In this timeless new trilogy about love and sacrifice, a princess must find her place in a reborn world.
About the Author
Mary E. Pearson is the author of seven novels for teens, including the popular Jenna Fox trilogy. She writes full-time from her home in Carlsbad, California, where she lives with her husband and two dogs.
Read an Excerpt
Today was the day a thousand dreams would die and a single dream would be born.
The wind knew. It was the first of June, but cold gusts bit at the hilltop citadelle as fiercely as deepest winter, shaking the windows with curses and winding through drafty halls with warning whispers. There was no escaping what was to come.
For good or bad, the hours were closing in. I closed my eyes against the thought, knowing that soon the day would cleave in two, forever creating the before and after of my life, and it would happen in one swift act that I could no more alter than the color of my eyes.
I pushed away from the window, fogged with my own breath, and left the endless hills of Morrighan to their own worries. It was time for me to meet my day.
The prescribed liturgies passed as they were ordained, the rituals and rites as each had been precisely laid out, all a testament to the greatness of Morrighan and the Remnant from which it was born. I didn’t protest. By this point, numbness had overtaken me, but then midday approached, and my heart galloped again as I faced the last of the steps that kept here from there.
I lay naked, facedown on a stone-hard table, my eyes focused on the floor beneath me while strangers scraped my back with dull knives. I remained perfectly still, even though I knew the knives brushing my skin were held with cautious hands. The bearers were well aware that their lives depended on their skill. Perfect stillness helped me hide the humiliation of my nakedness as strange hands touched me.
Pauline sat nearby watching, probably with worried eyes. I couldn’t see her, only the slate floor beneath me, my long dark hair tumbling down around my face in a swirling black tunnel that blocked the world out—except for the rhythmic rasp of the blades.
The last knife reached lower, scraping the tender hollow of my back just above my buttocks, and I fought the instinct to pull away, but I finally flinched. A collective gasp spread through the room.
“Be still!” my aunt Cloris admonished.
I felt my mother’s hand on my head, gently caressing my hair. “A few more lines, Arabella. That’s all.”
Even though this was offered as comfort, I bristled at the formal name my mother insisted on using, the hand-me-down name that had belonged to so many before me. I wished that at least on this last day in Morrighan, she’d cast formality aside and use the one I favored, the pet name my brothers used, shortening one of my many names to its last three letters. Lia. A simple name that felt truer to who I was.
The scraping ended. “It is finished,” the First Artisan declared. The other artisans murmured their agreement.
I heard the clatter of a tray being set on the table next to me and whiffed the overpowering scent of rose oil. Feet shuffled around to form a circle—my aunts, mother, Pauline, others who’d been summoned to witness the task—and mumbled prayers were sung. I watched the black robe of the priest brush past me, and his voice rose above the others as he drizzled the hot oil on my back. The artisans rubbed it in, their practiced fingers sealing in the countless traditions of the House of Morrighan, deepening the promises written upon my back, heralding the commitments of today and ensuring all their tomorrows.
They can hope, I thought bitterly as my mind jumped out of turn, trying to keep order to the tasks still before me, the ones written only on my heart and not a piece of paper. I barely heard the utterances of the priest, a droning chant that spoke to all of their needs and none of my own.
I was only seventeen. Wasn’t I entitled to my own dreams for the future?
“And for Arabella Celestine Idris Jezelia, First Daughter of the House of Morrighan, the fruits of her sacrifice and the blessings of…”
He prattled on and on, the endless required blessings and sacraments, his voice rising, filling the room, and then when I thought I could stand no more, his very words pinching off my airways, he stopped, and for a merciful sweet moment, silence rang in my ears. I breathed again, and then the final benediction was given.
“For the Kingdoms rose out of the ashes of men and are built on the bones of the lost, and thereunto we shall return if Heaven wills.” He lifted my chin with one hand, and with the thumb of his other hand, he smudged my forehead with ashes.
“So shall it be for this First Daughter of the House of Morrighan,” my mother finished, as was the tradition, and she wiped the ashes away with an oil-dipped cloth.
I closed my eyes and lowered my head. First Daughter. Both blessing and curse. And if the truth be known, a sham.
