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Two decades earlier, the realms of the Four Courts waged war against the covens of witches. Neither side would yield, though both were bleeding themselves dry in a war that spanned five brutal years. The Courts relied on their noble bloodlines, the witches on their wild and ancient spells. Each skirmish ended in ash, with neither enemy capable of breaking the other. Then a sorcerer from the Courts revealed a weapon: an octagonal crystal forged from eight different stones, each carved from the essence of a court. On the battlefield, before witches or nobles could comprehend what was happening, the crystal ignited. A blinding eruption of light burst forth, eight rays fusing into one unbearable brilliance. It was not merely sight that was torn away in that flash — but power, essence, and soul. Both Courts and witches alike fell, drained of the magic that had defined them. When the light faded, the battlefield lay silent under a sky of glittering dust. The enchantments were gone. The witches’ spellcraft, the courts’ line-born sorcery — extinguished forever. Neither side had won. Both had lost. And magic never returned.
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Bewitched CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The ball had always been an obligation.He knew it even before the torches of Cromwell’s palace burned into sight, before the heralds announced the Four Courts assembled, before his father’s hard stare pressed against his skull like a weight he had long grown accustomed to carrying. The Winter Court had no place for excess or spectacle; their halls were narrow and plain, their feasts measured in silence, their festivals solemn meditations beneath a sky of unbroken darkness. For them, beauty was not a thing to be flaunted but endured—the glimmer of frost upon stone, the sound of snow cracking beneath boots, the stillness of a frozen lake.But here, in Cromwell, everything gleamed. Candles spilled their light across honey-gold walls, ribbons shimmered from the rafters, and servants scurried like well-trained doves with their trays of wine. It was unbearable in its brightness. To August’s eyes, it seemed almost mocking.His father, however, reveled in it. The King of Winter smiled when h
Huling Na-update : 2025-08-31Bewitched CHAPTER FIFTEEN
There had been a time when hopelessness wrapped itself around me so tightly I thought I might suffocate. It was not here in this prison, not even when the wardens’ hands bruised my arms and their chains carved into my skin, but long before. It was when my father—my father who once told me stories of my mother as if they were sacred relics—stood before the court and placed Tremaine at his side. I remembered that moment as clearly as though it had just passed. The chamber had been filled with whispers, the kind of silken murmurs that rise from curiosity and hunger, and in the middle of it all, I stood still as stone, watching my father vow himself to another woman while my mother’s memory still lingered like incense. I had opposed it. I had spoken, argued, pleaded. But my voice was as dust against stone walls. And when my father’s gaze slid past me, when it favored Tremaine’s jeweled smile instead of his daughter’s trembling hands, I knew something within him had changed forever. His lo
Huling Na-update : 2021-12-07Bewitched CHAPTER FOURTEEN
The chains bit into me like fangs. Every movement pulled against the stiff iron circling my wrists and ankles, sending jolts of spasms through my limbs until the pain forced air out of me in ragged bursts. A sound, half-snarl and half-sob, escaped from my throat. The cell was more nest than prison, an ancient stone cavern draped in webs of rust and rot, as though spiders had claimed dominion here long before wardens ever had. The floor was matted with hay, its sharp ends poking into my skin wherever I shifted. The itch it raised was unbearable, but the shackles ensured I could not scratch. I forced myself to look outward, peering through the narrow cracks in the iron bars. A faint glow shimmered at the far end of what seemed like a tunnel, too dim to promise freedom, but enough to suggest a direction. Beyond it, who knew? Another chamber, another trick of stone. For all I knew, this was not a castle at all. I had awakened here without memory of the passage—dragged, bound, half-conscio
Huling Na-update : 2021-12-05Bewitched CHAPTER THIRTEEN
The night had been cruel to me. I had not truly slept, though I had tried. Perhaps I drifted once or twice into that shallow kind of rest that only mocks the body with its pretense of peace. Each time I closed my eyes, I saw it again—the warped reflection in the mirror, the grotesque thing that answered Tremaine in whispers. Each time I let my mind wander, I felt the beating of wings and the snap of talons from the dragon, as though it hovered still above the roof, waiting to tear us apart. No bed could protect me from that kind of remembering, and certainly not the splintered chair I had chosen to sit upon until dawn. When the first line of sun broke the forest’s edge, the air shifted. A light breeze brushed through the half-rotted shutters of the old house, and I stepped outside to meet it, hoping it might clear my thoughts. For a moment, the world seemed merciful: the leaves whispered against each other as though exchanging confidences, birds scattered notes into the still air, and
Huling Na-update : 2021-12-03Bewitched CHAPTER THREE
My parents had warned me, always, about witches and warlocks. They told me their kind was dangerous, not only because of their powers but because of their nature. Manipulators, deceivers, creatures who sought control over everything the Four Courts had once held. As a child, those words had lodged i
Bewitched CHAPTER TWO
The path that leads to the attic has always felt different from the path to my own chambers. Cleaner somehow, though no servant ever admits to dusting the stairwell, and brighter too, as if the windows here breathe in the air more freely than the rest of the castle. Perhaps it is only my mind that g
Bewitched CHAPTER ONE
The letter lay soft and worn in my hands, the folds delicate from the number of times I had opened and closed it. My father’s handwriting curved across the page with a weight I had never noticed until now, each stroke pressing deeper into me than it had the first time I read it. It was strange—when
Bewitched PROLOGUE
Once, she had been called a princess. The word had been spoken with formality, with a trace of duty in her father’s voice, but never with the warmth she had imagined belonged to it. The title had not been something she wore like a crown, but rather something placed upon her as one might set a veil o
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