Page 62 of Crown of Blood and Vengeance

The mansion itself was a masterpiece of antebellum architecture, its white columns rising three stories high, its wraparound veranda speaking of Southern aristocracy and old money. But there was something else, something otherworldly in the way shadows seemed to dance across its facade. The iron gates bore delicate patterns that, when I looked at closely, revealed strange symbols.

The gardens were a supernatural wonder that would indeed make Martha Stewart weep with envy—and possibly fear. Midnight roses bloomed impossibly large, their petals darker than any mortal bloom. Fairy rings of mushrooms dotted theperfectly manicured lawn, and night-blooming jasmine filled the air with an intoxicating scent that seemed to whisper secrets. Even the carefully trimmed hedges cast shadows that didn’t quite match their shapes, as if the border between the mortal world and the Unseelie realm was thinner here.

The harpies descended into the garden and I landed next to them. “Guards,” Keir said, “Take Angelo to a guest room.”

A guard met Keir on the steps. “My lord, Valentin’s gotten worse. I fear he won’t last much longer. He’s passing into shadow.”

He motioned to me. “Follow me. We don’t have much time.”

I followed him into the mansion, where ancient magic thrummed through the very walls like a living heartbeat. The grand foyer stretched upward to a crystal chandelier that sparkled with otherworldly light, casting rainbow prisms that danced across marble floors veined with silver. It was like stepping into a fairy tale palace—but not the sanitized Disney version. This was older, wilder magic, beautiful yet dangerous. Sweeping staircases curved up both sides of the entrance hall, their mahogany railings carved with intricate Celtic knots that seemed to shift when you weren’t looking directly at them. Archways led deeper into the mansion, each one crowned with delicate metalwork that whispered of the Unseelie court’s power and mystery.

He led me up the spiral staircase, our footsteps echoing against the ornate metalwork. The bedroom door swung open to reveal a sight that made my heart clench. Valentin lay stretched across the king-sized bed, his dark hair a stark contrast against the white pillows, plastered to his fever-flushed skin in damp tendrils. The covers had been kicked halfway to the floor, evidence of his restless suffering. His chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven breaths, each one a battle against whatever darkness coursed through him.

Looking at him now, memories of St. Christopher’s Church flooded back—Valentin sprawled across the altar, pale as death while Balthazar drained his blood with ritual precision. The echo of that horror lingered in the room like a shadow.

“He’s under a dark spell,” Keir said, his ancient voice heavy with frustration and concern. His fingers traced unseen patterns in the air, testing the magic that held Valentin. “None of my magic has worked, and I’ve tried every curse-breaking spell in both the Seelie and Unseelie courts.” He turned to me, his otherworldly eyes reflecting centuries of knowledge and current helplessness. “You’re his only hope.”

I wasn’t sure I could heal him; doubt gnawed at my confidence like a hungry beast. Everyone else had been hurt with weapons—cursed ones, yes, but still physical things I could sense and fight against. This was different. This was dark magic, ancient and malevolent, something I had never tried to combat. I wished Poison was here, but I was on my own and Valentin’s life was in my hands.

As I approached his bed, a stench hit me that made my stomach roll—something foul and corrupted, like when a rat had died in our kitchen wall during a sweltering summer. But this was even worse, more potent, more supernatural. Like a hellhound had perished and its essence had been left to rot in the very air. The darkness was so thick I could almost taste it.

My wings flared out, spreading wide as if to shield Keir and I from the evil pervading the room. I drew on my power, familiar tingles sweeping over my skin like static electricity. When I reached out and touched his cold hand—so cold, like touching marble in winter—an immediate shock jolted through me, making my teeth rattle. A bitter taste flooded my mouth, acidic and burning, as if the darkness itself was trying to mark me, to claim me too. Each second of contact felt like holding onto living ice.

But I refused to let go. I drew on more and more of my power, pulling it from depths I didn’t know I had. Then I thought of Angelo, of the way his eyes crinkled when he smiled, of how safe I felt in his arms. The moment his image formed in my mind, Valentin’s hand jerked violently, as if whatever dark force possessed him recoiled from the purity of that love.

That was it—the key. I leaned into those feelings, projecting every precious memory onto Valentin. The first time Angelo held me. Our first kiss. The way he looked at me like I was his whole world. Each memory I shared seemed to cause Valentin physical pain—he moaned and thrashed, his face contorting—but I could feel the darkness weakening with each loving thought I pushed into him.

“Think of love, Valentin,” I urged. “Of Rose. Of the way she looks at you. Of how it feels when she says your name.” The words came out between gritted teeth as I fought against the darkness trying to maintain its hold.

“Valentin...” Rose’s voice croaked behind me, raw with desperation and love.

I glanced over my shoulder, hope flaring in my chest. I could feel the darkness writhing inside him, weakening but still fighting. “Rose, tell him of a memory, a memory of love.”

She frowned, confusion and fear warring across her features. “What?”

“Do it if you want to save his life.” My voice came out sharper than I intended.

She moved to the bed like a sleepwalker, perching on the edge as if afraid to disturb him. When she clasped his hand, her fingers trembling against his cold skin, tears spilled down her cheeks. “Valentin, I love you.” The words came out like a prayer. “Do you remember when my father beat me at Red Rose Academy?” Her voice quavered but grew stronger with each word. “He hurt me so bad... I didn’t think I was going to survive.”

I felt the darkness inside Valentin thrash and recoil. Each word of her story was like arrows of light piercing the evil magic. Of course—Balthazar didn’t understand love. He couldn’t comprehend its power or its ability to heal and protect. His dark spell was strong against magic but helpless against something so pure.

“I crawled out the window to escape and landed on the ground. You found me lying in the grass, broken and terrified. I heard footsteps and I thought it was him coming to finish what he started, but it was you.” A sob caught in her throat. “You promised he’d never hurt me again. You flapped out your beautiful wings and carried me to the infirmary. That was the first time I was in your arms, and I felt safe—truly safe—for the first time in my life.”

With each word of her memory, the darkness retreated further, like shadows fleeing from dawn. The bitter taste in my mouth began to fade, replaced by something sweeter, cleaner. Love—real, profound love—was breaking Balthazar’s spell in ways that no magic could.

Valentin’s eyes fluttered open, clouded with confusion. “Rose…is that you?”

Rose burst into tears, her shoulders shaking as she kissed his knuckles. “Valentin, I thought I lost you.”

I slowly released him, feeling the last traces of darkness dissipating like morning mist. The bitter taste in my mouth was replaced by exhaustion and all I wanted to do was fall asleep next to Angelo, hear his warm breath on my neck.

He glanced at me with confusion, his brows furrowing. “Who are you?”

“I’m Serenity.”

“She saved your life, Valentin.” Rose’s voice cracked.

I rubbed Rose’s back, feeling her tremble beneath my touch. “No, it wasn’t me. It was love, your love, that healed him. The spell is broken.”

---