My mother laid her hand on me again, her palm resting on my shoulder. My skin stung at her touch. Her comfort came too late. The priest offered one last prayer in my mother’s native tongue, a prayer of safekeeping that, oddly, wasn’t tradition, and then she drew her hand away.
More oil was poured, and a low, haunting singsong of prayers echoed through the cold stone chamber, the rose scent heavy on the air and in my lungs. I breathed deeply. In spite of myself, I relished this part, the hot oils and warm hands kneading compliance into knots that had been growing inside me for weeks. The velvet warmth soothed the sting of acid from the lemon mixed with dye, and the flowery fragrance momentarily swept me away to a hidden summer garden where no one could find me. If only it were that easy.
Again, this step was declared finished, and the artisans stepped back from their handiwork. There was an audible gathering of breath as the final results on my back were viewed.
I heard someone shuffle closer. “I daresay he won’t be looking long upon her back with the rest of that view at his disposal.” A titter ran through the room. Aunt Bernette was never one to restrain her words, even with a priest in the room and protocol at stake. My father claimed I got my impulsive tongue from her, though today I’d been warned to control it.
Pauline took my arm and helped me to rise. “Your Highness,” she said as she handed me a soft sheet to wrap around myself, sparing what little dignity I had left. We exchanged a quick knowing glance, which bolstered me, and then she guided me to the full-length mirror, giving me a small silver hand mirror, that I might view the results too. I swept my long hair aside and let the sheet fall enough to expose my lower back.
The others waited in silence for my response. I resisted drawing in a breath. I wouldn’t give my mother that satisfaction, but I couldn’t deny that my wedding kavah was exquisite. It did indeed leave me in awe. The ugly crest of the Kingdom of Dalbreck had been made startlingly beautiful, the snarling lion tamed on my back, the intricate designs gracefully hemming in his claws, the swirling vines of Morrighan weaving in and out with nimble elegance, spilling in a V down my back until the last delicate tendrils clung and swirled in the gentle hollow of my lower spine. The lion was honored and yet cleverly subdued.
My throat tightened, and my eyes stung. It was a kavah I might have loved … might have been proud to wear. I swallowed and imagined the prince when the vows were complete and the wedding cloak lowered, gaping with awe. The lecherous toad. But I gave the artisans their due.
“It is perfection. I thank you, and I’ve no doubt the Kingdom of Dalbreck will from this day forward hold the artisans of Morrighan in highest esteem.” My mother smiled at my effort, knowing that these few words from me were hard-won.
And with that, everyone was ushered away, the remaining preparations to be shared only with my parents, and Pauline, who would assist me. My mother brought the white silk underdress from the wardrobe, a mere wisp of fabric so thin and fluid it melted across her arms. To me it was a useless formality, for it covered very little, being as transparent and helpful as the endless layers of tradition. The gown came next, the back plunging in the same V so as to frame the kavah honoring the prince’s kingdom and displaying his bride’s new allegiance.
My mother tightened the laces in the hidden structure of the dress, pulling it snug so the bodice appeared to effortlessly cling to my waist even without fabric stretching across my back. It was an engineering feat as remarkable as the great bridge of Golgata, maybe more so, and I wondered if the seamstresses had cast a bit of magic into the fabric and threads. It was better to think on these details than what the short hour would bring. My mother turned me ceremoniously to face the mirror.
Despite my resentment, I was hypnotized. It was truly the most beautiful gown I had ever seen. Stunningly elegant, the dense Quiassé lace of local lace makers was the only adornment around the dipping neckline. Simplicity. The lace flowed in a V down the bodice to mirror the cut of the back of the dress. I looked like someone else in it, someone older and wiser. Someone with a pure heart that held no secrets. Someone … not like me.
I walked away without comment and stared out the window, my mother’s soft sigh following on my heels. In the far distance, I saw the lone red spire of Golgata, its single crumbling ruin all that remained of the once massive bridge that spanned the vast inlet. Soon, it too would be gone, swallowed up like the rest of the great bridge. Even the mysterious engineering magic of the Ancients couldn’t defy the inevitable. Why should I try?
My stomach lurched, and I shifted my gaze closer to the bottom of the hill, where wagons lumbered on the road far below the citadelle, heading toward the town square, perhaps laden with fruit, or flowers, or kegs of wine from the Morrighan vineyards. Fine carriages pulled by matching ribboned steeds dotted the lane as well.
