Chapter 56

Iris

The letter smells like roses, but not the fresh kind. Not sweet. Not soft. These roses smell dead. Wilted. Buried. It is definitely an insult to what the Dread court once was, and I can feel Lucien’s anger through the mate bond.

“My sister is a bitch,” he mutters and picks up the letter, his brow furrowed.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Just checking it for curses.”

Lucien concentrates, and I feel his