Author's Note: This is the second book in a series, so in case you didn't read the short summary, you may want to read Prophecy of Nature: Bryune first. My book titles suck, by the way. I didn't want to have to come up with a different, clever title for each book in the series, which was why I named them something so generic. Just so everyone knows. Anyway, I'm going to try and post this one a few chapters at a time as well (2 or 3 for the most part, but I'll probably post 4 today just to get to the first interaction between Trixie and Devlin). And I have a tendency to ramble in my author's notes, so I apologize. Hope you all like this one!

Prologue

When Beatrix Thomasson was three years old, she fell in love.

It was certainly not the deep, all-consuming love an adult might feel, but was more the prideful sort a little girl might experience for a younger brother. While Devlin Wolfe was in no way related to her, her family had been friends with his family for so long that they were practically kin anyway.

So it was with a great deal of enthusiasm that she welcomed Devlin Wolfe into the world…one year after his birth. She would have arrived sooner had her parents not thought she was entirely too young for carriage travel at the tender age of two. Apparently three was far safer, and so they made the day-long journey to the neighboring Duke of Bryune’s castle to pay their respects to the newest addition to the Wolfe family.

Except the newest addition, much to the Thomasson family’s surprise, as the Wolfes had hardly been advertising the fact, turned into new additions. Twins.

What was even more peculiar was the fact that, a full year after their birth, neither child had been named. At the time, Trixie was far too young to understand the complexities of human nature, especially as pertained to adults. She knew that her father loved her. He told her so at least once a day and showed her so many more times over with his playful smiles and constant attention. Thus it was impossible for her to comprehend that the Duke, Donald Wolfe, did not love his children. Any of them. In fact, he cared so little for the two ‘accidents’ that followed his requisite heir that he hadn’t even bothered to name them, assuming he would only get them confused anyway.

While she might not have understood their lack of names, she was certainly prepared to rectify the situation. She announced her intentions to her parents and brother that very day, swearing that she would never confuse one twin for the other. She would find a way to distinguish them so no one would forget.

And she did. To the squirming bundle of mischief on the right, she attributed the name Douglass. No particular reason came to mind at the time, although she assured one and all that he could be marked by his odd tendency to start winking whenever a woman entered the room.

To the far more reticent baby sleeping on the left, she gifted the name Devlin. No one else claimed they could see it. They could distinguish the two children because one was quieter than the other, one more restful than the other. But no one but Trixie could see the devilish gleam in the baby’s green eyes, that almost hidden hint at something wicked.

Recognizing a kindred spirit immediately, Trixie boldly announced to all in the Wolfe nursery that she loved little Devlin.

“Don’t you mean that you love both of them?” her father had inquired.

“I adore them both,” Trixie assured her father, “but I love him.” And she pointed at Devlin.

No one told the twins about this, of course. Their nursemaids had always assumed Douglass would feel inferior if he knew that his dear family friend had preferred his brother since birth. Even as the years passed and it became apparent that nothing could make the self-assured Douglass feel inferior to anyone, while the clumsy Devlin remained constantly in his brother’s shadow, no one dared imply that Trixie loved one more than the other.

As the years passed, Trixie acted as any little girl in love who didn’t quite realize the full magnitude of her feelings would act. She tormented little Devlin Wolfe to within an inch of his life. She instigated countless schemes for which he was always blamed. She pinched him during family outings. She stuck her tongue out at him during family meals so he would complain and get scolded by his mother—on the rare occasions the sickly woman actually braved the stairs to join her family in the dining hall.

Her behavior predictably led to some mild dislike on Devlin’s part. Not that Trixie really noticed or cared, because while she loved Devlin in a purely innocent manner, she did not actually love him.

Not, that is, until she turned twenty-one.

It had taken her quite a long time to realize it. Probably because it had taken Devlin quite a long time to mature into the six-foot three epitome of masculine beauty that he was at the age of eighteen. Unfortunately, by the time Trixie realized she was in love with Devlin Wolfe, she’d made quite a reputation for herself as a silly little flirt, and as Devlin was singularly obsessed with books and knowledge, it seemed apparent that there wasn’t much she could do about her infatuation. Especially since, at the moment of her life-altering revelation, she was watching him follow a particularly undiscerning young widow out of her Party Room during her birthday party and towards a back hallway that would inevitably lead up to the guest rooms.

Five minutes later, Trixie had found a bottle of Saphronian wine, unfortunately in the hand of a reprobate commoner named Jon Steadland. About thirty minutes after that, her reputation was torn to shreds when five of society’s most popular and moral matrons found her half-naked in the arms of said commoner.

Confused, as she couldn’t quite remember how she’d gotten into such a state of undress in the first place, Trixie had fled the scene of the crime…right into Devlin’s arms. And when she’d tearfully told him the horrors she had just endured…well, he had simply walked away.

Trixie, of course, was devastated. For two whole years she was devastated. When finally she could no longer stand the constant innuendoes and propositions made by the male members of both social classes (and all those in between) due to her lack of reputation, she swallowed her pride and went back to Devlin for help. He was the only one who knew the real story, after all, and she would truly hate to explain to someone else that she couldn’t remember losing her own virginity in such a public manner.

When she went to Bryune Castle, she wasn’t quite certain what she had in mind. She knew she was going to ask Devlin for help, but what kind of help was something she’d probably analyzed to death.

He could take her as his mistress, thus offering her his protection in that only semi-permanent manner.

He could use his authority as the brother of a Duke to announce to all and sundry that he would personally kill anyone who dared to lay an improper hand upon Trixie’s person or who dared suggest, no matter how cloaked in proper courtesies, that she lay an improper hand upon him.

Or he could marry her.

Personally, Trixie favored the third choice. And in the process of her analyzing and re-analyzing, she’d reached the conclusion that it was the simplest and most intelligent course of action. In fact, someone as wise as Devlin would surely recognize that immediately and offer for her right away. Which led her to wonder if he would do so on his knees, as those hopelessly romantic types were wont to do, or if he would sweep her into his arms for a lingering kiss before declaring himself to her.

All fanciful notions, of course, but she could dream.

She shouldn’t have, though. One’s dreams always have a way of getting shattered in the worst possible ways, and nothing could have been worse than walking into Devlin’s cluttered study and begging for his aid, only to have him turn around and say, “Ask Douglass.”

Douglass, whom she’d been friends with for years but never really gave a fig for beyond that. Douglass, whom she did not love. And he was practically giving her to him.

Ever since that day nearly seven years ago, what had started as the proud love of a friend and had developed into the deep love experienced by so few grew, day by day, into a hatred the likes of which Trixie Thomasson had never known. And what had started as harmless, childish pranks turned into truly malicious attempts to humiliate the younger Wolfe twin.

Hatred, she learned, was far sweeter than love anyway.