Octavia

By Roza Grey

Octavia always knew she was born different than other witches. She knew there was something special about her; she could never have imagined just how right she was.
With the arrival of a cousin coven, new secrets are revealed, and Octavia finally meets her long-lost father; learns the truth to her origins and power; and suddenly finds engaged to the magical world’s most sought-after lord, Lord Devon, in an effort to save both their clans from losing their magic forever.

About the Author
Roza Grey loves writing, going to the beach, and spending time with her children. In her spare time, she also is a big fan of reading smutty fantasy books.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dorrance Publishing Company
• Release date: Mar 13, 2024
• ISBN: 9798887297590

Book preview

The Beginning

Octavia, time to get up for school, my mom called. I groaned into my sheets.

Ugh, five more minutes, Mom! I yelled in return. I heard her laugh and walk away. I hated mornings; they always come to quickly and last too short. I wanted to stay wrapped in my goose down blanket. It was warm, and I felt safe. I sighed. I knew if I did not get up, my mom would come back and practically drag me out of bed by my feet. With as much enthusiasm as a sloth, I got up.

Man, I got to pee, I thought to myself as I made my way across the hall into the bathroom. Our house was not a huge one; it was cozy and cute, like a little fairytale cottage. The outside did not look like a perfect circle; it was an old cottage-style, brick, tan, and about four hundred years old. It had a thatch roof like ones you would find in England. The doors were a robin’s egg blue with tiny details carved into it. The door was made of an old oak wood; it was heavy, but it was beautiful. The windows on the other hand where a ghastly green; it reminded me of vomit green. For as long as I could remember, I would ask my mom every summer if we could paint them to match the beautiful robin’s egg blue door. She would always say, Octavia, sweetie, you know we do not have much money. We are on a tight budget, so no, we cannot afford to paint them. I would drop my shoulders in defeat every time. On the inside it has one bathroom, two bedrooms all so close together the doors almost touched. The walls were a beautiful flower pattern. I could never name out which flowers, roses, carnations, daisies maybe? They were all a golden cream color and so delicate that as a child, I would be afraid to touch them. I did not want to mess up the pretty patterns. I used to imagine fairies lived in them. I knew that was impossible, only fairies existed in the homeland Valeria. My mom would just laugh anytime I mentioned this and would say, Oh, Octavia, you have the wildest imagination, and walk away. Something told me I was right about the fairies. The walls glowed a faint gold hue. I never did find out if I was right or not, but I could swear late at night if you listened hard enough, you could hear tiny bell-like giggling coming from them. My room was the prettiest out of all of them. I always wondered how my mom afforded to make it just what I wanted over the years growing up; she never did tell me. My room had the robin’s egg blue door. I insisted it be painted that color when I was like five. When you walked in, it seemed like you were showered in dancing light. I had tiny crystals embedded in the walls that were all assorted colors. It looked like it was real crystals, but when you touched the walls, they felt as smooth as silk. On one side was my vanity table we got at a yard sale of my principal; I fell in love with it instantly. I do not know why I was so drawn to it. It was an old Victorian-style, painted gold, with little butterflies carved into the wood. They would glisten like they had diamonds in them. I knew that was impossible, but I could have sworn the stones were real. It was not a huge vanity; it seemed like it was made just to fit perfectly in the space between my windows. The mirror was oval and had gold trim around it and more butterflies. I always loved butterflies. I do not know why but they quickly became my favorite of the flying bug family. The floor was a dark mahogany wood; my mom painted little golden butterflies on it when I was little. I remember throwing a fit when she said no the first few times. She finally gave in. I am her only child. She feels bad because she is a single mother.

I never knew my father. My mom told me he was someone at royal court whom she had a one-night drunken fling with. She could not tell anyone; we have a few strict laws, but the most important is no sex before marriage. Our powers depend on the pure blood through covens, so if someone would fall pregnant and it is not someone in the coven, they would be banned outsiders and stripped of their powers thrown into the Valerian jail to await death. I shuddered at the thought. We had to keep pure until marriage; that was the one law that had to bend.

