Begin ReadingTable of ContentsAbout the AuthorCopyright PageThank you for buying thisFlatiron Books ebook.To receive special offers, bonus content,and info on new releases and other great reads,sign up for our newsletters.Or visit us online atus.macmillan.com/newslettersignupFor email updates on the author, click here.OceanofPDF.com The author and publisher have provided this e-book to you for yourpersonal use only. You may not make this e-book publicly available in anyway. Copyright infringement is against the law. If you believe the copyof this e-book you are reading infringes on the author’s copyright,please notify the publisher at: us.macmillanusa.com/piracy.OceanofPDF.com For anyone who has ever made a bad decision because of abroken heartOceanofPDF.com Warnings and SignsThe bell hanging outside the curiosity shop knew the human was troublefrom the way he moved through the door. Bells have excellent hearing, butthis little chime didn’t need any particular skill to catch the crude jangle ofthe gaudy pocket-watch chain at this young man’s hip, or the rough scrapeof his boots as he attempted a swagger but only succeeded in scuffing thefloor of Maximilian’s Curiosities, Whimsies & Other Oddities.This young man was going to ruin the girl that worked inside the shop.The bell had tried to warn her. A full two seconds before the boy openedthe door, the bell rang its clapper. Unlike most humans, this shopgirl hadgrown up around oddities—and the bell had long suspected she was acuriosity as well, though it couldn’t figure out exactly what sort.The girl knew that many objects were more than they appeared and thatbells possessed a sixth sense that humans lacked. Unfortunately, this girl,who believed in hope and fairytales and love at first sight, oftenmisinterpreted the bell’s chimes. Today the bell was fairly certain that shehad heard its cautionary ring. But, from the way her voice affected anexcited edge as she spoke to the young man, it seemed as if the girl hadtaken the bell’s early toll as a serendipitous sign instead of as a warning.OceanofPDF.com PART IThe Tale ofEvangeline FoxOceanofPDF.com 1The Whisper GazetteWHERE WILL THE BROKENHEARTED PRAY NOW?By Kutlass KnightlingerThe door to the Prince of Hearts’ church has disappeared. Painted the deep bloodred of broken hearts,the iconic entry simply vanished from one of the Temple District’s most visited churches sometimeduring the night, leaving behind an impenetrable marble wall. It’s now impossible for anyone to enterthe church—Evangeline shoved the two-week-old newsprint into the pocket of herflowered skirt. The door at the end of this decrepit alley was barely tallerthan she was, and hidden behind a rusted metal grate instead of covered inbeautiful bloodred paint, but she would have bet her father’s curiosity shopthat this was the missing door.Nothing in the Temple District was this unattractive. Every entry herewas carved panels, decorative architraves, glass awnings, and gildedkeyholes. Her father had been a man of faith, but he used to say that thechurches here were like vampires—they weren’t meant for worship, theywere designed to entice and entrap. But this door was different. This doorwas just a rough block of wood with a missing handle and chipped whitepaint. This door did not want to be found.Yet it couldn’t hide what it truly was from Evangeline.The jagged shape of it was unmistakable. One side was a sloping curve,the other a serrated slash, forming one half of a broken heart—a symbol ofthe Fated Prince of Hearts.Finally.If hope were a pair of wings, Evangeline’s were stretching out behindher, eager to take flight again. After two weeks of searching the city ofValenda, she’d found it.When the gossip sheet in her pocket had first announced that the doorfrom the Prince of Hearts’ church had gone missing, few imagined it wasmagic. It was the scandal sheet’s first article, and people said it was part ofa hoax to sell subscriptions. Doors didn’t simply disappear.But Evangeline believed that they could. The story hadn’t felt like agimmick to her; it had felt like a sign, telling her where to search if she wasgoing to save her heart and the boy that it belonged to.She might not have seen much evidence of magic outside of the odditiesin her father’s curiosity shop, but she had faith it existed. Her father,Maximilian, had always spoken of magic as if it were real. And her motherhad been from the Magnificent North, where there was no differencebetween fairytales and history. All stories are made of both truths and lies,she used to say. What matters is the way that we believe in them.And Evangeline had a gift when it came to believing in things thatothers considered myths—like the immortal Fates.She opened the metal grate. The door itself didn’t have a handle, forcingher to wedge her fingers into the tiny space between its jagged edge and thedirty stone wall.The door pinched her fingers, drawing a drop of blood, and she sworeshe heard its splintered voice say, Do you know what you’re about to stepinto? Nothing but heartbreak will come from this.But Evangeline’s heart was already broken. And she understood therisks she was taking. She knew the rules for visiting Fated churches:Always promise less than you can give, for Fates always take more.Do not make bargains with more than one Fate. And, above all, never fall in love with a Fate.There were sixteen immortal Fates, and they were jealous andpossessive beings. Before they’d vanished centuries ago, it was said theyruled over part of the world with magic that was as malevolent as it wasmarvelous. They never broke a bargain, although they often hurt the peoplethey helped. Yet most people—even if they believed the Fates were merelymyths—became desperate enough to pray to them at some point.Evangeline had always been curious about their churches, but she’dknown enough about the mercurial nature of Fates and Fated bargains toavoid seeking their places of worship. Until two weeks ago, when she’dbecome one of those desperate people the stories always cautioned about.