These were the same shadows that had been his only companions for so many years—watching from the corners of his cell, brushing over his skin like whispers. Why had they answered him, when the Shadowed Veil had wanted to kill him? Were they truly pieces of the same whole, or had the tragedy that shattered their people fractured them as well—leaving them broken beyond repair, just as he was?
The crypt was as old as the temple above it, carved into the bedrock of Eluneth itself. Statues stretched along the dimly lit hall, the names of kings and queens long past worn smooth by time and reverent hands. Loren let his fingers brush over one inscription, bowing his head as he passed. These were the rulers that had come before, laid to rest beneath the temple of the Goddess they had loved.
At the far end of the chamber, beneath the flickering glow of the aetherlamps, Loren found what he had come to see.
His mother, Queen Lysana Nightshade, had been rendered in flawless detail—her long hair swept back beneath a delicate crown and her hands folded over the hilt of a sword, its point restingbetween her bare feet. The sculptor had captured her grace and strength, freezing her in time just as Loren remembered her—elegant and fierce.
Beside her stood his father, King Corwin Shadowbane. He loomed as tall and unyielding in death as he had in life—but the tomb beneath his statue yawned open, empty and untouched. No body had been laid to rest here.
Loren knelt before them. He hadn’t seen their faces anywhere but his memories in twenty-five years. And now all that remained of them were statues and silence.
“I don’t know why I came here,” he said, even his whisper too loud in the silence. “I failed you. Our people.”
The shadowmark on his forearm burned, pulsing in time with his heartbeat as the darkness writhed under his skin. Loren lifted it, staring down at the black veins of power. What right did he have to even kneel at their graves if he couldn’t even claim his birthright?
His homeland was crumbling, the magic he’d sworn to protect dying a long, slow death at the hands of their human oppressors. His people were scattered—lost. And Loren—he was too broken, too far from the male fate had wanted him to be.
Loren clenched his fists, closing his eyes against the sight of his mother’s face. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he said, his voice breaking. “I don’t know if it’s even possible.”
The shadows stirred. Not like the cold, devouring void of the Veil—but quieter, closer. They murmured around him, indistinct, their whispers brushing his skin like the ghosts of old friends. He couldn’t make out the words at first, but they gathered, their whispers joining together until they spoke with a single voice.
She bargained for your chance. Do not waste it.
Loren clenched his jaw. Goddess help him, she really had—throwing herself straight into the path of the Shadowed Veil like they weren’t all about to die. She’dspokento it—like it was something that could be reasoned with.
Reckless—absolutely insane. But somehow, impossibly…it had listened.
“I won’t drag her into this,” he told them. “She deserves better. A life untouched by darkness. Free from people who see her as a means to an end. We have to let her go.”
Then you should not have taken her blood,the shadows hissed, sharp and displeased.Youclaimedher. You claimedus.And you dare to tell us she is not already ours?
Loren gasped, clutching the shadowmark on his arm. It burned like fire beneath his skin, searing through muscle and bone. The shadows surged around him, the weight of their presence a dark ache that took him to the ground.
You cannot unmake what you bound, Prince of Shadows, they said, the force of their words pressing him into the stone.If you do not rise to meet them,dara’elwill unmake you and choose again—and we will allow it.
They vanished as suddenly as they had come, slithering back into the cracks and secret places of the world to watch and wait. Loren gasped in a harsh breath, his face pressed against the cold stone at the foot of his parents’ tombs, one hand still clutching the brand that pulsed like a second heart beneath his skin.
“I took her blood to get us out alive,” he snapped. “Not to bind her to this—to me. If she’s your demand, you should have killed me before I ever left that cell.”
The shadows said nothing. But someone else did.
“Lorendriel.”
Loren stiffened. It had been years—decades—since he’d heard his true name from someone’s lips. And the voice...he knew it.
Hardly daring to believe, he turned. She was a grown female now, far removed from the child he remembered—but heknewher. He knew her raven-black hair and her bright green eyes, both so like his own. He knew her voice, even though it now carried the weight of years of leadership.
“Eloriane,” he whispered, his voice breaking on her name as he stood.
Before he could take another step, his little sister crossed the space between them in a rush, flinging herself into his arms. She clung to him, holding on like she feared he would vanish if she let go. Loren clung to her just as tightly, his face wet with tears.
He hadn’t allowed himself to imagine this—to be found, to be welcomed back. But here she was. Real. Warm. Alive. Holding him as if she could erase the years between them.
“You made it back to us,” she said when they finally parted, her voice shaking. “I thought we lost you forever.”
“I thought I’d lost you too,” Loren managed, his throat thick. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I thought?—”
“You’re here,” Eloria said, her voice firm even though there was sorrow in her green eyes as they traced the scars he wore now. “That’s all that matters, Loren. You survived. You’re here.”