Although our house was small, I did not mind living in this house. I loved it. Big houses scared me, and you never knew what could be in them. I know that sounds silly, but growing up being taught that every creature the humans feared that go bump in the night existed, you would be scared too. After I did my business, and took a shower, I pulled my soaking wet hair up into a towel and wished it dry; it always took forever to fully dry. I went back to my room. A smile creeped onto my face; my mom laid out my clothes for me. She is so sweet, a little erratic and hairbrained but sweet.

I sat at my vanity to do my hair and makeup for the day. I stared into my reflection. A girl with jet-black hair, olive tan but not to tan skin, and violet eyes started back at me. I was different. I had to hide my true eye color. I could not risk anyone finding out. I was never told why. My mother, ever since I could remember, would cast illusion spells on me when I was too little for contacts to hide my eyes. Every time I would ask her, she would shut down. I tried to pull it from her mind, but she would block it out, so I could not get any information. The only thing she would say is I must keep you safe, Octavia. You are my world, and if anything would happen to you, I would not survive it. I loved my eyes, and I hated hiding them.

With less enthusiasm as a cow being led to slaughter, I reached for the lens case. Muddy brown, ugh. It was the only color that hid my eyes I hated them; they felt weird and made my eyes itch. I put them in and started working on my hair. Long and shiny like a raven’s wings. It was poker straight and came down the middle of my back. I did not mind my hair; it was beautiful, and in certain light you could see blues, purples, and reds. It always flowed like silk and would never get to messed up. As weird as it sounds, it would listen to me. I would send a silent prayer up and say, Please behave today, and not even a strand would move out of place. I decided to just brush it and leave it down. I did not feel up to messing with it today.

I dotted on some come here, boys red lip gloss that gave the color of blood red to my lips. It had tiny gold sparkles in it. I knew it would look amazing with my violet eyes. But I had to hide them. With my full lips and violet eyes, I would think to myself I looked like a member of the royal family. They all had something that stood out. The women where unrealistically beautiful and had tiny gold marks under their right eyes. Lord Dev’s was a Celtic knot. Others had dragons, stars, moons, wolves, and the last of them the bottom was a pentagram; each represented something. The Celtic knot was the mark of the royal family, same with butterflies. The dragons were warrior clans. They were fierce and proud; you would not want to get mixed up with them. Most of the warriors pledged to be loyal and protect the palace; they would stay there as guards. The stars were the priestesses, the ones who lead the ceremonies and rituals. Moons came next. The moons were goddess incarnate; they had the power of the goddess, and they would communicate to them regularly. They would warn of trouble and celebrate blessings. The wolves were the bottom of the royal pack, no pun intended. They were the normal workers, potion makers, tailors. They used to be hunters long ago, but with our numbers growing smaller and smaller every day, the royal family decreed that the guards would do the hunting for now on. They seemed to breed like rabbits, so there were always more guards than anyone else. Then came the pentagrams, the servants; they were not even considered a part of the royal family even though they had the golden mark. They would serve, or be put to death if they refused.

Now, you may be wondering, You did not mention the butterfly. To be honest, I did not know much about it. All that I knew was the family who had that mark were the highest rank in our world. Higher than the royal family. They were the head and at the very top. Count Grant. He was the last of the butterflies. He never married and never had a child. From what I understood, his father was a cruel man and was responsible for our decreasing numbers. There was a rumor that Count Grant made a promise to his father that the butterflies would die with him. He would never marry and would never have children or sire an heir. The butterfly clan would cease to exist. Sometimes at night, I would dream that I was a princess, living in the palace. I would dance with Lord Dev, and Count Grant would be smiling, and everyone would be happy.

I glanced one more time into the mirror before getting up to get dressed. I did not recognize the stranger who started back at me. She was me, but brown eyes stared back. I was ordinary, nothing special about me. Nope, just a regular teen. I walked over to my bed and grabbed my hip-hugger jeans. I smiled. These were the ones that