Eloria’s gaze softened, her eyes sad. But when she spoke, her voice was iron.
“I want to say yes. But as regent—” she sighed, and when she met his eyes again it wasn’t his sister who looked back at him, but a desperate leader pushed to the edge. “I can’t let a possible solution walk away while our people are starving. If there’s any chance she could bring the shadows to heel—with or without you—she stays.”
Loren stilled—but the shadows didn’t. They slithered out of the darkness, pooling around his feet and rising with his fury, drawn to it like blood in the water.
Eloria’s eyes widened, tracking the movement. “Loren?—”
Loren just stared at her, his jaw locked and his hands curled into fists at his side. He didn’t trust himself to speak—not to the sister who loved him or the regent who had no choice but to demand more from him. But what she was asking…she couldn’t have it.
“Promise me,” he ground out. The air around him thickened, pressing in on all sides as the shadows coiled tighter. “I can’t be the reason she’s made a prisoner.”
But Eloria only shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry, Loren,” she said. “I can’t.”
Her words broke something in him, his rage and despair surging. The shadows struck in tandem, lashing through the air like living whips. Loren shouted, lunging forward to try and pull them back before they reached her—but he was too late.
They struck her head on, ripping through her like a blade.
And Eloria—shattered. Like mist at sunrise, her form dissolved, leaving behind only empty air and the echo of her voice.
Loren staggered back, his breath ragged. An illusion. His sister had been gone long before he ever lost control. Loren dropped to his knees, his mind reeling as he frantically clawed back through the last moments, trying to pinpoint the instant his sister had decided she didn’t trust him enough to stay.
But he couldn’t—and in some ways it didn’t matter. She had been right. If she’d stayed…he would have killed her.
Loren turned to face his father’s statue, his gaze settling on the gaping tomb. He had never truly believed escaping the New Dominion would set him free. He didn’t wear iron on his body now, but their chains still wrapped around his mind—his soul.
But he hadn’t expected this.
The shadows churned through the hall, their whispers fading asthey drew back to him, coiling at his feet like smoke too tired to rise. They had waited decades for him to return—but now?
Loren stared down at the shadowmark writhing under his skin. If the shadows wanted to protect the fae, they should have killed him on that boat. Because he was no king. He was nothing but a danger to anyone desperate enough to believe in him.
Chapter
Thirty-Three
Loren never came.
Araya hadn’t really expected him to, but she couldn’t help being disappointed when the sun set without any sign of him. She passed the hours as best she could—exploring the bedroom and attached bathing chamber, then soaking in a hot bath to ease the bruises and bone-deep ache of the last two days. She even washed her hair, careful not to jostle her stitches as she unwound what remained of her braid and worked the tangles free with slow, aching fingers.
By the time she stepped out of the bath, a tray had mysteriously appeared on the small table near the hearth—still steaming, even though she hadn’t heard anyone come in. Her stomach growled at the sight of it, and she didn’t ask questions.
She ate in silence, curling into one of the chairs while her hair dried loose around her shoulders. The fire warmed her skin and the food filled her stomach—but neither was quite enough to quiet the ache in her chest.
Eventually, she gave in. She slipped into one of the nightgowns she’d found in the wardrobe and stretched out on the bed, telling herself she wasn’t going to sleep—just rest.
But the moment her head hit the pillow, sleep dragged her under.
Araya jerked awake, her breath catching in her throat. She must have been asleep for hours—long enough for the magical fire to burn itself out, casting the unfamiliar room in strange shadows. She stared into the dark, the blanket clutched tight to her chest as she listened for any sign of what had woken her.
Then, she heard it—a softclickas the lock turned over, followed by the faint creak of hinges as her door swung open.
“Hello?” she called. “Is someone there?”
Nothing answered her but silence.
Araya slipped out of bed and crept across the room, pushing the door open just enough to peer into the dark hallway.
Empty. But a faint prickle of unease danced along her skin, raising the hair on the back of her neck. She stared down the darkened corridor, wavering between the urge to seize the unexpected opportunity to explore and the instinctive desire to retreat into her room and push something heavy in front of the door.
