Blaise
Chapter 58
Blaise
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Free Prologue Novella
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by T.A. Lawrence
Copyright © 2023 by T.A. Lawrence
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover copyright © 2023 by Karri Klawiter
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
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PREFACE
One of my favorite things about the fantasy genre (and books in general, really) is that it provides us with a safe space to experience emotions that don’t always feel so safe in real life. In writing Blaise’s story, I found her themes and struggles naturally ran darker than those of Asha’s, Ellie’s, or even Piper’s. I intentionally avoid including explicit content in any of my books, and that hasn’t changed with this story. That being said, this story addresses several sensitive topics. I understand that sometimes we read for healing, and other times we read for an escape. I’m including a content warning below for anyone who might benefit from knowing ahead of time the types of themes this book addresses.
This content warning contains spoilers.
Content warning: While I strive never to include explicit content in my books, this book includes themes of statutory rape (rape not depicted on-page), miscarriage, and brief suicidal thoughts.
PROLOGUE
If only the Mystrian Queen would slacken her self-imposed leash, she could occupy the perfect body, the most exquisite of forms.
Or so thought the parasite as, with a sly grin, she examined the queen sitting in the carriage across from her.
The parasite was familiar with this type of female—the type who fancied herself a hero.
Fae were such blind creatures, unable to behold their true reflections, even if their souls were rendered upon a canvas with the blackest and most concentrated of inks.
The female with hair so light it was almost white could have been the model after which the parasite had crafted Cinderella’s body, were the queen not so haunted by her restrictive moral code, the one that kept her spine rigid, her cheeks constantly sucked in, and her jaw set.
Even so, the parasite could not complain that the queen refused to use her beauty to her advantage; she preferred to be the only beauty worth noting in whatever room she occupied.
If the queen possessed the assets capable of turning heads and refused to utilize them appropriately—covering up not only her bosom, but the length of her neck with that hideous white collar of hers, as if she were concerned for the fate of her throat—the parasite was not about to steer her in the opposite direction.
The female queen was so austere, her chin practically jutted. She was a rather harsh-looking thing, despite her beauty. It didn’t help that the inside of her carriage was covered in black velvet. Black velvet cushions, black velvet lining, even black steel handles for the cab doors.
It made the queen stand out like the moon on the blackest of nights.
At least the parasite could respect the queen’s presence, if not her looks.
“I assume you intend to tell me why you’ve swept me away from my home,” the parasite stated more than asked, reveling in the timbre of her sultry voice as she exercised its freedom. She hadn’t spoken in a mooncycle, being trapped within Blaise’s body, and she always relished the shiver that snaked down her spine at the sound of her own voice.
Of Cinderella’s voice, she supposed.
The queen sitting across from her might have huffed, if she had been the sort to allow any such expression to escape the cool veneer of her face. “You act as though I stole you from a riverside summer home and not that pitiful excuse for a dungeon where I found you.”
Cinderella didn’t bother bristling. She’d been less than thrilled when she’d heard—from a cramped corner of Blaise’s mind—that Evander intended to lock her up until he found a way to extract the parasite from her host. But the parasite had surmounted greater obstacles than prison cells before.
And look, she hadn’t even ended up having to break herself out.
The Queen of Mystral had glided in and done that for her.
“How might I service you, my queen?” the parasite asked in a tone that rather lacked the submissiveness her words might have otherwise implied.
The Queen of Mystral folded her hands together in her lap, interlocking her fingers. “It’s not as much about what you can do for me, as what we might do for one another.”
