The Secrets of Everlight

Book 1: Shattered Kingdoms

by Julie Hall

Genres: Fantasy; Historical Fantasy; Paranormal; Romantic Fantasy; General Fiction

Synopsis

A thief turned spy must unravel an assassination plot against the fae prince by disguising herself as a princess competing for his heart in this entrancing romantasy by USA Today bestselling author Julie Hall.

For nineteen years, Rowan has fought to survive: first on the streets scavenging for scraps, then bound by a decade-long contract to a corrupt master. She longs for freedom but spends her days stealing from the highborn to pay off her servitude.

When a mysterious fae buys her contract, Rowan seizes her chance to escape. But her freedom comes at a price: she must uncover the assassin targeting Prince Dryden of the Ember Kingdom. To do so, she will pose as a princess among the royals competing for his hand in marriage.

Thrust into a world of silks and finery, Rowan has just weeks to master her role while hunting a killer hidden in plain sight. Eavesdropping and sneaking through gilded halls may come naturally, but the bonds she forms with the other princesses—and Dryden’s growing interest in her—are complications that threaten to unravel everything.

As whispers of danger beyond the kingdom rise, Rowan realizes the stakes are far greater than she imagined. And every stolen glance with the prince pulls her closer to a desire that could cost her not only her future but the kingdom itself.

Release date: October 6, 2026

Publisher: Ace

Print pages: 496

Sample

Chapter 1

Hidden in the shadows, I peer through the wavy glass window of Sinclair's office down at the pub floor below. It's late enough in the evening for the patrons to be well into their cups, but I'm far enough removed that the shouts and boisterous laughs of their revelry are muted. As I scan the crowd, I spot the usual drunkards who frequent the Lame Horse.

My upper lip curls into a sneer as Barnaby Elmwish takes a long swallow of his mead. His arm is wrapped around Greta, the young serving wench perched on his lap. She's probably half the age of his wife, who's no doubt at home tending to his litter of children, the youngest of which can't be more than a year old. At the table next to him, a group of males plays a rowdy game of cards. One loses, and he throws his drink in the face of the player next to him. The fae at the tables around them hardly give the brawling duo a glance as their companions jump in to break them apart. The fight ends quickly; new mugs of mead are passed to the pair, and after they each take a hearty swig, everyone sits back down and they continue their game.

The male patrons in the pub outnumber the females at least eight to one. Typical for most of the taverns in Everlight. Females are encouraged to stay at home and tend the house and children while the males have the freedom to explore whatever debaucheries their hearts desire.

I'll never willingly put myself in a position below a male again. Once I'm no longer indentured to Sinclair, I'll be free, and I'll never get married. Why would I trade one type of servitude for another?

My stomach growls as I watch fae share a hot meal and drink deeply from their cups. When was the last time I ate? Yesterday afternoon, I think. At least the water from the stream is free or I'd be dehydrated as well.

I rub my thumb over the ruby brooch in my pocket that I nicked from a highborn lady this morning. This bauble alone would feed me for months, but instead I have to turn it over to Sinclair and hope it earns me a half-decent meal tonight. After all, Sinclair knows I need some energy to keep me sharp enough to steal him a new treasure tomorrow. Losing his best thief would hurt his pocketbook.

As I scan the evening crowd below, passing the time while waiting for Sinclair to show up, my gaze catches on two males seated at a table by the wall. There's nothing particularly interesting about the pair, who appear to be enjoying a cup of mead and a bowl of stew, but one of the males is clearly older than the other. Perhaps it's a father and son? That's not very uncommon or unusual to see, but there's something about their body language that makes me think otherwise. Like the power dynamic between them is swapped.

They are dressed similarly, in simple tunics with black cloaks and breeches. Both quite fit, and the younger fae looks like he's not too many years older than me. Early twenties, perhaps?

He's too far away for me to determine eye color, but he has sandy-blond hair that's on the longer side, not quite reaching his shoulders. A strong jaw, straight nose, square face. Along with his broad shoulders and a seemingly muscular build, he's ruggedly handsome. Even from a distance. But that's not what causes me to linger. Something tickles the back of my mind. Even when I try to look away, he draws my eye. It's not that I think I've seen him before, but there's something about him that's maybe not familiar, but distracting.

