that I didn’t even realize it.
“I told you she had pure royal blood,” Pruinn tells them. “I could sense it.”
“Well done,” the twins praise.
“What did you do?” I say again, my voice as shaky as the ground was. “This isn’t what I agreed to.”
“But it is. You made the bargain, Majesty. We needed the blood of a pure Orean royal to accept the restoration of the bridge, and you gave it.”
That drumming down the bridge gets louder, but I realize all too late that it’s not drums. It sounds like…footsteps. Like a thousand marching feet thudding down the strip. My whole body trembles with the ominous pulse.
“What is that? Who’s coming?”
I don’t like the way their grins grow cruel. But it’s their unified answer that makes terror bolt through my heart. “The fae are returning. And this time, Orea will be ours.”
Three Queens
Part One
There once were three queens, though very different they were.
One was a lure, another so pure, the last was a cure.
There was a queen who was born, and a queen who was made.
And a golden gold vine who grew up through the shade.
One was night, and the second was dusk.
Two very different, two dipped with mistrust.
The third was another mismatch （this one was dawn）。
But one thing they had in common? All three of them—gone.
Dusk disappeared down a bridge, Night was meant to be killed.
And through a split in the air, Dawn had to be spilled.
So tumbled down Fate,
while goddesses loomed.
From hatching shelled stars, their destiny bloomed.
But fortunes can change and outcomes can snap.
And each kind of queen must learn how to tap —into their power （for not all power is magic）， or their futures would only end up as tragic.
There once were three queens, though very different they were.
（They needed to learn how to be sure.）
One was quite cold, the second was brave.
Of course, the third one, she always gave.
All of them—every one—caused others to crave.
And craving is danger
in a world of great greed.
So it was not yet certain
what planting would seed.
But plant they all did,
each queen, their own root.
Into the worlds,
their blood-watered fruit.
For each crossed a bridge of their own making, each had the world, wanted for taking.
But blood, heart, and gold, must be unshaken, for only they could determine what Fate would awaken.
To be continued…
Thank You For Reading
Thank you so much for reading! I really hope you enjoyed book four in the series, and I would love it if you could leave me a quick review!
This book was very much about Slade and his background, while also focusing on Auren’s next steps. She has lived almost her entire childhood and young adulthood under harmful control, so I tried to be very honest and respectful about how her journey continues and what the aftereffects of her trauma look like for her.
After all this time, Auren finally gets to figure out who she wants to be and how she’s going to stand on her own two feet. I’ve been so excited to experience this with her! I hope that I’ve done it justice and that you’ve loved seeing her progression. I’m so damn proud of her and Slade, but they have a big hurdle ahead of them still.
But I’m rooting for them.
Acknowledgements
This is the part where I explain how I came to write this book and who I’m fortunate to thank—and there are a lot of people who made this possible.
But if I’m really honest about acknowledging how this book was made, it wouldn’t just be in words. It would be made up of minutes spent in panic. It would be counting the knots that wove in my stomach when I was convinced I wasn’t doing something good enough. It would be the drops of tears every time I knew I was failing. It would be a collection of quiet anxiousness that curdled at the back of my consciousness. It would be the weight of expectations on my hands, the pressure of which I felt every time I lifted a finger to type out a letter. It would be the nights I woke up in cold sweats. It would be the hours and hours of voice messages of brainstorming. It would be the breaths of relief every time I crossed a chapter’s finish line. It would be the collection of sentences written in a glitchy sprint room. It would be hearing the characters’ voices in my head, the scenes in every chapter playing like a movie. It would be my eyes on the calendar, watching the deadline date loom closer and closer. It would be the amount of tabs I had open for synonyms, antonyms, definitions, searched images, terms to figure out how something works or looks. It would be the guilt every time I sat down and didn’t work. It would be the melodies of wordless songs and ambient rain I played in the background. It was the dozens of wrappers left on my bedside table for midnight snacks when I stayed up late to work after my daughter went to bed. It would be the tens of thousands of paced steps I took when I tried to figure out these characters’ journeys.