There was an itch I needed to scratch, a burning curiosity I needed resolved before I could give him what he wanted.

“How do you know about my magic? As far as I know, it’s passed down through my…my grandmother, but it was kept a secret for the most part.” I grimaced.

“It was kept a secret because my father despised witches and their magic. My brother, on the other hand, saw only power. Unfortunately for him, our mother died before he ever got the chance to use her in his plans.” Deacon replied, then let out a snarl. “I’ve been more than accommodating considering I haven’t had you killed on the spot. I won’t tell you again, niece or no. What do you know about Bridgette?”

I’d never been a cruel type of person, nor was I someone who lorded information over another person’s head, but there was something about Deacon that provoked that side of me. Perhaps, it was his attitude and the way everything he said felt like a challenge, but I couldn’t help but feel that a Queen—his Queen, wouldn’