Dragons are extinct. Witches are outcast. Magic is dying. But human lust for power is immortal.

Dragon fire no longer blisters the skies over Penterra, but inside the lavish palace, life is still perilous – especially for Tamsyn. Raised in the glittering court alongside the princesses, it’s her duty to be punished for their misdeeds. Treated as part of the royal family but also as the lowliest servant, Tamsyn fits nowhere. So when she is tasked with the ultimate sacrifice of pretending to be one of the true royal princesses and marry Fell, the Beast of the Borderlands, son to the great dragon slayer, Tamsyn accepts her fate even if it means tricking the deadly warrior.

The wedding night begins with unexpected passion, but ends in near violence when her trickery is exposed. Rather than start a war, Fell accepts Tamsyn as his bride … but Tamsyn isn’t what she seems. She harbours dark secrets, secrets buried so deep even she doesn’t know they exist.

For Tamsyn is more than the false wife of a man who now sees her as his enemy. And when those secrets emerge, they will ignite a flame bright enough to burn the entire kingdom to the bone.

Magic is not dead … it is only sleeping. And it will take one ordinary girl with an extraordinary destiny to awaken it.

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“It is him,” the lady in front of me breathed in awe, shifting so that she partially blocked my view. “The Beast.” I slid over a step and rose on tiptoes to better eye the man standing at the helm of the group. “Lord Beast,” she added to no one in particular, as though clarification was needed.

Lord Beast.

He was bigger and taller than the others, and I was no slight woman. Only a few men could stand eye to eye with me, but him? He would tower over me. Not that there would ever be cause for him to stand near me.

His fellow warriors stood a pace behind in clear deference. I swal-lowed. Despite the stories painting him in mythical proportions, he was merely a man, and a young one at that, likely only a handful of years older than my twenty- one years.

His profile was sharp, his nose a slashing blade, his mouth an un-smiling line, his square jaw hard. Strange inked designs crept down his tan throat and disappeared beneath his leathered armor, and a thought crept unbidden across my mind: How far did those markings spread over his body?

My chest tightened, a pull starting at the center. I rubbed at the spot, willing the perplexing sensation away even as I felt a scowl forming on my features because my breasts weren’t dormant either. They felt heavier . . . achy and prickly.

“Is that him?” Someone whispered what we were all thinking. Not just thinking. Feeling. The sight of him produced a visceral reaction. “The Border King?”

The Border King. Another one of his many monikers. Border Lord. The Beast. Border King. Lord Beast. He was all of those things.

Legions of warriors followed this man. He was the stuff of legends and nightmares. The strongest. The most vicious. The man who held this realm together.

The Threshing had scarcely ended, victory still warm on the lips, when the squabbles and infighting began. They continued to this day, as unremitting as waves in the ocean.

With the dragons finally gone, humans had turned on each other. Man couldn’t hunt dragons anymore, but they could hunt each other. And witches. And they did.

Alliances broke. Attacks on Penterra flared into being. Ravaging in-vaders crossed mountain ranges and expanses of boglands, through deserts and over seas, to pillage my homeland for all its worth.

And that wasn’t to say that threats did not still exist within our borders, too.

Little fires had always been there, strewn about the place, flickering conflagrations waiting to turn into full- fledged bonfires. Now, these days, those bonfires roared to life.

Bandits abounded. The roads were perilous. No palace retinue traveled anywhere without a full escort. Armed guards accompanied my sisters and me wherever we went—be it a quick foray into the village or a longer trip to the summer villa on the coast.

As bad as the bandits were, the raiders were worse.

Reports frequently came in about raiders holed up in the Crags, in the long- abandoned tunnels and cave system that once served as home to the dragons. They struck the villages in the north hard, growing in-creasingly bold in recent years, venturing farther and farther south to raze vulnerable communities. The Threshing may have been over— no sighting of a dragon in nigh on a hundred years— but the country was hardly at peace.

Without the border lords, specifically these border lords, the ones currently standing in the Great Hall, our northern border would have fallen by now. Penterra would have fallen. Who knew where any of us would be?