He wears an easy smile; his body is nonchalantly sprawled in his chair. To a casual onlooker, he'd appear to just be enjoying a night at the Lame Horse like everyone else, but something about the way his gaze moves over the crowd gives me pause. I get the impression he wants to give the air of someone carefree, but he's really attentive to everything going on in the pub.

His companion isn't even trying to fit in. His brown hair is speckled with gray and his body is rigid. He sits with his back to the wall, and his hand rests lightly on his weapon. Both the drink and stew in front of him look to be untouched.

As I'm watching, Sinclair appears before the pair, and I lift my eyebrows. Even though Sinclair owns the Lame Horse, he doesn't typically interact with the patrons. He prefers to keep a low profile and is usually content to sit in his office, watching all the money pour into his business from above.

Placing his hands on the table, Sinclair leans forward, his potbelly pressing into the wooden tabletop and a clump of greasy black hair falling over one eye. When the older of the two fae grips the hilt of his sword and slides it out a few inches, the younger fae puts his hand on his shoulder to stop him.

I was right. They're not a father and son duo. The younger male is clearly the one calling the shots. Perhaps it's an employer-employee relationship.

The males listen, leaning in as Sinclair talks. I wish I knew what he was saying, if for only curiosity's sake. For a few minutes, Sinclair does most of the talking and the younger male nods a few times. The older fae stays as rigid as a board.

Eventually, Sinclair gestures toward his office, up where I'm standing, spying on the crowd. The blond-haired male lifts his gaze and I step more fully into the shadows so I won't be seen. Yet I swear his eyes connect with mine and a self-satisfied smirk lifts the corners of his mouth. The look on his face seems to say, "Gotcha," and that unnerves me.

Sinclair's mouth is moving again, and the younger male's face lightens, his body language going languid and unthreatening once again. He throws back his head and laughs at something Sinclair says in what can only be false merriment. Sinclair isn't funny at all. A fae would be more apt to laugh at him than with him.

The blond drains his drink and shoves backward from the table. His companion stands, still without having touched his drink or food, and they both follow Sinclair toward the stairs that lead to his office.

Shit.

Sinclair should know that I'm here waiting for him like I do every night, so why is he bringing them up here?

I have the urge to hide somewhere in his office. I don't like to be seen. Good thieves are masters at blending in, and anonymity is a must. Even now my hair is braided up and hidden under my hood so that I'm not identified by its color; my face is smudged with soot to hide my freckles.

I eye the curtains to my left. I'm small enough that I could slide behind them and not leave a bulge, or perhaps even to lie flat under the couch, but if I were to get caught, the consequences would be severe. If Sinclair could prove misconduct, he would have grounds to extend the contract I have with him. It's best to stay put and just wait to be dismissed when he enters with the two fae.

So long as I keep my head down, the hood of my cloak will hide most of my face. My clothes are oversized to hide my petite and slightly curvy frame. Under the right circumstances, I can easily pass as a young boy rather than a female. Not many females would be proud of that, but I am. With some luck, I'll be unrecognizable and unmemorable to them to the extent that they could pass me on the street later and not even know it was me.

Boots stomp along the wooden floor outside Sinclair's office, and I tense. I'm standing in the corner, and I don't look up as the door swings open. Sinclair talks loudly about the bosom of one of the barmaids as they enter, and even though the other males don't seem to be joining the conversation, my face still heats. I have to clear my throat before I'm noticed.

"Rowan?" Sinclair says, and I lift my head only high enough to see him from under my hood. "You shouldn't be here."

I grind my teeth, forcing myself to bite back a comment. I come here every night, not because I want to see his ugly face or rotund figure, but because if I skip a day, he tacks it on to my contract. He's probably several drinks in and just forgot about me and is making this look like my fault so he doesn't look bad in front of these fae.

"I'll wait and come back when you're finished with whatever business you have here," I say as I head for the door, but a body steps in front of me before I can escape.

"Wait," says one of the males. His voice is deep and smooth.

Without glancing up and revealing my face, I can tell from his polished black boots and his matching cotton breeches that it's the younger of the two. The other fae wore brown boots and pants.

