1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"A magical contract was struck. Was it wise? I fear not. But the deal was made and my blood shall pay the price for years to come." – Lord Rhett, First Lord of Sídhetír.

" B reathe," I said. "Just breathe."

Oren shook his head, making his pale, almost white hair brush his high cheekbones. "I cannot."

"You can," I said, slicking his hair back before straightening his tailored jacket. Today was Oren's twenty-first birthday. As the seventh son of Lord Jonathan Byrne, he would inherit his father's title and land. Part of that responsibility was being presented to the fae representatives of the Day and Night Courts.

His already fair skin lightened, taking on a green hue. "I cannot. I swear, Aidan, I cannot do this. Please don't make me."

"I'm not the one making you."

The burden of heir did not sit gracefully on Oren's slight shoulders, but he had no choice. Magic bound him to the land, and there was no freedom from those shackles.

The door swung open with a loud creak, making us start. Lady Hester Byrne, Oren's mother, strode in. Her white-blonde hair was drawn into an elegant chignon, contrasting against the green silk of her high-waisted evening gown. Hands folded over her narrow waist, she walked to her only child, every movement as liquid as water.

"My son," she said, voice soft and as delicate as she was. "Why are you still in your rooms?"

He shifted, putting me between him and his mother—Oren was small enough in stature for me to provide an adequate shield. Lady Byrne shook her head at his antics, though she refrained from commenting. I was often Oren's protector, even though he had six older brothers who all loved him.

"He's nervous, my lady," I supplied, smoothing my brown waistcoat.

She peeked around me, but Oren buried his face between my shoulder blades. "All you have to do is say hello and greet a few guests. Your father is not even going to make you speak."

"Can't I stay here and read?"

"No." While soft, her tone was forged of iron. "You must come down to your party. All of your brothers are here."

My own twenty-first birthday had come and gone seven days ago, but I felt like a river existed between Oren and I. He'd been cherished, sheltered, and loved, while I'd had to confront the realities of this world at a young age when Mother died thirteen years ago. I was blessed, though, because I'd become a ward of Byrne Manor and Oren's companion.

"May I have a moment with him, Lady Byrne?"

"One," she said. "Lord Byrne will come himself if Oren doesn't appear soon."

No one wanted a confrontation between Jonathan and Oren. Lord Byrne didn't possess much patience for his youngest son. If he had to retrieve Oren, he would turn brusque and Oren would burrow deep within himself.

Oren looked at the ground, his shoulders slumped, and his pale hair covering his delicate face. He was his mother's son in look and manner. Gentle. Delicate. Graceful. Those qualities didn't make for a good Heir of Sídhetír. As the lord, Oren would have to deal with the fae on a regular basis. If they smelled weakness, they would pounce like beasts and tear him to shreds.

Putting a hand under his chin, I lifted his face and slicked his hair back again. The silky strands didn't want to cooperate with the current fashion, preferring to hang around his face.

"You can do this," I said. "I believe in you. Go. Meet the fae representatives."

"I might be able to do this, but I don't want to. I don't want to be Lord of Sídhetír. I want to go to school."

My hand fell to my side. "You have no choice."

Magic didn't allow substitutes, whether the heir wanted the burden of lordship or not. The contract had been made long ago, and it couldn't be altered—only broken. And if it was broken, fae would pour from their realm and wreak havoc on the mortal plane. Like before.

Oren's sky-blue eyes were stark as he stared at me like I could perform a miracle. I couldn't. I was no one, and there were no miracles. Only the price to be paid for a choice made long ago by a man who was long dead.

With a deep breath, he straightened his gray waistcoat, which was embroidered with green vines and golden flowers. Oren buttoned his deep blue jacket, put on his crisp gloves, and smoothed his hair back; it didn't stay, instead flopping around his forehead. I rearranged his cravat until it rested perfectly. He was the portrait of a perfect lord.

Almost , I thought, smiling at his troublesome hair.

He left the room and greeted Lady Byrne, who waited in the hallway. She slipped her hand into the bend of his elbow, and they disappeared from view.

