The Pale Court — Book 4.
Tom Whitefeld has a mission that breaks his mistress’s own words. A throne sat before dawn. Three days taken out of both of them. Then the talk. Weeks away from the castle. Weeks away from the girls. Weeks away from the fox.
He is told to take the scarred princess. To walk, and not to drag. To be honest if a Queen asks. To prove what he is without a throat. To bite only what walks. If the door stays shut, he leaves... or he does not come back. If he does not come back, every yes he has spent snaps to the woman who sent him.
The raven says husband, and nothing else. A jar goes with them, packed for singers who have never tasted the north. Silk goes with them, rougher than theirs, valued because it is not theirs. Six mouths are kissed goodbye. An unmarked twin is given weeks, and no map. A fox waits in shadow so a sister will not add two and two.
Past the last human road the sun comes back. Warm. Unapologetic. A gate of living white wood. A castle grown into trees. A lake that goes down forever. A princess who thinks a western scar is more beautiful than perfection, and does not yet know his name.
The Pale Court — Book 4 is a dark erotic gothic fantasy of a sending that may not have a road home, hunger that keeps a pulse under high sun, and the dangerous difference between a smile and a door. For readers who want their power explicit, their intimacy asked for, and their monsters beautiful enough to make a welcome into a test.
The courtyard is already behind him. The fox is still first. And the mountains only look like a visit.
