Another Fae looms behind him, his black shirt clinging tightly to his form, soaked through by the rain. The leather of his trousers glistens, outlining the sinewy muscles beneath, while wet strands of pitch-black hair obscure his face, shrouding hisexpression. He raises his hand to the stormy sky, and I watch, breathless, as tendrils of smoke weave between his fingers. Slowly, a brilliant silver sword manifests, its shimmer cutting through the gloom. My heart stops in my chest as I grapple with the realization of what is coming next.
With brutal swiftness, the sword arcs down. The kneeling man’s head falls away, his body frozen in a macabre posture. His killer steps forward, his boot pressing into his victim’s back before sending him over the edge. I watch, horrified, as the body tumbles through the air before smashing against the rocks below.
A scream tears from my lips before I can hold it back, and the killer’s head snaps in my direction. From this distance, I can just make out the sharp angles of his cheeks and jawline and the glow of his slate-gray eyes, along with the broadness of his shoulders rising and falling with each breath.
With a deliberate motion, he curls his fingers into a fist, and the silver sword dissipates into tendrils of smoke that drift into the twilight. We remain suspended in that moment, our gazes locked—mine brimming with horror and revulsion, while his reflects a disturbing blend of curiosity and apathy.
“Girl,” Arax snaps. “This way.”
I turn to him. “What was that down there?”
Arax exhales, a rumbling in his chest. “The execution of a coward and a deserter. He fled the battlefield when his brother and sister Blades needed him most. For this, the punishment is death.”
“That is murder,” I strain through grit teeth.
“No. That is Mordorin justice,” Arax replies coldly.
I turn back to the scene, my soaked hair whipping my face, but when I look, the man in black is gone.
“The king and queen wait,” Arax reminds me.
My chin drops to my chest, rain trailing down my chin as I follow Arax through the archway, my gut twisting with disgust. He may not have spoken his name, but there is no doubt in my mind who the wielder of that blade is.
Ruthless. Cruel.The wicked prince of The Mordorin himself.My fated husband.
Chapter 3
The coldness in the executioner’s eyes follows me as Arax and I enter the castle, and though I’m grateful to be free of the rain, I still hear it pattering on the stone and running down the columns. Arax guides me through dimly lit corridors, where flickering torches cast eerie shadows upon the stone walls. The Mordorin guards stand like silent sentinels, their formidable forms as still as statues, their eyes glinting like embers in the gloom. Each step feels like a journey in itself until we finally arrive at a pair of colossal doors, flanked by black banners emblazoned with the Mordorin crest: a winged sword soaring above a crescent moon.
Arax pushes hard against the dark wood and the doors groan open. The throne room unfolds before us, a breathtaking expanse adorned with intricately sculpted archways that soar high above. Candle light bathes the room in an eerie saffron glow, from the scattering of candles across the stone floor to the elaborate tiered candelabras and gigantic chandelier overhead dripping wax like rain. At the far end of the chamber, behind three thrones hewn from rock, stands a magnificent stainedglass window, stretching from floor to ceiling, depicting a Mordorin warrior in full garb; the spiked pauldrons, the flowing ebony cloak, the shrouded helm, and black wings that fill the starry sky backdrop.
I stand behind Arax, my heart racing in my chest, beating so loud it sounds like thunder in my ears, and when a crack of lightning makes the grand room as bright as day, I see two shadowed figures standing on the dais before the thrones.
“Go,” Arax says in a whisper that vibrates the surrounding air. “They are waiting.”
I nod in agreement, but my feet freeze in place.
He glances at the figures, then back at me and clears his throat. “Girl? Did you hear me?”
I hear Arax’s words. I know what I should do, but still I do not move.
Then suddenly someone whispers in my ear.“You should not have come here! Run while you can!”
For a moment, it feels as if the Souls have found me. But that is impossible. Their home is the trees. A chill runs through my veins as I turn toward the sound.
Arax meets my gaze, confusion etched on both our faces.
“What did you say?” I whisper, my throat tightening.
He eyes me as if I’ve lost my grip on reality. “What? I told you to go to the King and Queen.”
My brow burrows, mind drifting off.I could have sworn…
“They’ve sent us a mad bride,” Arax grumbles under his breath.
“What is the delay?” calls a voice smooth as velvet from beneath the stunning stained glass.
“Apologies, my Queen,” Arax says, a grimace crossing his features as he turns back to me. “Move, Jewel. Now!”
