The Frozen Fae Bride : A Marriage of Alliance, Throne Worth Burning For Fae Romantasy, livre ebook

Rosalind Vance has spent the last decade letting the Shadow Court tell her no. No negotiations. No trust. The Wasting Curse that killed her father is bad luck, a flaw in the Vance bloodline, nothing to do with the war.
Then her brother Julian coughs, and the black dust that comes out of him refuses to behave like ash. It spins, deliberate, almost alive, and for half a breath it holds the sigil of the Blood Court.
Cora has given Julian three months. Maybe four.
Rosalind walks into a closed session of the Council with no petition and none of the votes she needs, and buys her passage the only way left.
*I swear, by the blood in my veins and the shadows that birthed me, that I will return from the Blood Court with a cure for the Wasting Curse, or I will not return at all.*
Lorna Krestel, who has spent months manoeuvring to replace her as chief emissary, agrees to come along as a witness. And that night, pressed into an alcove in the dusk-lit corridor, Rosalind hears Lorna's voice in the dark.
*The boy dies. That's the point.*
Lorna's shadow stretches across the floor as she walks away. It has six fingers.
Waiting on the other side of the crossing, in eternal crimson night, is Aldric Duvall, a man who keeps meticulous records of every marriage negotiation and every transaction of blood and loyalty. And his son Caspian, whom Rosalind met exactly once at a treaty signing: the silver streak in his hair, the eyes like dried blood, the look of someone studying a puzzle he cannot solve.
Caspian has his own summons that week. A betrothal dinner at the ninth bell, a merchant house, an alliance his father intends to see through whatever anyone wants. What he does not have yet is the letter explaining where the Wasting Curse came from, whom it killed first, and exactly what it was designed to hold over people.
What follows is not a negotiation. It is a vial worn against the skin, a name on a list, a dungeon, a bond neither of them asked for, and a new moon after which the thing cannot be undone.
When Rosalind finally sets her own terms, they are short: Julian lives, the betrothal contract breaks, and Caspian tells her everything.
Fae romantasy across two courts, one in perpetual dusk and one in crimson night, with a blood oath, a poisoned bloodline, a rival watching for the stumble, and a throne nobody at that table planned on. Closed-door.