“It is he,” another voice confirmed.

I didn’t look to see who was speaking. I looked nowhere except to him. The man who went by many names and yet whose true name I had never once heard uttered. Perhaps possessing an ordinary name like the rest of us would make him less remarkable.

I rubbed harder at the ever- worsening tension in my chest, beginning to wonder if I was suffering from some manner of apoplexy. And yet I remained, drinking in the sight of the new arrivals . . . of him.

His face was set as if stone. Eyes like the night frost, wintry cold and void of emotion as he swept his gaze over the royal family. He lingered over my sisters. Alise shrank back, not keen on his notice. Feena and Sybilia were less indifferent, squaring their shoulders so the thrust of their breasts was more apparent beneath their kirtles. They liked the attention of men. Apparently the Border King was no exception.

“Lord Dryhten, welcome, welcome.” King Hamlin stood and moved forward. He appeared slight and diminutive standing so near the warrior. With his dove- soft hands and average frame, he was no warrior. He had never once fought in battle. He ruled from inside the security of these walls. Fortunately, he had men like the Beast to keep Penterra safe for him. With no male heir, the preservation of his realm would be secured in the advantageous marriages of his daughters to the princes of neighboring kingdoms.

He clapped Lord Dryhten on his thickly muscled shoulder. “Your visit is long overdue. We’ve feasting and entertainment planned for all of you.”

The Beast inclined his head slightly, and one of his warriors stepped forward, carrying something covered in a swathe of linen. The warrior lord took it from him and flicked the fabric back to reveal a beautiful necklace laden with gemstones. Everyone gasped. Even from where I stood I could see the glow . . . feel its draw. The jewelry was like nothing else. Not even the queen possessed anything so fine.

The Beast offered it to the king with a deep incline of his head. “Your Majesty, a gift uncovered by my father in the Crags during his final expedition.”

I started at the sound of his deep voice, feeling it physically . . . as tangible as a rough- palmed slap on my skin.

The king clapped in delight and then accepted the necklace, measuring its weight. “Oh! Heavier than it looks.” He carried it to his wife, and she admired it, caressing what I could now see were rubies and tourmaline with a loving hand. My sisters leaned in, admiring it, as well.

“So kind of you, Lord Dryhten. We are most grateful to you and all your compatriots. It is we who should be bestowing gifts.” The queen’s smile was so lovely, it felt like a gift itself. “We must make certain you are well rewarded for all you do for the good of the realm.”

The king murmured in agreement with his wife, nodding. “Yes, we have been thinking carefully on how we can properly show you our gratitude.”

“I can think of one way, Your Majesty.” Despite his use of the honor-ific, his deep voice exuded a decided lack of deference.

Murmurs swelled through the hall at his boldness. Did he already think to make a demand mere moments after his arrival?

“Well, speak then, my good man.” The king nodded in encourage-ment. “What is it?”

A pause followed. A hush fell over the hall as everyone waited for his answer. “I shall have one of your daughters to wife.”

The hall fell silent. No one breathed.

The pull in my chest deepened into a pulsing, persistent throb. The Beast did not move or speak again. He did not need to. His voice reverberated through the Great Hall, those words permanently carved into the air.

I shall have one of your daughters to wife.

I swallowed back a choking sound. Ridiculous. The king would not give one of his daughters to this uncivilized brute of a man. The gall of him. The absolute temerity.

I respected the hierarchy of the society which I inhabited. It was everything I knew. Everything I had been taught. Order. A strike in the face of chaos. Everyone had their place— their position, title, rank, and role. The Beast dared to think he could break free from that.

The offensive man held the gaze of the king for one long, inter-minable moment. If it were a test of wills, the king broke first. Rather ignominious for a monarch. And yet look away he did, seeking the regent. Stig’s father counseled the king in all things.

Although this did not strike me as a matter that required counsel-ing. The king should reply emphatically and definitively with a hearty refusal.

Such resounding rejection never came.

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