Chapter One
My heart pounded in my chest as I glanced around the limo. I was terrified—but not of the eleven beautiful women surrounding me. They all seemed like good, honest people. Unlike me.
I opened my purse and inspected its contents: a red lipstick, a folded piece of paper, a pouch of Autumn Fae currency, and—most importantly—a small amber perfume bottle. My heartbeat quickened as I stared at the glowing liquid inside. The giggles and chatter of the other girls faded into the background as memories from the last seventy-two hours flooded my mind.
My attention was pulled from my needlework by the familiar sound of loud church bells. Looking out from my favorite window seat, I glanced briefly at the sun’s position. Confusion settled over me—why were the bells for evening prayers ringing when the sun was still so high in the sky?
Setting down my embroidery, I slid off the seat and made my way down the long corridor. I had just rounded a corner when I was met by a frightened nun. My calm expression quickly twisted into one of alarm.
“What’s wrong, Sister Margaret? What happened?”
“Sister Anastasia, you need to hide! They’re here and…”
She faltered, then screamed the last words:
“…THEY KNOW!”
Her hands trembled as she grabbed mine and pulled me into a run, dragging me down the corridor and into the safety of a broom closet. We crouched together in the dark, trying to quiet our frantic breathing.
Moments later, the door swung open. Large hands grabbed me, tearing me away from Sister Margaret and dragging me down the hallway. My screams echoed off the stone walls. Pain exploded across my back as I was thrown to the floor of the refectory.
Ignoring the ache, I pushed myself to my feet and met the cold, emotionless gaze of the man who had just assaulted me. His expression was unreadable while his hand rested casually on the hilt of his sheathed sword. Thick leather cuffs wrapped around each of his forearms, matching the heavy leather chest plate that covered his torso.
My breath hitched when I saw the crest etched across the breastplate—the unmistakable symbol of the Winter Realm.
“I’ve searched for years to find you.”
I turned toward the voice, scanning the room until my eyes landed on a man seated at one of the refectory’s long tables. He was casually helping himself to what was meant to be tonight’s dinner.
“Well, not you in particular,” he said, lifting a fork. “But someone of your kind…”
He wiped his mouth with a linen napkin and combed his raven hair from his eyes before finishing, cool and certain:
“…Succubus.”
“Please don’t kill me! I’ve never used my powers, I swear!” I pleaded, holding out my hand and pointing to the golden ring wrapped around my middle finger, unable to steady the fear trembling through me.
The ring was simple, but its magic was not. It carried a suppressant spell—one that had kept me from ever tapping into my succubus gene.
“If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead.”
He crossed the room in long, powerful strides. When he was just inches from my face, he grabbed the back of my veil and ripped it violently from my head. Then, without hesitation, he began to play with the tips of my black curls.
“I wish to make a deal with you, halfbreed.” He brought the tips of my hair to his nose, inhaling deeply before continuing. “Here’s the deal: I won’t expose your succubus identity. I’ll let you remain here, in this cloistered abbey you’ve been living in. I should kill all these traitorous nuns for hiding a succubus within their walls, but instead I will donate a hefty sum of money to your abby. What I need from you is simple. . .
. . . to kill my brother.” He finished with an eerie smile.
I froze in fear, his words striking me like a paralytic dart. I may have spent my entire life in a cloistered abbey, but I still understood the gravity of what he was asking. If the man standing before me truly was the Winter Fae King, then that meant he was asking me to kill one of the other Fae Kings. The only question that remained was—who? Summer, Spring, or Autumn?
“King Virgil of the Autumn Court,” he said, as if reading my mind.
He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small amber bottle before continuing.
“At the beginning of each year, Virgil selects twelve women from the Summer Court. They serve as his year’s… personal entertainment. I’ll pull some strings and get you in as one of the twelve. The thing is—he has a particular weakness for Summer Court women.”
He paused, as if choosing his next words carefully.
“He delights in wilting and devouring their Summer essence, transforming them into Autumn Fae… through physical means. Once they’ve fully submitted to his essence, he sends them back to their court to recover.”
He raised an eyebrow as he finished, studying my reaction.
“But I’m not a Summer Fae!” I protested. “I belong to your court—I’m part Winter Fae! And I’ve lived in a cloistered abbey my entire life. I wouldn’t even know what to do—how to entertain him, how to… kill!”
Without a word, he took my hand and gently slipped off my Suppressant Ring—the only piece of jewelry I had ever owned.
The king’s face was mere inches from mine. I could feel the warmth of his breath brush against my cheek as he murmured, “You will soon. Instinct is a very powerful thing, my dear.”
I looked down at my hand, where he had left a small amber bottle.
“What is this? Poison?”
The king let out a low chuckle. “How crude. No—it’s essence of Summer. You’ll need to spray it on yourself every morning. It will mask your presence—make you undetectable as both a Winter Fae… and, more importantly, as a succubus. He won’t be able to drain or submit your essence to his.” He smiled darkly.
“That’s something my brother should find quite… intriguing.”
He handed me a small piece of paper, which I unfolded to reveal an illustration of a bejeweled golden dagger.
“That’s the only weapon that can kill a highborn Fae,” he said, answering my question before I could ask it. “It’s in his possession. Your mission is to seduce him, gain his trust, find the dagger—and when his guard is down. . . you end him. If you fail to complete this mission—or if you reveal who sent you—I will burn this abbey to the ground with every nun inside. Do you understand?”
I couldn’t find the words to speak. Tears streamed down my face as I silently nodded. He tossed a pouch of money at my feet, followed by a tube of red lipstick.
“The lipstick might come in handy,” he said. “Once you apply it, anyone you kiss will fall into a deep sleep—for about three hours.”
“My name is Lily. What’s yours?” the girl sitting to my right asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
She had strawberry-blonde hair and bright blue eyes that looked at me expectantly.
“Oh, uh… um… Anastasia. My name is Anastasia,” I replied, nervously snapping the clasp of my purse shut.
“How long have you been on the waiting list? I’ve been on it for three years!” she said, beaming with pride more than shyness. “Honestly, I’m glad I wasn’t accepted right away—it gave me time to study King Virgil and, uh… um… practice.”
Before I could respond, she continued without missing a beat.
“My cousin got accepted last year, and she lasted a whole six months before he turned her Summer to Autumn. I must last at least seven!” She clapped her hands together gleefully, her eyes sparkling with excitement.
All of this was foreign to me. I had zero experience with men. I’d been left at the abbey as a baby and had lived there ever since. The only man I’d ever spoken to was Mr. Phillip, the elderly driver who delivered our donated food once a week. I had no time to “practice,” as Lily so discreetly put it. The only things I’d ever practiced were needle work, prayer, and gardening.
As the car came to a stop, all the girls linked arms, smiling at one another with excitement as they exchanged wishes of good luck. It was all so strange to me. I wasn’t familiar with the world these girls came from—a life uncloistered.
Lily linked her arm through mine, and the strangest sensation began to spread through my body. I pushed the feeling aside as we stepped out of the limo and into a grand courtyard.
I stared up at the large stone mansion towering before me. Terror clawed at my chest, but I forced it down—burying the fear deep inside where it couldn’t reach me. Failure was not an option. My home—and the thirty cloistered nuns I saw as mothers—hung in the balance.
