Women in the small kingdom of Aeriana are disappearing.
Iris Daniels, a budding painter in the East Territory, is trying to keep her head down. In a kingdom filled with abilities, music, and Destined love, Iris is determined to build a career out of...
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"Research has shown a significant jump in the number of reported Destined pairs in the last ten years. Although some pairs remain unreported, analysts have connected this rise with the up-sloping popularity of..."
—Professor McMane, Introduction to the Destined, Pellora University
Iris' breath caught. "What?" Her word left her lips on an exhale, as if someone had shot her in the stomach. As if her insides had just splintered.
"We don't have any details of her," Wylan said. "Other than her Acemark. A wave."
Something in the back of her head screamed, a knife-like ache developing behind her eyes. Calm down, Iris. She scolded herself.
But what were the odds?
Eyes wide, Iris sat on her hands, the sand beneath her digging into her gloves. It's not true. It's not me. I'm not her.
"Iris?" Wylan's hand landed on her upper arm. Concern brought his eyebrows together. "Breathe," he barked.
She sucked in a ragged breath.
It wasn't possible. It wasn't. That was something she'd remember. That was something she'd know was right.
"I don't—I can't—" her voice broke. The whirlwind of her thoughts surged. She couldn't grasp onto anything.
It had to be someone else. Some other woman who shared a similar Acemark as her. Someone else who fit Driana's age range and looks.
She knew little about Driana outside of what the education system taught her in school. With the tragedy and death of the royal family, there wasn't much taught to students these days. It was still too raw for a lot of Aces in Aeriana. Other than a few photographs and the odd painted portrait, she knew almost nothing about Princess Driana Stasia Antonov.
Except that it wasn't her.
That ache pounded at the back of her head.
"It's not me," she told herself out loud.
Next to her, Wylan seemed to analyze every micro-movement.
She still couldn't quite catch her breath, her rhythm completely thrown off.
Wylan cleared his throat and shifted, so he sat more face to face. "Iris, I'd like to be completely honest with you. Not because I haven't so far, but because you seem like the type of person who would appreciate honesty over anything else."
