The False Vow

Love will be tested in this high-stakes, spellbinding sequel to the instant The gorgeous first edition of Lovett Tamerlane is engaged. A;silkwitch whose magic can only be harnessed through marriage to a Weaver, Lovett was facing life in the cloisters when Eliot Lear offered the deal of a lifetime: an invitation to the Vainglory to compete for wealthy Weaver heir Noé Alaire’s hand in marriage, in exchange for her solving his sister’s murder. While they both got what they wanted, the competition was full of surprises. Lovett never expected to fall in love . . . and Eliot never anticipated that she’d betray him. Now Lovett;has one goal: to take down Bastian Alaire and end his corrupt Weaver reign at any cost. But though the Vainglory may be over, danger still lurks at Fortblanche. And when;Bastian presents Lovett with one last challenge--solve a murder that occurred within his walls, before the day of her wedding--she realizes the tests aren’t over. To pass this one, she’ll have to partner with the only person she hates more than her father-in-law to-be: his son, Noé. But as Lovett will learn . . . sometimes love and hate are two sides of the same coin.

Autorentext

Lydia Gregovic

Klappentext

**NEW YORK TIMES BESTSELLER • Love will be tested in this high-stakes, spellbinding sequel to the instant New York Times bestseller The Weaver Bride, hailed as “your next romantic fantasy obsession” (I. V. Marie, #1 bestselling author of Immortal Consequences).

The gorgeous first edition of The False Vow will feature stunning, stenciled edges and printed endpapers!**

Lovett Tamerlane is engaged.

A silkwitch whose magic can only be harnessed through marriage to a Weaver, Lovett was facing life in the cloisters when Eliot Lear offered the deal of a lifetime: an invitation to the Vainglory to compete for wealthy Weaver heir Noé Alaire’s hand in marriage, in exchange for her solving his sister’s murder.

While they both got what they wanted, the competition was full of surprises. Lovett never expected to fall in love . . . and Eliot never anticipated that she’d betray him.

Now Lovett has one goal: to take down her fiancé's father—Bastian Alaire—and end his corrupt Weaver reign at any cost. But though the Vainglory may be over, danger still lurks at Fortblanche. And when Bastian presents Lovett with one last challenge—solve a murder that occurred within his walls, before the day of her wedding—she realizes the tests aren’t over. To pass this one, she’ll have to partner with the only person she hates more than her future father-in-law: his son, Noé.

But as Lovett will learn . . . sometimes love and hate are two sides of the same coin.

Zusammenfassung
**Love will be tested in this high-stakes, spellbinding sequel to the instant New York Times bestseller The Weaver Bride, hailed as “your next romantic fantasy obsession” (I. V. Marie, #1 bestselling author of Immortal Consequences).

The gorgeous first edition of The False Vow will feature stunning, stenciled edges and printed endpapers!**

Lovett Tamerlane is engaged.

A silkwitch whose magic can only be harnessed through marriage to a Weaver, Lovett was facing life in the cloisters when Eliot Lear offered the deal of a lifetime: an invitation to the Vainglory to compete for wealthy Weaver heir Noé Alaire’s hand in marriage, in exchange for her solving his sister’s murder.

While they both got what they wanted, the competition was full of surprises. Lovett never expected to fall in love . . . and Eliot never anticipated that she’d betray him.

Now Lovett has one goal: to take down her fiancé's father—Bastian Alaire—and end his corrupt Weaver reign at any cost. But though the Vainglory may be over, danger still lurks at Fortblanche. And when Bastian presents Lovett with one last challenge—solve a murder that occurred within his walls, before the day of her wedding—she realizes the tests aren’t over. To pass this one, she’ll have to partner with the only person she hates more than her future father-in-law: his son, Noé.

But as Lovett will learn . . . sometimes love and hate are two sides of the same coin.

Leseprobe
Chapter One

I set my booklet in my lap and leaned forward in my seat. There was no doubt about it: The cat-­faced man had returned.

Around me, the lights of the opera house were dimming, the crowd settling like a group of eager children told to hush. There was a collective shift of attention as, onstage, the curtains parted, drawing back to expose a hidden world within—­yet rather than explore it, I kept my gaze fixed straight ahead, on the stranger seated in the box opposite me.

I’d first noticed him in the lobby, about a half hour prior. Like most of the theater’s attendees, myself included, he’d been wearing a mask when I’d spotted him—­a dark satin shell, molded to resemble a cat’s head. Protruding from the top of the accessory, a pair of ears extended above his hairline like stiff fabric tongues. They’d turned this way and that as I observed him, his movements careful, as though he were not simply seeking a path through the entering crowd but deliberately searching out a target out—­and then, while I watched, they’d shifted toward me.

He had not approached me—­had not given any indication, in fact, that he recognized me at all. It had not mattered.

I’d known him as soon as I’d sighted him. More importantly, I’d known why he’d come.

“Face forward, darling. You’ll miss the play.”

I startled at the sound of a voice from beside me. My fiancé was sprawled in his chair, his shoulders slouched forward and his legs spread wide so that he could have almost been sleeping, were it not for the intelligent glint of his eyes behind the narrow slits of the tufted fox mask he wore. His suit was a deep burgundy, chosen to complement his disguise; set against it, his skin—­always pale and cold-­looking—­appeared almost milky, his hair curling and dark above his mask as if he were some night creature, wrapped in another’s hide.

Easily, as though it were a dance which we’d practiced, he slid nearer, draping an arm around my shoulders. “I know my mask can be frightening, but really, there is no need to turn away.”

The scent of him washed over me then: sour and fragrant, an uncorked jug of wine. Without shifting my attention from the stranger in the opposite box—­I’d lost him during the journey from the lobby to my seat, and refused to do so a second time—­I shrugged him off. “I find your breath vastly more disturbing than any disguise. Drunk already, dear?”

He chuckled. Where his left hand gripped my shoulder, something cold bit into the exposed patch of skin below my dress sleeve: the silvered band of his engagement ring, a cousin to the more ostentatious one which graced my finger. As was customary in Balmoore, he’d adopted it shortly after the announcement of our betrothal, following the conclusion of the Vainglory—­the bridal competition his father, the so-­called Weaver King, Bastian Alaire, had devised—­almost three months ago now. Of the nine silkwitches who had been chosen to compete alongside me for the honor of my fiancé’s hand, only eight remained alive. I’d seen none since I’d clinched the prize all of us had sought, but still, I thought of them often. Felt them: the jerk of Clio Lavoie’s knife as it slid over my throat in the tunnels of Fortblanche; th…