I waited in the center of Oren's room for several minutes, until I was positive they were gone, then I crept out. Strands of faint music floated down the darkened corridors, dragging me along. I slipped onto the balcony lining the ballroom.

I was entrenched in shadow and high enough up that any guest would have difficulty seeing me hovering by the red velvet curtains. I drew one back and leaned against the polished balustrade, sweeping the gathering with my gaze. Gentry from all over the country had come to attend this celebration—it wasn't every year that the seventh son of the Lord of Sídhetír came of age. Though the queen and prince regent hadn't accepted the invitation Lord and Lady Byrne had extended, which was hardly shocking; they rarely attended functions.

This was history in the making, but more than that, this was an opportunity to sway the soon-to-be lord in their direction and rub elbows with fae and other people of distinction.

Sídhetír was where the fae realms and the human world connected through a single gate. Centuries ago, Lord Rhett had made a deal with the fae royals to end the fighting between our species. Now the fae could only enter the mortal realm by the gate in Sídhetír, and humans, besides the current Lord Byrne, didn't know its location—though the occasional human found the hidden gate and wandered through.

After their twenty-first birthday, the heir chose which court to align with—Day or Night. Light or dark fae. When he chose, the gate moved to the court's lands, allowing them access to the mortal realm, which lined their pockets from trade and strengthened their magic.

A huge choice rested on Oren's young shoulders. When he picked which court to align with in the coming weeks, signing the contract in blood, Lord Jonathan Byrne would lose his hold on the land, and Oren would be the Lord of Sídhetír until his seventh son turned twenty-one.

I easily spotted the fae representatives among the masses. Their great height and elegant beauty outshone every human present. The Day Court's nobles were all similar in appearance. Light skin with golden undertones. Brown hair like soil or golden like the sun or red like fire. Pale eyes from blue to green to gold. Forms broad and features soft. They seemed more human, even with their unnatural beauty and tapered ears.

The Night Court nobility was their opposite. Gray skin with a purple undertone. Hair colors from black to white to gray. Eyes like gems. Forms lean and features sharp. They had a feral countenance and an otherworldly air that made humans shy from their presence.

Living in Byrne Manor, I had seen fae all my life, though I'd never been introduced to one. They were not important at the moment. I sought Oren. He was what mattered.

Back and forth, I scoured the full ballroom, taking in the musicians playing lively tunes, the refreshment tables full of delicacies, the windows and doors to the balcony open, the elaborate decorations in golds and greens, and the many people. Still, I didn't see what I sought.

Where is Oren?

Had he left? So quickly? I could easily imagine him escaping his mother's hold and hiding in the library.

A flash of almost white hair drew my attention. Oren stood in the middle of the horde of his brothers. The Byrne brothers aged from over thirty to Oren's twenty-one, resembling each other decently despite having three different mothers. Lord Byrne's first two wives had died, and Lady Hester had finally given him the much-needed seventh son.

The eldest, Thomas, seized Oren around the neck and drew him close, grinning. He would take care of Oren and shepherd him through the political quagmire.

Duty done and worries soothed, I left the manor. It wasn't often I was granted a night of leisure without one of the Byrnes poking into my affairs. The manicured grounds sprawled in front of me. The hedges lined the estate's iron fence, forming a green boundary.

I darted through the hedge maze, checking each corner prior to rounding it. Lovers often sought the privacy the maze lent for a secret liaison. On more than one occasion, I'd come upon people in the throes of passion.

Never a pleasant experience for either party.

Sneaking out of the side of the maze, I moved to the gate hidden among the hedges. No one, to my knowledge, knew of this exit. I'd found it after I became a ward of Lord Byrne, a young boy of eight. One day I'd been exploring the grounds and a heavy iron key had fallen from the ivy climbing the side of the manor. Some days later, I'd come across the gate buried in the hedges.

It was my secret—one I didn't intend to share.

The wrought-iron gate swung open with nary a sound. I slipped out and headed to the dirt track rather than the main graveled road. The hour was early for anyone to be leaving the party, but I didn't want to chance someone seeing me—not that any of the gentry would take note of a random person in the growing twilight. Nevertheless, if they did, I didn't want anyone to know where I was going, or word of my leaving to reach the ears of the Byrne family.

