Cover

Dedication

For anyone worried you’re not good enough.

You are.

* * *

Map of the Willowhaven

Map of Rosehill City

Foreword

Although the summer loved the winter,

the two could never meet.

For the autumn and the spring divide them

Ensuring they’ll never greet.

Although the day loved the night,

she must do so from afar.

For dawn and dusk always interrupt

keeping them apart.

The same fate befalls all Unseelie fae

who fall for Seelie charms.

If you see one, let her pass,

lest you come to harm.

An Unseelie Fable, Author Unknown

1

“Finding one’s mate should be the most pleasurable of pursuits.”

A Seelie Guide to Matrimony

In the kingdom of Willowhaven, fae are not permitted to marry before the age of twenty-five. Having grown up with an older brother, I’m not certain that twenty-five years is long enough for the men of our kind to mature.

My brother Theo vehemently agreed, downright refusing to leave our tiny mountain village of Gravale until our father forced him out of the house at twenty-eight.

I, on the other hand, have been waiting for this day ever since I was a little girl. With my twenty-fifth birthday on the horizon, it’s finally my chance to find a love of my own.

A few weeks ago, Father gave me two options: I could either stay on the freezing mountain and hope a man near my own age would happen upon our village, or I could spend the next six months in the capital city of Rosehill with my cousin Nia.

Needless to say, I chose the latter.

Which brings me to this moment, nestled inside a plush carriage with crushed velvet pillows and damask curtains that sway each time we hit a bump in the road, staring out at a city even more beautiful than I imagined.

Don’t get me wrong, Gravale was picturesque, with its sweeping vistas and snow-capped peaks, but this part of the kingdom is more refined. More alive. Cattle and sheep dot the endless emerald fields. The perfume of roses and lilacs drifts with the gentle breeze, sweeter than any dessert I’ve ever tasted.

Outside the carriage’s lattice windows, thatch-roofed cottages wait in perfect rows, their gardens overflowing with the first blooms of spring. Birdsong and excited chatter fill the air, the world rousing from a solitary winter slumber.

There are people everywhere, more than I’ve ever seen in once place.

Families share tables outside pastel teahouses that line either side of the street; a crowd gathers on the steps of a temple; a couple embraces beneath an ivy-covered archway near the fountain.

I cannot believe I’m finally here.