The pale light of dawn filtered thinly across the stone pavement of Blackthorn Manor. The journal lay on the desk, left as it was. Blackthorn Evangeline stood before the mirror, combing her jet-black hair with her fingers. She wove it loosely into braids at the back of her head—her usual style. Deep violet eyes met her own gaze in the glass. She turned over in her mind the final line she had written last night. —Whose should the thorn crown belong to? Today, that question would receive its answer. Her bones told her so. That was why she didn't need to open the journal. She could write the space for the answer after she returned tonight. When she finished preparing and stepped into the hallway, Crane Marcus was already standing in the entrance hall. Short hair streaked with white, sharp jade-colored eyes. The family crest tattooed on the back of his right hand reflected the light of the corridor's candelabra in a dull gleam. His fingers were interlaced. He always did that before sp