A 32k-word dark fae novella reveals the tragic origin myth that sets the stage for the upcoming trilogy, The Heirs of The Shattered Veil.

A forbidden bond between enemies that balanced on a knife's edge between saving the world and shattering it. One choice would reveal their true nature. Were they fated lovers, or fated enemies whose only destiny was to be each other's ruin?

Fans are raving about its "wicked banter, deliciously morally gray characters," and "devastatingly hot" level 4 spice with the "touch her and die" and "enemies-to-lovers" tropes done RIGHT.

But that's not all you're getting.

The Keeper's Codex (4.6 stars on Goodreads & 312 pages total) includes the complete novella PLUS illustrated lore that immerses you in the world of The Heirs of The Shattered Veil—told through rebel dossiers, bestiaries, pirate drinking songs, and sarcastic survival guides that readers call "a stunning world I could live in forever" with "absolutely stunning illustrations."

This isn't a dry world guide. It's forbidden secrets, emergency protocols, and the kind of lore praised for being "engaging, innovative, and downright gorgeous.”  

Get the inside knowledge before the trilogy launches and experience the art, the lore, and the romance that readers say "dug their way into my heart with no way out."

“I won't make it out of this series unscarred—and I wouldn't want it any other way.” — Goodreads Reviewer

 

I watched her work the room with that particular Light-born cruelty—every smile a treaty, every laugh a small assassination of someone's defenses. The Light Princess held court near the ice sculptures, surrounded by sycophants who hung on her every murmur. She wore white, the color of surrender—not because she was yielding, but because she expected everyone else to. I wondered how many Shadow children she'd already marked for death in that pretty little head of hers. "Stop staring before someone notices," Dex muttered beside me, my second-in-command tugged at his stiff Shadow delegation robes. "I'm studying the target." "You're studying her ass." He quipped. "It's a very strategic ass." I accepted wine from a passing servant, never taking my eyes off Lyra. The wine had that metallic aftertaste that was becoming common now—Veil-sickness tainting even the finest vintages. "She's placed herself perfectly—back to the wall, clear sightlines to every exit, and notice how she keeps touching that decorative pin? It's a concealed blade." "So she's paranoid." Even as she laughed at some ambassador's joke, her fingers traced the rim of her glass, she sniffed delicately—checking for residue, poison, anything off. The gesture was so subtle her admirers probably thought it was flirtation. "She's the key to their genocide ritual. I'd be paranoid too." Another smile, another subtle shift to keep the ice sculpture between her and the Shadow delegation's table. Smart girl. "Beautiful targets are still targets, Dex. Being pretty won't make her any less dead by morning." They feast and pretend while reality tears itself apart. Seven major Veil rifts this season alone. And they still think killing us will somehow stop the veil from thinning. Lyra laughed at something a Light Baron said—the sound bright and false as fool's gold. But then her eyes swept the room and found mine. Just for a heartbeat. The laugh died on her lips. "Shit," Dex whispered. "She knows exactly who you are." "Of course she does. I killed three of her cousins." I set down my wine. "Time to introduce myself." "That's not the plan. You're supposed to observe tonight, strike tomorrow—" "She's isolated herself from her guards, she's three drinks in, and she's underestimating me." I straightened my collar. "When your target gift-wraps themselves, you don't wait for a better bow." I took my time crossing to her, letting her feel me coming—each step a promise, a threat, a question. The Light fae between us parted like they'd been choreographed. I watched her track my approach in the reflection of the ice sculpture. She adjusted her stance, subtle as breathing. Her fingers found that pin again. She turned before I reached her, champagne glass catching the light like a weapon. "Prince Malakor." Her smile held the particular pleasure of a hunter finding exactly what they'd hoped for in their trap. "I was just telling Lord Brennan about the northern trade routes. You must have opinions about those." "Endless opinions." I took a glass from a passing tray and matched