“Please,” she whispered to the heart-shaped door, filling her voice withthe wild and battered hope that had led her here. “I know you’re a cleverlittle thing. But you allowed me to find you. Let me in.”She gave the wood a final tug.This time, the door opened.Evangeline’s heart raced as she took her first step. During her search forthe missing door, she’d read that the Prince of Hearts’ church held adifferent aroma for everyone who visited. It was supposed to smell like aperson’s greatest heartbreak.But as Evangeline entered the cool cathedral, the air did not remind herof Luc—there were no hints of suede or vetiver. The dim mouth of thechurch was slightly sweet and metallic: apples and blood.Gooseflesh covered her arms. This was not reminiscent of the boy sheloved. The account she’d read must have been wrong. But she didn’t turnaround. She knew Fates weren’t saints or saviors, although she hoped thatthe Prince of Hearts was more feeling than the others.Her steps took her deeper inside the cathedral. Everything wasshockingly white. White carpets, white candles, white prayer pews of whiteoak, white aspen, and flaky white birch.Evangeline passed row after row of mismatched white benches. Theymight have been handsome once, but now many had missing legs, whileothers had mutilated cushions or benches that had been broken in half.Broken. Broken.Broken.No wonder the door hadn’t wanted to let her enter. Perhaps this churchwasn’t sinister, it was sad—A rough rip shattered the church’s silence.Evangeline spun around and choked back a gasp.Several rows behind her, in a shadowed corner, a young man appearedto be in mourning or performing some act of penance. Wild locks of goldenhair hung across his face as his head bowed and his fingers tore at thesleeves of his burgundy topcoat.Her heart felt a pang as she watched him. She was tempted to ask if heneeded help. But he’d probably chosen the corner to go unnoticed.And she didn’t have much time left.There were no clocks inside the church, but Evangeline swore she heardthe tick of a second hand, working at erasing the precious minutes she haduntil Luc’s wedding.She hurried down the nave to the apse, where the fractured rows ofbenches ceased and a gleaming marble dais rose before her. The platformwas pristine, lit by a wall of beeswax candles and surrounded by four flutedcolumns, guarding a larger-than-life statue of the Fated Prince of Hearts.The back of her neck prickled.Evangeline knew what he was supposed to look like. Decks of Destiny,which used Fated images to tell fortunes, had recently become a popularitem in her father’s curiosity shop. The Prince of Hearts’ card representedunrequited love, and it always depicted the Fate as tragically handsome,with vivid blue eyes crying tears that matched the blood forever staining thecorner of his sulky mouth.There were no bloody tears on this glowing statue. But its face didpossess a ruthless kind of beauty, the sort Evangeline would have expectedfrom a demigod that had the ability to kill with his kiss. The prince’s marblelips twisted into a perfect smirk that should have looked cold and hard andsharp, but there was a hint of softness to his slightly fuller lower lip—itpouted out like a deadly invitation. According to the myths, the Prince of Hearts was not capable of lovebecause his heart had stopped beating long ago. Only one person couldmake it work again: his one true love. They said his kiss was fatal to all buther—his only weakness—and as he’d sought her, he’d left a trail of corpses.Evangeline couldn’t imagine a more tragic existence. If one Fate wereto have sympathy for her situation, it would be the Prince of Hearts.Her gaze found his elegant marble fingers clasping a dagger the size ofher forearm. The blade pointed down toward a stone offering basinbalanced on a burner, just above a low circle of dancing white flames. Thewords Blood for a Prayer were carved into its side.Evangeline took a deep breath.This was what she’d come here for.She pressed her finger to the tip of the blade. Sharp marble pierced herskin, and drop after drop of blood fell, sizzling and hissing, filling the airwith more metal and sweet.A part of her hoped this tithe might conjure up some sort of magicaldisplay. That the statue would come to life, or the Prince of Hearts’ voicewould fill the church. But nothing moved save for the flames on the wall ofcandles. She couldn’t even hear the anguished young man in the back of thechurch. It was just her and the statue.