Antoinette kight sarcy book

Previously

…Antoinette backed away, her eyes locked on the golden needle. She hadn’t managed to steal it, but she’d made contact. She’d felt its power. And she knew, with a certainty that settled deep in her bones, that this was her path. The golden knitting needle, the prize of the enchantress’s power, was the key. And she would find a way to take it. Even if it meant unraveling the entire tapestry of the enchantress's malevolent design, stitch by agonizing stitch. Her mother would be proud. Probably. If she could translate it into a knitting metaphor, of course.