Maybe in one of those carriages, my oldest brother, Walther, and his young bride, Greta, sat with fingers entwined on their way to my wedding, scarcely able to break their gazes from each other. And maybe my other brothers were already at the square, flashing their smiles at young girls who drew their fancy. I remembered seeing Regan, dreamy-eyed and whispering to the coachman’s daughter just a few days ago in a dark hallway, and Bryn dallied with a new girl each week, unable to settle on just one. Three older brothers I adored, all free to fall in love and marry anyone they chose. The girls free to choose as well. Everyone free, including Pauline, who had a beau who would return to her at month’s end.
“How did you do it, Mother?” I asked, still staring at the passing carriages below. “How did you travel all the way from Gastineux to marry a toad you didn’t love?”
“Your father is not a toad,” my mother said sternly.
I whirled to face her. “A king maybe, but a toad nonetheless. Do you mean to tell me that when you married a stranger twice your age, you didn’t think him a toad?”
My mother’s gray eyes rested calmly on me. “No, I did not. It was my destiny and my duty.”
A weary sigh broke from my chest. “Because you were a First Daughter.”
The subject of First Daughter was one my mother always cleverly steered away from. Today, with only the two of us present and no other distractions, she couldn’t turn away. I watched her stiffen, her chin rising in good royal form. “It’s an honor, Arabella.”
“But I don’t have the gift of First Daughter. I’m not a Siarrah. Dalbreck will soon discover I’m not the asset they suppose me to be. This wedding is a sham.”
“The gift may come in time,” she answered weakly.
I didn’t argue this point. It was known that most First Daughters came into their gift by womanhood, and I had been a woman for four years now. I’d shown no signs of any gift. My mother clung to false hopes. I turned away, looking out the window again.
“Even if it doesn’t come,” my mother continued, “the wedding is no sham. This union is about far more than just one asset. The honor and privilege of a First Daughter in a royal bloodline is a gift in itself. It carries history and tradition with it. That’s all that matters.”
“Why First Daughter? Can you be sure the gift isn’t passed to a son? Or a Second Daughter?”
“It’s happened, but … not to be expected. And not tradition.”
And is it tradition to lose your gift too? Those unsaid words hung razor sharp between us, but even I couldn’t wound my mother with them. My father hadn’t consulted with her on matters of state since early in their marriage, but I had heard the stories of before, when her gift was strong and what she said mattered. That is, if any of it was even true. I wasn’t sure anymore.
I had little patience for such gibberish. I liked my words and reasoning simple and straightforward. And I was so tired of hearing about tradition that I was certain if the word were spoken aloud one more time, my head would explode. My mother was from another time.
I heard her approach and felt her warm arms circle about me. My throat swelled. “My precious daughter,” she whispered against my ear, “whether the gift comes or doesn’t come is of little matter. Don’t worry yourself so. It’s your wedding day.”
To a toad. I had caught a glimpse of the King of Dalbreck when he came to draw up the agreement—as if I were a horse given in trade to his son. The king was as decrepit and crooked as an old crone’s arthritic toe—old enough to be my own father’s father. Hunched and slow, he needed assistance up the steps to the Grand Hall. Even if the prince was a fraction of his age, he’d still be a withered, toothless fop. The thought of him touching me, much less—
I shivered at the thought of bony old hands caressing my cheek or shriveled sour lips meeting mine. I kept my gaze fixed out the window, but saw nothing beyond the glass. “Why could I not have at least inspected him first?”
My mother’s arms dropped from around me. “Inspect a prince? Our relationship with Dalbreck is already tenuous at best. You’d have us insult their kingdom with such a request when Morrighan is hoping to create a crucial alliance?”
“I’m not a soldier in Father’s army.”
My mother drew closer, brushing my cheek, and whispered, “Yes, my dear. You are.”
A chill danced down my spine.
She gave me a last squeeze and stepped back. “It’s time. I’ll go retrieve the wedding cloak from the vault,” she said, and left.
I crossed the room to my wardrobe and flung open the doors, sliding out the bottom drawer and lifting a green velvet pouch that held a slim jeweled dagger. It had been a gift on my sixteenth birthday from my brothers, a gift I was never allowed to use—at least openly—but the back of my dressing chamber door bore the gouged marks of my secret practice. I snatched a few more belongings, wrapping them in a chemise, and tied it all with ribbon to secure it.
