Page 1 of A Sin So Pure

1

NORA

1 YEAR AGO

My mother said storms are omens of change.

There was one the night we discovered my magic and another the day my parents died; it seems fitting that one batters against the stained-glass windows tonight.

A strike of lightning flashes through the room, casting jagged shards of light along the oakwood four-poster bed that cradles Pride’s sleeping body.

I shift in my seat, hugging one leg up to my chest as the other dangles to the floor, boot scratching back and forth over the hardwood like a heartbeat.

Is it beating in time with his?And if I stopped, would his heart stop too?

Could it be that simple?

My eyes narrow as they glide over Pride’s thinning hair and the wrinkled lips that he licks whenever he knows something isn’t going his way. His tongue darts out between each of his labored breaths, coating the chapped skin with a thin film thatglistens before drying up again. A near-bloody crack rips down the center, so close to splitting open entirely.

I bite the inside of my cheek.

No,it’s never that simple.

It will be a slow death. My adoptive father is too stubborn.

A crack of the storm rattles the windows at my back.

All fae go through the Fading if they live long enough. And Pride has lived alongtime. Though, the gods only know he wouldn’t think three human lifetimes were enough.

I reach into the bedside table drawer, pulling a small bottle from its hiding spot. The amber liquid sloshes against the clear glass when I twirl the flask by its neck. It’s not unlike aged whiskey in color and scent, though its effects are vastly different.

Seelie tonics stave off the more obvious symptoms of the Fading—keeping a fae’s mind sharp and steadying their stride until the end of their days. For the most part, Pride’s gotten away with hiding his decline. But the Unseelie ranks can scent weakness like a bloodhound can a hunter’s prey.

Pride hasn’t left his bed for a week. For the past twenty-four hours, he hasn’t woken from his slumber.

It won’t matter how much of this tonic he downs when he wakes; it’s obvious that his body is failing. And it won’t be long before his mind goes too.

It’s an inconvenience—of which I am left with two options.

I can let this illness run its course. Risk the stability of House Pride as we watch our leader fade and open the door for someone to question my place as his successor.

Or… I can end it now.

I should be more nervous, but when I search my gut for the throbbing ache of anxiety, I’m left with only calm in my belly. It may be coming about differently than I’d planned, but I’ve spent the last decade preparing for the moment when I’d take his place as Pride of the Unseelie.

I’ve waited patiently for this promise of power, yearned for the brand of freedom it offers.

My choice isn’t a hard one to make.

And I know it’s exactly what Pride would do if he was in my place. He’s the one who taught me to be ruthless, after all.

My eyes narrow on the bottle’s label, the cream parchment glued on the glass with chicken-scratch directions on it. No name, no company, just3tbs 3x dailyscrawled in black ink.

Funny how such a tiny bottle could hold such immense value to the members of this Court. Of course, the catch is that Seelie goods are illegal on this side of Faerie.

I pull myself from the comfort of the leather armchair and perch on the sliver of bed at Pride’s side. Sinking into the plush comforter, I keep one foot planted on the floor, grounding myself in place while I sit on the other.

Uncorking the bottle with apop, I take a whiff and wince at the pure alcoholic stench before pouring a few drops down Pride’s parched throat. It takes a second for the tonic’s magic to kick in—it’s not enough to get him up and walking, but enough that he soon sputters awake with a coughing fit.

---