From a distance, I had assumed the blond fae was unarmed, but I spy a dagger concealed in one of his boots. I'd bet coin there's a weapon in the other one as well.

And although his clothing appeared nondescript from my vantage point before, now I can tell they are well-made with expensive materials. Definitely not the typical commoner garb. Yet this male is trying very hard to portray that they are.

Interesting.

"Excuse me," I say, and try to sidestep him, but he just moves with me.

"We're happy to wait until your business is concluded," he says, his tone mocking.

My insides bunch. Just another entitled male trying to throw his weight around.

"Rowan can wait outside," Sinclair says, and out of the corner of my eye I can see him shooing me away.

I start forward a third time only to get blocked again.

Insufferable brute.

"Hey now, no need to run the boy off," the blond says. "We can wait until your business with the lad is finished. He's clearly been waiting for you."

I bristle at being called a boy, even though I'm dressed specifically to look like one.

Without thinking better of it, I jerk my head up to glare at the stranger, only to find him staring down at me with a knowing look in his bright blue eyes and a smug smirk.

He said that on purpose. He knew I wasn't a male and wanted a reaction from me, which is exactly what I gave him.

I'm annoyed that he's just as handsome up close as he was from a distance. The pull to him is still there. It irritates me like the last little piece of a splinter that's buried too deep to remove.

"Violet eyes," he says thoughtfully, then glances at his companion. "Very rare."

I lower my gaze immediately, cursing my own stupidity.

Violet eyes are indeed rare. My most distinguishing feature that I can't change. I do my best to hide my face under my hood or keep my eyes downcast so I'm not identified by them. I'm uncomfortable with these strangers knowing my most recognizable feature, but there's nothing to be done about it now.

"Fine, Neo, if you insist. This should only take a minute," Sinclair says, sighing as he takes a seat.

Neo, what an unusual name.

"Get over here, Rowan, and show me your tribute for the day." I look sharply at Sinclair as he beckons to me from behind his desk.

I can't show him the brooch in front of these strangers. If it gets reported as stolen, they'll point the authorities right at me.

"I don't think now is-"

"You aren't supposed to think," Sinclair barks. "That's my job."

Could have fooled me.

"Now get over here and show me what you have so that I can get you out of our hair."

My nostrils flare, but I keep my mouth sealed shut as I walk woodenly over to him, feeling the strangers' stares on my back with every step. Casting a glance over my shoulder, I make sure Neo and the other fae aren't close enough to see the brooch when I pull it out. They're in a quiet conversation between themselves, not giving me the least bit of attention.

Good.

I pull the piece of jewelry out of my pocket and slide it over to Sinclair for inspection. Rather than being discreet in his examination of the item, he lifts it high, bringing it close to his face, twisting and turning it.

The piece is beautiful. Made of gold with inlaid jewels, it's shaped like a peacock, which is part of the Blackwell family crest. There's one large ruby set as the peacock's eye, and smaller gems, colored bright red to vibrant pink, make up the tail feathers.

I have no doubt the piece is an heirloom and easily recognizable, which will make it difficult for Sinclair to sell. But that's his problem, not mine.

"Hmm. It looks like a fake to me," he says, and then places the brooch on the desk in front of him. "This will only count as a half day's work."

"What? No. There's no way it is a fake. I got it off-"

Cutting myself off, I seal my lips shut, horrified that I almost admitted to lifting it off Lady Blackwell herself.

There's a cunning glimmer in Sinclair's eye that says he knows I can't say anything more in front of the strangers, and my shoulders sag in defeat.

"Because it's only a half day's work, that means you'll only get a half day's portion of food. Get out of here. I'll be checking in with Zia to make sure you aren't cheating me."

Me, cheat him? That's rich. I've been indentured to Sinclair for six and a half years now, yet have barely worked off four years of my ten-year contract. It's clear who's cheating whom in this scenario.

If only I could end him.

I'm not particularly bloodthirsty, but Sinclair is not a good man. If I had known that, I never would have indentured myself to him in the first place. But I was young and starving and would have sold my soul for a loaf of bread back then.

The Ember Kingdom might be the mightiest fae nation in Vaeloria, but the streets of Everlight aren't kind to orphans, or any fae who fall on hard times, for that matter.