Pauline returned from dressing herself, and I handed her the small bundle.
“I’ll take care of it,” she said, a jumble of nerves at the last-minute preparations. She left the chamber just as my mother returned with the cloak.
“Take care of what?” my mother asked.
“I gave her a few more things I want to take with me.”
“The belongings you need were sent off in trunks yesterday,” she said as she crossed the room toward my bed.
“There were a few we forgot.”
She shook her head, reminding me there was precious little room in the carriage and that the journey to Dalbreck was a long one.
“I’ll manage,” I answered.
She carefully laid the cloak across my bed. It had been steamed and hung in the vault so no fold or wrinkle would tarnish its beauty. I ran my hand along the short velvet nap. The blue was as dark as midnight, and the rubies, tourmalines, and sapphires circling the edges were its stars. The jewels would prove useful. It was tradition that the cloak should be placed on the bride’s shoulders by both her parents, and yet my mother had returned alone.
“Where is—” I started to ask, but then I heard an army of footsteps echoing in the hallway. My heart sank lower than it already was. He wasn’t coming alone, even for this. My father entered the chamber flanked by the Lord Viceregent on one side, the Chancellor and the Royal Scholar on the other, and various minions of his cabinet parading on their heels. I knew the Viceregent was only doing his job—he had pulled me aside shortly after the documents were signed and told me that he alone had argued against the marriage—but he was ultimately a rigid man of duty like the rest of them. I especially disliked the Scholar and Chancellor, as they were well aware, but I felt little guilt about it, since I knew the feeling was mutual. My skin crawled whenever I neared them, as though I had just walked through a field of blood-sucking vermin. They, more than anyone, were probably glad to be rid of me.
My father approached, kissed both of my cheeks, and stepped back to look at me, finally breathing a hearty sigh. “As beautiful as your mother on our wedding day.”
I wondered if the unusual display of emotion was for the benefit of those who looked on. I rarely saw a moment of affection pass between my mother and father, but then in a brief second I watched his eyes shift from me to her and linger there. My mother stared back at him, and I wondered what passed between them. Love? Or regret at love lost and what might have been? The uncertainty alone filled a strange hollow within me, and a hundred questions sprang to my lips, but with the Chancellor and Scholar and the impatient entourage looking on, I was reluctant to ask any of them. Maybe that was my father’s intent.
The Timekeeper, a pudgy man with bulging eyes, pulled out his ever-present pocket watch. He and the others ushered my father around as if they were the ones who ruled the kingdom instead of the other way around. “We’re pressed for time, Your Majesty,” he reminded my father.
The Viceregent gave me a sympathetic glance but nodded agreement. “We don’t want to keep the royal family of Dalbreck waiting on this momentous occasion. As you well know, Your Majesty, it wouldn’t be well received.”
The spell and gaze were broken. My mother and father lifted the cloak and set it about my shoulders, securing the clasp at my neck, and then my father alone raised the hood over my head and again kissed each cheek, but this time with much more reserve, only fulfilling protocol. “You serve the Kingdom of Morrighan well on this day, Arabella.”
He hated the name Jezelia because it had no precedent in the royal lineage, no precedent anywhere, he had argued, but my mother had insisted upon it without explanation. On this point she had remained unyielding. It was probably the last time my father conceded anything to her wishes. I never would have known as much if not for Aunt Bernette, and even she treaded carefully around the subject, still a prickly thorn between my parents.
I searched his face. The fleeting tenderness of just a moment past was gone, his thoughts already moving on to matters of state, but I held his gaze, hoping for more. There was nothing. I lifted my chin, standing taller. “Yes, I do serve the kingdom well, as I should, Your Majesty. I am, after all, a soldier in your army.”
He frowned and looked quizzically to my mother. Her head shook softly, silently dismissing the matter. My father, always the king first and father second, was satisfied with ignoring my remark, because as always, other matters did press. He turned and walked away with his entourage, saying he’d meet me at the abbey, his duty to me now fulfilled. Duty. That was a word I hated as much as tradition.
“Are you ready?” my mother asked when the others had left the room.
I nodded. “But I have to attend to a personal need before we leave. I’ll meet you in the lower hall.”