her casual stance. "Though I find the southern passages more interesting lately. So much more... traffic." Her eyes flickered and her lips curved. She knew I meant troop movements. "The south can be treacherous this time of year." She sipped her champagne. "All those sudden storms. Ships lost without a trace." Threat laced every word. "Only the ones that don't know how to navigate." I smiled. "Or the ones that trust the wrong lighthouses." Lord Brennan, oblivious, laughed nervously. "Well, I'll leave you two to discuss... navigation." He scurried away. "Your shadow's showing," she hissed. "Your light's blinding." I stepped closer, like we were sharing gossip. I could hear her heartbeat pick up and her body temperature rise. I dropped my voice dangerously low to force her to strain to hear me, "Tell me, Princess, do you dance?" "Depends who's asking." Her eyes darted to mine. "The Shadow Prince or the assassin?" "Tonight?" I let my eyes travel down her vulnerable body, the white material straining to hold in her curves, then back up. "Both." She swallowed but fought to regain composure. "And what kind of music is playing." "And what kind of music does the Light Princess prefer?" I crooned. "Something where I can count the beats." Her chin lifted. "I like to know exactly when it ends." "And I prefer the ones that keep you guessing." I offered my hand. "Shall we test whose rhythm wins?" She took my hand, her grip testing my strength and met my eyes. Her fire rekindled. "I should warn you—I never let anyone else lead." "Perfect." I pulled her closer. "Neither do I." The orchestra struck up a waltz—something sharp and minor key. Perfect. "Careful," she murmured as we took position, her hand on my shoulder. "People are watching." "Let them." I spun her, controlled but testing her balance. When our palms connected, fully flush, a jolt of wild magic sparked between us. The kind of discharge that only happened near major Veil wounds. Her eyes widened slightly. She'd felt it too. "Unless you're worried about your reputation, princess?" "My reputation is spotless." She matched my movements perfectly, predator-smooth. "Can you say the same, Prince Malakor?" "I wouldn't want to." Another spin, tighter this time. "Spotless things are so easily... stained." I gripped her waist tighter, just to hear her breathe hitch. "Is that a threat?" She snapped. "An observation. White shows everything—wine, wrinkles, blood." She glared at me and I grinned. She was marvelous to play with, so responsive. The music reached a crescendo. I dipped her, deep enough that she had to trust me not to drop her. Her weight in my hands, her throat exposed, completely at my mercy. I whispered, "It's not a threat." My lips skimmed on her extended neck. "I'm the threat, princess." Her breath caught and I pulled her up. She opened her mouth to reply but I led her out in a spin, before she could even register she was following. Then coiled her back in, her back against my chest for two beats. She turned to face me, her lips inches from mine, and her hand reaching down... until I realized she was grazing my hidden dagger with her fingertips. "Threats are just promises you're too scared to keep, Princeling." She unwound so we were just connected by one hand for a beat. And I pulled her back to my chest. Our magic hummed. "Your room or mine?" I rumbled and looked her dead in the eye. "Neither." She stepped back coldly as the music ended, and dropped into a perfect curtsy. "Some fires are better left... unlit." She turned to leave. I caught her wrist, gentle enough to seem polite, firm enough to make a point. "We're not done." "No," she agreed, not pulling away. "But we are for tonight." "The night's young." "And you're impatient." She twisted her wrist with a warrior's precision and broke my grip cleanly. "The best hunters know when to wait." "And the best prey knows when to run." She laughed, genuine this time. "And which one am I?" "I'll let you know when I decide." "Bold of you to assume you get to choose." She walked away, but called over her shoulder: "Oh, and Prince Malakor?" I smiled despite myself. "Yes, Princess Lyra?" "When I leave a room, it's not a retreat—it's a head start." A feline grin spread across her lips. "You think you're playing a game, but you're just my game piece. I make the rules. I move the pieces. I decide the outcome. You don't win or lose, Malakor. You just get to be played." She strolled out of the room, hips swaying.