Lord of the Hunt

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Taryn gripped the shoulder strap of her bag tighter and inhaled her first breath of Annwyn air—well, the first she remembered.

The sky was crystalline blue and achingly perfect, the grass so green it almost hurt her eyes. Even the air was sweet and thrumming with a magic that swept over her skin and made her fingers tingle. It was every fairy tale made real. When humans longed for perfection, this is what they dreamed of.

The heart of Annwyn lay across the lush lawn ahead of her—a castle made from trees, turrets woven from branches, leaves like pennants dancing in a breeze that she could barely feel. This was her birthright. Her fairy heritage. Her true home. She was not going to cry from the beauty of it. Taryn sniffed and blinked.

But being born in Annwyn didn’t mean she belonged here. She knew next to nothing about the Court. Her mother’s crash course in etiquette and names and politics had made her dizzy.

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