twelvewstars

Gifted a candle that was said to make wishes come true, Alice Clemente burned it to find herself awake in a different world. She had wished for a life of adventure away from the city and its routine. With her wish granted, she was no longer in the 21st century and was instead lost in the middle of the Kingdom of Gladiolum, a place reminiscent of the 1800s.

With luck, she soon gained connections to the rich and powerful of this new world— the nobility. However, how much of it was good and how much of it would eventually be detrimental? After all, mingling with royals not only meant extravagance and daily parties. It also meant warfare and death. 

Caught in the middle of the two princes and other nobles, Alice would soon have to face the battle between those two royal brothers― a fight for the throne.

She had wished for adventure, after all, and she received just as such.

Kept in the center of all this, would Alice be able to emerge from the rabbit hole unscathed? Or will the overwhelming troubles of love and war be too much for her to bear?


***

“And what if you, too, are unable to help?” Alice threw the question back. “What if helping would risk everything?”

Spade didn’t miss a beat.

“You are everything.”

“Don’t say things that you don’t mean,” Alice chided. “You’ll leave a trail of broken hearts.”

“And would you believe me if I say that I have no intention of breaking yours?” Spade countered. “However, mine is yours to play with. Shatter it, fix it, do anything you desire. As long as it feels the warmth of your hand, I am content.”

***

Image used in cover not mine.

A Courtyard of Roses

BLOOD DRIPPED DOWN Spade's ivory skin, falling onto the snow white petals of the roses beneath. It wasn't just one drop that fell, but two, three, and eventually, Alice could feel her face pale just at the sight.

"Missed," Spade commented, tutting. "You're not very good for someone who's supposed to be a professional. No wonder even those imbeciles at the Ragan's can take care of you."

He flicked the dagger onto the ground. It lodged itself into the dirt, the blade buried in the mud but the hilt still above ground, mingling with the grass. As if the blood on his hands was nothing more than just water, Spade wiped it on his outerwear nonchalantly.

A small smirk curved Spade's lips. "Surely she has trained you better than this?"

The assassin said nothing despite Spade's taunts. However, the slight squint of his eyes was telling enough, all that Spade needed to know that he had hit the nail on the head.

The Devil’s Dance