“Please, Mother—” My voice broke for the first time. “I just need a few minutes.”
My mother relented, and I listened to the lonely echo of her footsteps as she retreated down the hallway.
“Pauline?” I whispered, swiping at my cheeks.
Pauline entered my room through the dressing chamber. We stared at each other, no words necessary, clearly understanding what lay ahead of us, every detail of the day already wrestled with during a long, sleepless night.
“There’s still time to change your mind. Are you sure?” Pauline asked, giving me a last chance to back out.
Sure? My chest squeezed with pain, a pain so deep and real I wondered if hearts really were capable of breaking. Or was it fear that pierced me? I pressed my hand hard against my chest, trying to soothe the stab I felt there. Maybe this was the point of cleaving. “There’s no turning back. The choice was made for me,” I answered. “From this moment on, this is the destiny that I’ll have to live with, for better or worse.”
“I pray the better, my friend,” Pauline said, nodding her understanding. And with that, we hurried down the empty arched hallway toward the back of the citadelle and then down the dark servants’ stairway. We passed no one—everyone was either busy with preparations down at the abbey or waiting at the front of the citadelle for the royal procession to the square.
We emerged through a small wooden door with thick black hinges into blinding sunlight, the wind whipping at our dresses and throwing back my hood. I spotted the back fortress gate only used for hunts and discreet departures, already open as ordered. Pauline led me across a muddy paddock to the shady hidden wall of the carriage house where a wide-eyed stable boy waited with two saddled horses. His eyes grew impossibly wider as I approached. “Your Highness, you’re to take a carriage already prepared for you,” he said, choking on his words as they tumbled out. “It’s waiting by the steps at the front of the citadelle. If you—”
“The plans have changed,” I said firmly, and I gathered my gown up in great bunches so I could get a foothold in the stirrup. The straw-haired boy’s mouth fell open as he looked at my once pristine gown, the hem already sloshed with mud, now smearing my sleeves and lace bodice and, worse, the Morrighan jeweled wedding cloak. “But—”
“Hurry! A hand up!” I snapped, taking the reins from him.
He obeyed, helping Pauline in similar fashion.
“What shall I tell—”
I didn’t hear what else he said, the galloping hooves stampeding out all arguments past and present. With Pauline at my side, in one swift act that could never be undone, an act that ended a thousand dreams but gave birth to one, I bolted for the cover of the forest and never looked back.
Copyright © 2014 by Mary E. Pearson
Most Helpful Customer Reviews
I was so confused as to who the prince and the assassin were. When it said Rafe and Kaden i was switching back and forth multiple times as to who i thought they were; it was confusing because the author switched back and forth by calling them assassin and prince or Kaden and Rafe. The details meant "help" distinguish them got switched around a lot. At times throughout the book i thought Rafe was the prince then the assassin in others parts and vice versa for Kaden. Other than that, i found the book entertaining and fun thanks to a strong thick headed woman. A refreshing twist from the usual meek, weak, fragile girl we're all used to.
I love this book completely. I so can't wait until the next! It had that Graceling feel to it. I could live in this world every day. It was one of those books that stays with you, and when you finish you want to just open back to the first page and start reading it all over again just so you can stay in it.
Once you start you cant stop
The confusion between Rafe and Kaden is meant to keep the reader guessing. I had to know if she was falling for the prince or the assassin. I knew both were in love with her. How could they not be. She is strong, smart, kind, and powerful! Great characters!
Fantastic Read I absolutely loved it! As for the confusing parts, I understood why the author decided to take that approach. It was certainly a pleasant surprise for me. Lia is a wonderful character. She is relatable and courageous. I loved how the story not only wove together nicely, but also showed how our characters matured. Very nicely done and I can't wait until the next book comes out this July. Happy Reading!
Definitely just joined the list of all time favorite books, has a bit of something for everyone. Im even gonna buy the hard copy if I can get my hands on it.
This book is perfect from front to back! I was 11 when I read this, and I still love it! It has and will always be one of my favorites! I loved how she set up the characters so you didn't know which was which and ugh! This book is just so amazingly well-written. I couldn't put it down and I never wanted a book to last forever so badly!
