Novels by Faryal Javed

Edric's hand rested on the arm of the chair, his fingers curled loosely over the worn wood. His eyes were fixed on Damian's face, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, the flicker of movement behind his closed lids."Do you know what he is dreaming about?" Rowan asked.Edric nodded. "Yes."Rowan's hand tightened on Damian's. "Ezekiel said he is seeing the past."Edric hummed. "He was shown what Arabella did in the cave. Along with Seraphine. The rituals. The blood. The sacrifices." His voice was quiet, steady. "Ezekiel wanted to stop him from looking for her. He wanted to make him believe she had abandoned him. And now—" He paused. "The curse is showing him what she went through herself. Her fear. Her pain. Her loneliness. In an attempt to change his view of her again."Rowan's jaw tightened. "To make him want her again."Edric nodded slowly. "Yes."Lucian had been standing by the window, his back to the room, his hands clasped behind him. Now he turned. His face was pale, his

The room was cold. The fire had burned low. Alessio rose from his chair, his hand reaching out, his face softening with something that looked like grief and understanding and the instinct to comfort.Lucian raised his hand.Alessio stopped."Don't." Lucian's voice was flat. "I don't need—" He stopped. Swallowed. "Ezekiel had a message. Before he—" He couldn't finish.Rowan's hand tightened on Damian's. "What message?"Lucian moved to the window. His back was straight. His hands were clasped behind him. His face was turned toward the dark."He said Edric Holt might be able to help. The old Holt. He said—" Lucian's voice faltered. "He said to tell him that maybe now will be different. That maybe now we can change everything for the better."Alessio was very still. "Edric?""He said the old Holt would understand." Lucian turned. His face was composed, his eyes dry, his voice steady. "I'll send word. Through Corvis. She can reach him faster than any rider."Alessio nodded slowly. "I'll go

There was a soft glow around Ezekiel. It made him look ethereal, almost unreal—a man made of light and shadow, caught between worlds. His hands were shaking now, his fingers pressed to Damian's temples, his eyes screwed shut, his lips moving in words no one could hear.He lost his balance.His body tipped forward, his weight shifting, his hands slipping. He would have fallen—would have collapsed onto Damian's chest—but a hand caught him. Tight. Firm. Held him in place.Lucian.Ezekiel did not glance at him. Did not acknowledge him. Did not pause.He continued.Sweat soaked through his robes, the thin fabric clinging to his body, hiding nothing. His breath was uneven, ragged, like he had been running for miles. His face was pale, his lips nearly blue, his hands trembling."No," he gasped. "I'm almost there. Almost done."Lucian's grip tightened. He did not pull Ezekiel away. He held him steady.The glow flickered. Dimmed. Brightened.Ezekiel's head lolled to the side. His eyes were ope

Rowan moved. His hands were shaking, his legs unsteady, his mind still caught in the cold of that place, in the white of that dress, in the sound that was not a sound. He pulled on his trousers, Damian's shirt, anything to cover himself, anything to be presentable. He did not care how he looked.The door opened. The corridor was empty. The guards were stationed further down, away from the king's chambers, giving them privacy, giving them space."HEALER!" Rowan's voice cracked. The guards turned. They stared. "Call a healer. Now. And Lucian. And Alessio."They did not move. They were young, both of them, new to the castle, new to the weight of guarding a king. They had not seen the walls shake. They had not heard the sound that was not a sound.

After dinner, Alessio and Lucian lingered.The fire had burned low. The servants had cleared the plates. Wine had been poured, then left untouched. Alessio was staring into the flames, his face soft in the fading light. Lucian was watching him, something unreadable in his expression.They did not speak. They did not need to.Across the hall, Damian rose. Rowan rose with him. They left together, their footsteps light, their shadows merging in the torchlight.The door closed behind them.The chamber was warm. The fire had been lit before they arrived, th

Alessio left, the door closing softly behind him.The study settled back into silence. The fire crackled. The shadows stretched. Rowan sat at the desk for a moment longer, his hand resting on the open page, his eyes tracing the last lines he had read. He was not ready to leave. He wanted to stay, to read, to let the hours slip away in the quiet of the room that had become his.But Lucian had said dinner was in an hour. And Damian would be there. And Alessio would be there, washed and changed and pretending he did not smell like a horse. And Lucian would be there, sharp and bright and terrible.Rowan smiled. He found a marker—a strip of leather, soft and worn, that he had found in the desk—and slid it between the pages. The book closed with a soft thump. The sound echoed in the