“Dear—Prince,” she started haltingly. She’d never prayed to a Fate, andshe didn’t want to get it wrong. “I’m here because my parents are dead.”Evangeline cringed. That was not how she was supposed to start.“What I meant to say was, my parents have both passed away. I lost mymother a couple of years ago. Then I lost my father last season. Now I’mabout to lose the boy that I love.“Luc Navarro—” Her throat closed as she said the name and picturedhis crooked smile. Maybe if he’d been plainer, or poorer, or crueler, none ofthis would have happened. “We’ve been seeing each other in secret. I wassupposed to be in mourning for my father. Then, a little over two weeksago, on the day that Luc and I were going to tell our families we were inlove, my stepsister, Marisol, announced that she and Luc were gettingmarried.” Evangeline paused to close her eyes. This part still made her head spin.Quick engagements weren’t uncommon. Marisol was pretty, and althoughshe was reserved, she was also kind—so much kinder than Evangeline’sstepmother, Agnes. But Evangeline had never even seen Luc in the sameroom as Marisol.“I know how this sounds, but Luc loves me. I believe he’s been cursed.He hasn’t spoken to me since the engagement was announced—he won’teven see me. I don’t know how she did it, but I’m certain this is all mystepmother’s doing.” Evangeline didn’t actually have any proof that Agneswas a witch and she’d cast a curse on Luc. But Evangeline was certain herstepmother had learned of Evangeline’s relationship with Luc and she’dwanted Luc, and the title he’d someday inherit, for her daughter instead.“Agnes has resented me ever since my father died. I’ve tried talking toMarisol about Luc. Unlike my stepmother, I don’t think Marisol would everintentionally hurt me. But every time I try to open my mouth, the wordswon’t come out, as if they’re also cursed or I’m cursed. So I’m here,begging for your help. The wedding is today, and I need you to stop it.”Evangeline opened her eyes.The lifeless statue hadn’t changed. She knew statues didn’t generallymove. Yet she couldn’t help but think that it should have done something—shifted or spoken or moved its marble eyes. “Please, I know you understandheartbreak. Stop Luc from marrying Marisol. Save my heart from breakingagain.”“Now, that was a pathetic speech.” Two slow claps followed theindolent voice, which sounded just a few feet away.Evangeline spun around, all the blood draining from her face. She didn’texpect to see him—the young man who’d been tearing his clothes in theback of the church. Although it was difficult to believe this was the sameperson. She had thought that boy was in agony, but he must have rippedaway his pain along with the sleeves of his jacket, which now hung intatters over a striped black-and-white shirt that was only halfway tuckedinto his breeches.He sat on the dais steps, lazily leaning against one of the pillars with hislong, lean legs stretched out before him. His hair was golden and messy, his too-bright blue eyes were bloodshot, and his mouth twitched at the corneras if he didn’t enjoy much, but he found pleasure in the brief bit of painhe’d just inflicted upon her. He looked bored and rich and cruel.“Would you like me to stand up and turn around so that you can take inthe rest of me?” he taunted.The color instantly returned to Evangeline’s cheeks. “We’re in achurch.”“What does that have to do with anything?” In one elegant move, theyoung man reached into the inner pocket of his ripped burgundy coat,pulled out a pure white apple, and took one bite. Dark red juice drippedfrom the fruit to his long, pale fingers and then onto the pristine marblesteps.“Don’t do that!” Evangeline hadn’t meant to yell. Although she wasn’tshy with strangers, she generally avoided quarrelling with them. But shecouldn’t seem to help it with this crass young man. “You’re beingdisrespectful.”“And you’re praying to an immortal who kills every girl he kisses. Youreally think he deserves any reverence?” The awful young man punctuatedhis words with another wide bite of his apple.She tried to ignore him. She really did. But it was like some terriblemagic had taken hold of her. Rather than marching off, Evangelineimagined the stranger taking her lips instead of his snack and kissing herwith his fruit-sweet mouth until she died in his arms.No. It couldn’t be …“You’re staring again,” he purred.Evangeline immediately looked away, turning back to the marblecarving. Minutes ago, its lips alone had made her heart race, but now it justseemed like an ordinary statue, lifeless compared to this vicious young man.“Personally, I think I’m far more handsome.” Suddenly, the young manstood right beside her.Butterflies fluttered to life inside Evangeline’s stomach. Scared ones.All frantic wings and too-fast beats, warning her to get out of there, to run,to flee. But she couldn’t look away. This close, he was undeniably attractive, and taller than she’d realized.He gave her a real smile, revealing a pair of dimples that briefly made himlook more angel than devil. But she imagined even angels would need tobeware of him. She could picture him flashing those deceptive dimples ashe tricked an angel into losing its wings just so he could play with thefeathers.“It’s you,” she whispered. “You’re the Prince of Hearts.”OceanofPDF.com