Page 2 of A Rift in the House of Bruin

Unfortunately for Enda, her time in this incarnation was about to come to an end.

Closing the heavy door of the scriptorium behind me, I stopped to inform the guard of my decision. Enda’s death was to be quick and painless.

“Make sure she is buried in a place of honor. This meeting never happened.”

It was time to plan Herold’s assassination.

Black ink splattered on the enchanted parchment. The patter of droplets echoed like the ticking of a clock, impatient for words that wouldn’t come. A dark stain spread across the page while the quill remained motionless in my hand. I couldn’t construct a convincing letter if my life depended on it and there was a real chance it did. I’d been attempting to write to my sister for days, and the blank scroll mocked me.

My arrival in Aetherfall—the capital city carved into the mountains of Hiraeth—had been anything but normal. I should have been looking forward to the mundane task of writing to Gwen. Congratulating her on her recent nuptials. Basking in her happiness now that she’d reached her happily ever after. But instead, it was the one thing I wanted to avoid the most.

A smile tugged at the corner of my lips as a vision of her flashed in my memory. I could easily imagine the impatient scowl etched into her features at this very moment. But the smile faded quickly.

My sister had risked everything to make sure I made it this far. I wouldn’t let her put her life on the line for me again. Not when she had so much to lose. I had to make this work without her. A simple letter to reassure her I’d arrived safely—that was all I needed. Then she could live her life in blissful ignorance.

But as I sat alone in this godforsaken castle, in an extravagant bedroom clearly reserved for royalty—not an inconsequential human girl—words eluded me. I wanted to paint her a pretty picture. Confirm that we’d made the right choice sending me here. But the idea of lying to her made my skin crawl.

I couldn’t tell her that Artos, Lord of the House of Bruin and King of all Hiraeth, was dead. Or that the realm was in such upheaval, that even the princes seemed worried. I couldn’t tell her that the moment I arrived, something changed inside me—and it terrified me. No, that would only send her spiraling into unnecessary panic. I didn’t want her gallivanting around the cosmos trying to save me all over again. Silence was the better choice. At least, that was the excuse I clung to. Deep down, I knew it was just another lie.

A sudden pop and crack of tinder in the enormous fireplace had me nearly jumping out of my skin.

“What have you gotten yourself into, Mic?” I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose and rolling my shoulders to ease the tension that had been building all day. But it did nothing to dispel the lingering nausea roiling in my gut. The hiss of the fire reminded me of whispered voices—bits and pieces of spoken word on the edge of comprehension.

Even alone, the castle seemed to watch me.

Either I was losing my mind or the universe was trying its damnedest to warn me of something. I couldn’t shake the sickening feeling. The homespun shawl wrapped tight around my shoulders failed to ward off the shiver creeping up my spine.

For days I’d been brushing it off as nerves. But my anxiety was taking on a life of its own. A darkness settled in the pit of my stomach and refused to be quelled. And the fact that I didn’t belong here wasn’t helping.

I’d realized it the moment I followed six beast princes through what looked like an ordinary mirror and ended up at Mathenholm Castle—the seat of power in Hiraeth. A realm I hadn’t known existed six months ago.

I’d become a real-life Alice in Wonderland, falling through the looking glass. And just like Alice, I found Hiraeth wasn’t the Wonderland I’d been hoping for. Now, in my twenty-one years of existence, I knew three things to be true: fairytales were real, Neverland existed, and magic wove everything together.

From the moment I’d left the comforts of London and realized the universe was much larger than I’d imagined, the life I thought I knew had gone all topsy-turvy. I was only along for the ride.

The unannounced return of the princes had set off a firestorm across the entire kingdom. News that they’d returned with a human on their arm only fanned the flames.Whispers drifted through the stone halls like smoke, curling with words I wasn’t meant to hear. In the tangle of gossip and speculation, one name kept surfacing: Johan, steward of the throne of Hiraeth. I hadn’t seen his face, but I didn’t need to. The message was clear—he was furious they’d brought me here.

What unsettled me most was how carefully the princes kept him away from me. Not a single introduction. Not a passing encounter. Just silence, and closed doors. I didn’t know if he was trying to shield me from Johan’s wrath, or hide me from hisjudgment. Maybe he regretted bringing me at all. The thought sank its teeth into my chest and refused to let go. I dropped the quill onto the gilded vanity. My inability to focus only worsened as I stared at the empty page.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror. The girl looking back wasn’t someone I was used to seeing. My face had filled out with a healthy blush, and thick, chocolate hair hung in tangles over my shoulder. It had been so long since I’d seen myself with a full head of hair and rose-colored cheeks that this new reflection still shocked me.

If I looked closely, I could barely make out the familiar dark circles returning under my eyes. My cheekbones were a bit too pronounced. Subtle to the unfamiliar eye, but the mask of death hadn’t left me completely—it was just harder to see now.

If I wanted to keep up this pretense, I would need a healer soon. That was the whole reason the princes had lured me here.

A sudden creak and groan from the bedroom door snapped me out of my thoughts. I jumped to my feet, rushing to the bed and hastily tucked the unfinished letter beneath a pillow, knocking over the ink well in the process. There was nothing on the parchment save for a few ink splatters, but I didn’t know who I could trust here. My half of the paired scrolls—the Loquentes Cartis—was the only thing of value I owned. And their innate magic seemed like a tempting prize for anyone looking for an opportunity. It was my lifeline back to Gwen in Neverland. I couldn’t afford to lose it.

“Fuck! Shit!” I muttered under my breath, righting myself and stepping in front of the spilled ink. I tucked my hair behind my ear and flattened my woolen dress, trying to appear inconspicuous.

A petite, redheaded girl bustled into the room with an armful of crimson silks, stopping in her tracks when she saw me.

“Is everything... alright, My Lady?” she asked, a flash of intrigue in her grey eyes.

“Yep... umm... yes. Perfect. As you can see, I’m perfectly perfect. Thank you.”

“Are yousure?” she asked, and I knew I wasn’t fooling anyone.

“Yep. Nothing to worry about here.”

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