Page 131 of A Lord of Snow and Greed

My stomach twisted. I needed to distract myself once more. I lifted the book again, my fingers caressing the worn edges, only to catch on where the binding gaped.

I sucked in a breath, my gaze catching on the gap. This was Brogan Lisika’s book and with everything that had been happening, I’d forgotten that I found one of Brogan's notes to Roar.

Perhaps some fae would have hesitated at reading the private note from brother to brother. I was not among them. Roar gave me the book. Roar betrayed me. I no longer held any responsibility or affection toward him.

At the very least, getting it out of where Brogan hid it so well would keep me occupied.

I worked the edge of the paper glued to the binding. As it was an older book and already partially gaped open when I tossed the book across the room in anger, that part was easy. Bit by bit, the paper lifted.

When enough of the paper separated from the binding for me to peek inside and find a small, folded note, I turned the book upside down and shook the note out. It dropped onto my lap. Folded up, the creases were white, the missive clean. Two decades old, Brogan's hiding spot kept it free of dirt.

Mindful of the note’s age, I opened it with careful fingers, and, despite everything that was weighing me down, I smiled.

Brogan had been around ten turns when he died, so this note was from a child, and it showed. The handwriting was trying so hard to be fluid and neat but missed the mark. I knew almost nothing of Roar’s brother, but by glancing at the page, I recognized a lord in training.

Setting the book on the side table, I gave the note my full attention.

Little brother,

I hope that when you finally find this, you’re feeling better because I want to visit the mines when I get back. Mother won’t let you go if you’re still ill, though, so do hurry and get well.

I’m already dreading the journey. Mother and Father and me in a sleigh for weeks! My ears will bleed with Father’s jokes.

Actually, now I wonder, did you get sick on purpose? Perhaps I should sneak into your room and join you.

I shook my head and held in a laugh. Yes, a youngling wrote this. One on the cusp of entering his preteens when fae, much like humans, became far more moody, dramatic, and unreasonable. At least that was what Yvette told me when I’d been around the same age.

As much as I am tempted, you know I won’t. Mother would be furious. Besides, healers have been sleeping at your bedside day and night. They’re as obsessed with you as they are with that baby. Did you know that Father says that I’m to marry a Balik female and you get the baby! Apparently, she is from an important family, but it does make me laugh. Imagine, you wedding a baby! Then again, you are quite short. I think that makes you a perfect match!

Too bad she has that hideous scar by her eye. Mother doesn’t think it will go away. She’s too young, she says.

House Balik has a mage in their castle. I’ll ask about baby scars when I’m there. You’ll owe me if I can save your baby wife from being scarred for life!

I sat up straighter, my hand drifting to the crescentscar over my right temple as what Emilia had said came rushing back. When I’d escaped from the castle as a babe, my parents wanted me to go west and sent my sister to the east.

Guldtown was about as far west as one could go in Winter’s Realm.

I bore a scar by my eye, and yes, I’d been born into an important family. Despite me being but two turns when the rebellion ended, the late Lord Lisika would have met the royal children. Had he recognized me? Or perhaps the maid tasked with protecting me had told them?

Emilia had said that my family tried to send me to a noble house that remained loyal to the crown. There, I’d have been safe. That couldn’t have been House Lisika. In the White Bear’s Rebellion, the house of the snow leopard fought beside Magnus Aaberg.

I swallowed. Those answers may never come, but another epiphany hit, washing them from my mind.

The day Frode threw me at Roar’s feet, he’d fixated on my eyes and my scar. He’d said that all fae acquired scars as they aged, and if we were worthy, they told a story.

My skin crawled. Did Roar recognize the scar? Had he put two and two together that I was the baby who had, somehow, ended up in his family’s castle? His father told Brogan that I was from an important house.

On the day we’d met, Roar had been quick to take me in, to want to help a bedraggled female. At the time, he’d given a good enough reason for me to see the value in partnering with me. Now I wondered how likely it was that he suspected who I was.

Roar had been very insistent in his pursuit of me. Had he known, or at least strongly suspected, that I was a missing princess?

At that, I paused.Missing . . .

I’d been told that the Falk line went extinct. Not that the princesses weremissing.

And yet, Prince Calder rotted in the dungeons . . .

A slow, horrible idea dawned on me. Had my family used decoys to trick the White Bear’s Rebellion into thinking they’d killed off me and my sister? My guts twisted.

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