Praise for the novels of New York Times bestselling author
GENA SHOWALTER
Wicked Nights
‘Showalter delivers yet again!’
—RT Book Reviews on Wicked Nights
The Darkest Passion
‘Showalter gives her fans another treat, sure to satisfy!’
—RT Book Reviews
The Darkest Whisper
‘If you like your paranormal dark and passionately flavoured, this is the series for you.’
—RT Book Reviews
The Darkest Pleasure
‘Showalter’s darkly dangerous Lords of the Underworld trilogy, with its tortured characters, comes to a very satisfactory conclusion … [her] compelling universe contains the possibilityof more stories to be told.’
—RT Book Reviews
The Darkest Kiss
‘In this new chapter the Lords of the Underworld engage in a deadly dance. Anya is a fascinating blend of spunk, arrogance and vulnerability—a perfect match for the tormented Lucien.’
—RT Book Reviews
The Nymph King
‘A world of myth, mayhem and love under the sea!’
—J. R. Ward
Playing with Fire
‘Another sizzling page-turner … Gena Showalter delivers an utterly spell-binding story!’
—Kresley Cole
Beauty Awakened
Gena Showalter
First, to my amazing new editor Emily Ohanjanians for taking me on and not vomiting when I explained my ‘process.’
To Marie, who takes care of me in so many ways!
To my mom and dad, for answering every single one of my book-related calls and never saying ‘This again? But we went over it yesterday—for an hour.’
To my agent Deidre Knight, for always having my back. Even when I say things like, ‘So … here’s what I want to do next.’
To Jia Gayles, for always being willing to help with promos.
And to Jill Monroe, for too many reasons to list.
God is good. All the time, God is good.
PROLOGUE
SEVEN-YEAR-OLD KOLDO sat as quietly as possible in the corner of the bedroom. His mother was brushing her hair, lovely dark ringlets spun with threads of the purest gold. She perched in front of the vanity, humming softly but excitedly, her smiling, freckled image reflected in an oval mirror. He couldn’t help but watch her, fascinated.
Cornelia was one of the most beautiful creatures ever created. Everyone always said so. Her eyes were the palest violet, edged by lashes the same brown-and-gold mix as her hair. Her lips were heart-shaped, and her pale skin glowed as brightly as the sun.
With Koldo’s inky hair, dark eyes and deeply bronzed skin, he looked nothing like her. The only thing they had in common was their wings, and perhaps that was why he was so proud of the glittering white feathers cushioned by plush, amber down. They were his one redeeming feature.
Her humming suddenly ceased.
Koldo gulped.
“You’re staring at me,” she snapped, all hint of her smile gone.
He cast his gaze to the floor, as she preferred. “Sorry, Momma.”
“I told you not to call me that.” She slammed the brush onto the marble counter. “Are you so foolish that you’ve already forgotten?”
“No,” he replied softly. Everyone lauded her sweetness and gentleness as much as her beauty, and they were right to do so. She was generous with her praise and kind to everyone who approached her—everyone but Koldo. He’d always experienced a very different side of her. No matter what he did or said, she found fault. And yet, still he loved her with all of his heart. He’d only ever wanted to please her.
“Hideous little creature,” she mumbled as she stood, the scent of jasmine and honeysuckle drifting from her. The purple fabric of her robe danced at her ankles, the jewels sewn into the hem sparkling in the light. “Just like your father.”
Koldo had never met his father, had only ever heard about the man.
Evil.
Disgusting.
Repulsive.
“I’m having friends over,” she said, flicking her hair over one shoulder. “You’re to stay up here. Do you understand?”
“Yes.” Oh, yes. He understood. If anyone caught sight of him, she would be embarrassed by his ugliness. She would rage. He would suffer.
She peered at him for a long while. Finally she growled, “I should have drowned you in the bathtub when you were too young to fight back,” and stomped from the room, the door slamming shut behind her.
The rejection cut bone deep, and he wasn’t sure why. She’d said far worse countless times before.
Just love me, Momma. Please.
Maybe … maybe she couldn’t. Not yet. Hope unfurled in his chest, and he raised his chin. Maybe he hadn’t done enough to prove himself. Maybe if he did something special for her, she would finally realize he was nothing like his father. Maybe if he cleaned her room … and had a bouquet of fresh flowers waiting for her … and sang a song as she drifted to sleep … Yes! She would hug and kiss him in thanks, the way she often hugged and kissed the servants’ children.
Excited, Koldo folded the blankets he used for his pallet on the floor and jumped to his feet. He darted through the room, picking up the discarded robes and sandals, then fluffed the pillows strewn around the center rug, where Cornelia liked to relax and read.
He ignored the wall of weapons—the whip, the daggers and the swords—and straightened the items on the vanity: the brush, the bottles of perfume, the creams for his mother’s skin and the pungent-smelling liquid she liked to drink. He polished every necklace, bracelet and ring in her jewelry box.
By the time he finished, the room and everything in it glistened as though brand-new. He grinned, pleased with his efforts. She would appreciate all that he’d done—he just knew it.
Now for the flowers.
Cornelia wanted him to stay here, and had he promised to obey her, he would have. But he hadn’t promised. He’d told her only that he understood her desires. Besides, this was for her, all for her, and no one would see him. He would make sure of it.
He strode to the balcony, pushed open the double doors. Cool night air wafted over him. The palace was situated in a far realm of the lower heavens, neighbored by thousands of stars twinkling from an infinite expanse of black velvet. The moon was bright and high, a mere sliver curved into two upward points.
The moon was smiling at him.
Encouraged, Koldo stepped to the balcony’s ledge. There was no railing,