I dont know who to ship! I like both of the guys and hate both of them too and now i seriously just want to finish this series and write a teensy weensy lotta bit faster cause the SUSPENS is KILLING ME. I love that the prince's name is Jaxon and Kaden ha a cute name too. AGHH I FIND BOTH WORTHY OF FAGIRL ATTRACTION AND YET BOTH DESERVING A BIT OF FANGIRL CONTRADICTIVE HATE?
May E. Pearson did a brilliant job of hiding & then revealing who was whom in this book. The reader is certain, at first, that Rafe is the Assassin, & the Prince is Kaden. I was confused when the reveal was made, but delighted when I discovered that as in real life, one can easily make assumptions on the "look" & "demeanor" of people. It caused me to sit back, consider & then connect the details of each description of the two main male characters inabling me to see how it actually made since that they were reversed. Bravo, Ms. Pearson! I am anxiously awaiting the sequel!!
Love the character of Lia. Also like the twist of who is who, definitely got me. The book is so good it makes you want to immediately reread it! Can't wait for the next book in the series!
Action throughout the book and I loved that you were kept guessing on what was coming next. Easy read
The multiple perspectives kept the reader guessing who was the assassin and who was the prince. Once they are finally revealed the reader can reread the book in a whole new light. I was completely thrown off! From the secret meetings and stolen moments of affection, each character is completely developed and when all is about to be revealed the reader is still caught off guard. Best book I've read in a while!
The book is extremely good, some of the other comments are spoiler alerts so be careful. The identities of some of the characters are supposed to be unknown to the reader until the end. Otherwise the book is indeed a love triangle but a very good one and the way the book was set up allows never a dull moment! Its a must-read!
This book was magnificent. I loved Lia, and I loved how she found a strong group of women to support her. I enjoyed both guys, and before we learned who was who, I definitely thought I knew who was the prince and who was the assassin! I didn't expect any of the twists, which made reading The Kiss of Deception all the more enjoyable. The worldbuilding is great. I still can't decide if this is fantasy or post-apocalyptic, although I think I'd prefer fantasy. In all of my reviews, I note inappropriate concept, and I'll do that here as well. The only thing that bothered me was some of the sexual content and references. I'm dying to get my hands on the sequel, and every day I had to wait to read The Kiss of Deception was worth it. This is definitely one of the best titles of 2014. It's a must-read for all lovers of YA fantasy.
Great story! Loved the twists as I thought I had the guys straight but didn't. Love Lia, can't wait to read more about this girl's life.
I've never really been interested in books that includes kingdoms and royalty but this was a good book. Although it got confusing as to who the prince and the assassin were, I still liked the mystery as to who the princess was falling in love with. This is a really good book that I deeply recommend.
Failing to have the gift of sight traditionally held by First Daughters, Lia is to be married to a prince from a nearby kingdom to forge an alliance. As she prepares the morning of her wedding, she waits until the one moment she can, and runs. Taking her best friend Pauline with her and they race to the coast to the town of Terravin. Chapter 3 intr oduces you to the Prince and Chapter 4 to the Assassin. What's intriguing is that when she meets them for the first time in the tavern, the author describes and names them but doesn't link who they are to their names. It's fun watching Lia learn how to live the life of a commoner but she is by no means a meek character. She is determined to live her life her way, loyal to those she loves, and has great strength. This is a very well written story, with a few twists to keep you guessing, hints of romance and leaves you wanting the next book right now.
I broke one of my cardinal rules. I bought the first book in a series as a newly released book. I loved this book. I wish the second book was avaliable for pre-order, but sadly it is not even mentioned on the authors webpage. The book is a great read for any age.
Expertly dealt plot twist, interesting story if a bit convoluted
The way the author shapes her characters and weaves an interesting plot is exquisite! Highly recommend!
This was in my TBA for WAY too long and I'm really glad I finally picked it up. Lia is pursuing her BA (Bad Assery) degree. I'm glad that I have book 2 in hand. So, off I go....
Well written book. Amazing! Conveying the hardships that come with being a princess and being forced to marry. The author shows the different perspectives of how each situation affects the characters. I likes it very much, the book kept me on my toes always wanting for more; wanting to find out what would happen to each in the story of freedom, love, and betrayal.
Very good book. The only problem I had was getting confused with the two male characters and switching them. I read the book twice and enjoyed it both times.