Tales of loathsome kings and prophesied saviors aren't so appealing when you are a royal bastard of prophecy... Evonalé Yunan is supposed to somehow free her grandmother's enslaved people, but she's merely a child, and her father is the powerful fire mage who subjugates the realm. She has therefore fled home, her half-siblings, and the father who really should've been her uncle. Unfortunately, it's the middle of winter. Fortunately, following her mother's directions has put her in another king's hunting grounds. To Evonalé's bewilderment, that king picks her up and gives her a place in his castle. The prince seeks her out to tease and befriend. Then one of Cook's daughters starts teaching her magic, and a scullery maid proves herself immune to poison. Evonalé isn't the only one with secrets. ----------- Followed by "A Fistful of Earth"

They walk among us. All three, living normal mortal lives. Cloe is graduating college; Lacey is getting married; Atria is bar-hopping and breaking hearts. Today, they are human. But they are also the three Fates—the all-powerful directors of human destiny. And they don't even know it. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos did not always take mortal form. They dwelt in the Cave, working the Loom, till something happened on Olympus that changed everything one day. Since then, they've roamed the earth and led thousands of lives throughout its history. The Fates may not remember who they are, for now... but their legacy is not to be forgotten. And their story is just begging to be told. *A Wattpad Featured story* *Winner of 2014 Watty Award – Best of Interactive Storytelling* [PG-13 for adult language, non-graphic sexual content, mature themes]

Love is patient, love is kind but above all, love is hard. "I am here to see the Archangel." "Aren't we all?" Replied the guard after chuckling at the blatant naivety of the frail woman. "Name?" "I'm here to see the Archangel." She replied stubbornly still not looking up from her shoes that peeked out from the bottom of her cloak, revealing more of her toes through their large holes than the muddy, worn leather that formed the patchwork shoe itself. They were her last pair. Not that she had taken many substitutes with her when she had left. A hasty departure was never well planned.