Magic is in our blood. It is our birthright.

—­Aurilian decree

When the clock chimed midnight on an Aurilian’s eighteenth birthday, a remarkable and utterly beguiling event would occur.

For the blessed—­deemed such by the almighty Fates—­a gift would be delivered.

It could be a tarnished pair of earrings or a plain silk ribbon. A polished pocket watch might appear, a mottled hand mirror, an empty picture frame. Yet these were no ordinary gifts; not the unimpressive celebratory trinkets they seemed to be.

They were born of magic. Gifted to the most faithful and highest-­ranking members of Aurilian society in the capital city of Andalay by the three Fates that walked among us–Dawn, Day, and Dusk–and presented by their loyal onyx hounds in a simple blue box.

On my walks through the market with Mother I’d linger to gaze upon the three towers belonging to the Fates’ palace. My heart leapt at the sight of the crystalline spires and dusty-­pink marble, how those walls reminded me of clouds settling below a summer sunset sky. The Fates were untouchable behind their fortress in the heart of the north, yet our world spun around them, their ethereal home a reminder to trust in their guidance.

Tonight, I would finally join my father, mother, and sister; the Hayes family had never not received a gift, and soon, it was expected I’d assume my rightful place among my powerful family.

I paced before the ornate grandfather clock in our parlor, my heavy pale pink skirts swishing about my feet. The luxurious satin produced a grating sound with each step, but I couldn’t stop; my time was almost here.