My feet left the dirt trail and took me across the grassy hills dotted with late-blooming flowers and weeds. A lone sheep bleated at me; a careless shepherd must have left it behind by accident. I patted its head, and the creature ambled after me as I walked straight to the looming forest in the distance. As I stepped under the branches, the straggler screamed as only a sheep could, racing back to the hills.

As children, we were warned away from the woods. The gate between worlds resided somewhere in here, and fae often lingered among the boughs. Not all fae were like the nobility of tonight. Some were mindless animals. Others had no humanoid appearance, and devious intentions. Some were merely looking for a new place to call home. All fae, no matter their appearance, were dangerous.

The noble fae were supposed to control who came through the gate, but some still wandered into our realm without permission, hiding in the woods or escaping to other parts of the country. Supposedly, noble and royal fae tracked the wayward fae down, but I'd never seen evidence of that actually occurring.

Mother had spun stories of the monsters hiding in the darkness, but even the threat of death wasn't enough to keep me from the trees. Something about the shadowed forest drew me in like a moth to a flame. I couldn't keep away, much to my mother's, and now, Lord Byrne's chagrin.

I navigated around the massive trees, avoiding the exposed roots, while far-off lights glimmered and whispers rattled through the dying leaves. The cajoling voices called my name, beckoning me to follow them. Wisps. They would lure travelers away from their destination and to their deaths.

I paid them no mind. I'd seen them since childhood. I'd even followed them once, but they'd simply taken me to a glade and bobbed around me in a cloud.

Finally, I spotted what I'd come for—a house with a steep pitch, stone walls, and a water wheel on the side that fed into a small lake. I walked over an arched stone bridge and moved to the rough-hewn door. Using the brass knocker, I pounded on the wood.

"Iris."

Nothing but silence greeted me.

"Iris," I called again. She rarely left home. I could count on one hand the times I'd come to visit her and she wasn't here.

The door cracked open, and a single amber-brown eye stared at me. Opening the door the rest of the way, Iris smiled as she shoved a long brown braid threaded with gray over her broad shoulder. "Aidan. I didn't think you'd be here with the festivities happening tonight."

I waved the comment away. "Like they need me."

"Hmm," the woman said, crossing her arms as she leaned against the door jamb. "Mr. Oren Byrne probably wanted you to come."

"Probably, but it's not appropriate." I was a former ward. I had no place there. I had no place anywhere.

"Bah." Iris stepped inside, leaving the door open for me. "Appropriate things are rarely fun."

I ignored the comment. "He does have his brothers."

"All of them?"

"Yes."

"Hmm." She moved to the fireplace on the back wall and snagged a kettle from the flames. It was much too warm for a fire at the beginning of autumn, but Iris always had a flame going, cooking her potions and concoctions to sell at the market. Being a hedge witch didn't bring much fortune, but she joked it gave her plenty of solitude and an excuse to act crazier than she truly was.

As she placed a cup of tea in front of me, Iris sat down at the lone table in the one-room cottage. "No interest in watching the fae court Oren?"

"Not really." If I watched, I would feel guilty about Oren's terror. I had no way to fix my friend's problem or ease his fear, but logic didn't temper my emotions regarding Oren. I wanted him to be happy, and he never would be as the Lord of Sídhetír. He wanted to go to Wellington University to study—that would never happen.

"No interest in the fae?"

I took a sip of the floral tea. Rose, perhaps. I opened my mouth to say something, then paused, contemplating my words. "I've seen plenty of fae."

"I hadn't thought of that. Living in Lord Byrne's household does have its benefits."

Scoffing, I asked, "Seeing fae is a benefit?"

"Many would wish to be in your position."

"Jealous?"

Iris laughed as she leaped up and snagged the twig broom from against the wall. She started to twirl, her braid flying. "Oh, to be pushed around the dance floor by a handsome fae. Who wouldn't want that?"

I shook my head at her ridiculousness. Iris appeared to be in her forties, but she often acted like a young girl. The broom fell to the stone floor with a clang. She seized my hands and yanked me into a dance before I had a chance to refuse her.