When the tyrannical Firbolg King Yondrey the High launches a devastating invasion, the ancient enmity between the Seelie and Unseelie Courts of the Tuatha Dé Danann shatters under the weight of a common enemy. To save their people, a fragile truce is forged, binding Prince Stiofán, the cunning Seelie heir, to Princess Grace Lynn, the fierce Unseelie Keeper of Storms. As they lead a desperate alliance against Yondrey's overwhelming horde, a forbidden romance ignites between them, complicating their duty and loyalty. Their quest to uncover a weakness in the seemingly invincible king is hampered by betrayal and internal strife, culminating in a devastating defeat that leaves their forces broken. With time running out and Yondrey's obsession to claim Grace as his own threatening to break their spirit, Stiofán and Grace must rally their remaining allies for a final, desperate counterstrike, blending their opposing magics to turn the tide and prevent the annihilation of their world.
"...Is she feverish?" Harlow asked flatly.
"I'm not feverish." I snapped.
"You're babbling about falling out of the sky and magical doors," Harlow countered. "And your pupils are unfocused."
"They are not unfocused!"
Beladora stepped closer and cupped my cheeks, turning my face toward the light. "Oh, sweetheart... your eyes are a little glassy."
I pulled my face back, groaning. "I'm not sick!"
Harlow folder her arms. "Bel, get the thermometer."
My jaw dropped. "Absolutely not."
Beladora smiled warmly. Too warmly. "Absolutely yes."
Harlow lifted me from the chair with one arm, like I weighed the same as a scarf and deposited me on her hip.
(Picture from pinterst: @esterscanon)