Page 62 of A Reign of Chromes & Shadows

His eyes darken with sorrow. “The White Aetherchrome will keep you at peace, as it opposes the dark forces here. I pray to the Gods it is enough to protect you, my boy.”

“I love you, Dad. Now please go. You must get back under the protection of the palace before the curse takes full effect. I have three moons until I am at risk.”

I hold up a protective pendant between us, its iridescence catching what little light remains. “Go be by Mum’s side.”

A fierce desire rises in me to beg him to return home; he is not safe. Only ten of us have protective medallions forged from Rainbow Aetherchrome, taken and charged before it became tainted. Their power will only hold for a short time, unable to be recharged by the source ever again.

“We love you, come what may. Never forget,” he says, pulling me into a tight embrace. I cling to him, unwilling to let go. Nothing will ever be the same again. No parent to guide me—a terrifying realisation.

“I love you too. Now go,” I say, and he does. He runs back to his horse, mounts, turns once more toward me, and with a final nod, gallops back into the darkness from which we came.

I double-check that the pack is secure before mounting my own black stallion. I raise my hand, signalling to my trusted companions that we ride on. Adjusting my hood to shelter me, I grip the reins tightly, dig into the stirrups, and call formy horse to move. I lead everyone across the stone bridge, leaving what remains of the Rainbow Kingdom; of home, behind, fighting the urge to look back.

As the last horseshoe-clad hoof clops onto the cobblestone path on the far side of the bridge, the airth begins to shift and crack beneath us. The horses neigh, spinning in panic, backing away from the chaos. Black vines erupt from the soil, twisting rapidly into thick, thorned branches jutting out at all angles. They form a wall across the entire landscape, stretching as far as the eye can see.

Horror twists in my gut. Everyone and everything I have ever known and loved is on the other side. I want to take my sword to the vines, carve a way back to them. I know I am expected to never see them again, but the thought of them trapped to an unknown fate hurts more than the certainty of our separation.

“Do not touch the vines,” Elder Riese calls out, his horse rearing as he edges himself between us and the wall. “They are a reaction to the Queen’s magic. Her Grace warned me of this. We must keep going and leave this land behind.”

Confusion fills me, but my mother is an incredibly smart woman. I will not question her decisions, no matter how sharply my heart aches for her warm embrace.

“Rain.”

I hear it—someone calling out, it’s not my name. Yet, it is. I search for the source as we continue north. It is still raining; it has been for some time.

“Rain, I have shown you enough for now. You must wake up. Come and find me,” Elder Isarion’s voice echoes.

I sit up straighter. How is his voice here?

Wait—this isn’t real.

“Rain, wake up!”

I’m dreaming.

This is a dream…

Rain snapped his eyes open, forcing himself into consciousness, dragging himself free from sleep.

“Fuck…” he groaned, a sharp, throbbing pain detonating behind his eyes. He clutched his head, squeezing his eyes shut as nausea rolled through him. A hangover from hell sinks its teeth into him. After a long minute he risked opening his eyes. Thankfully, it was still the dead of night, no light assaulted him.

He pushed himself onto his knees, disoriented. Where was his pillow? It took several moments to realise he was sprawled sideways across his bed, still dressed in his suit; jacket gone, crown gone, shoes gone. He raked a hand through his hair. Brilliant.

Stumbling toward the bathroom, he tried to piece together the night. Fuzzy flashes surfaced: interesting conversations with members of the Pink Court, shared drinks, laughter, even a few dances. He didn’t remember leaving the ball, nor how he’d made it back to his room.

Then the dream slammed back into him.

Isarion.

He flicked the bathroom light on and immediately flinched at its vicious brightness. After using the toilet, he washed his hands and splashed cold water over his face. His reflection stared back—ghostly, hollow-eyed. His father hadn’t killed him yet, but he certainly looked like death.

Crossing back into his room, he noticed several bottles of water and pain medication on his bedside table. Neel must have dragged him here. He grabbed a bottle and headed into the corridor, socks sliding across the tiles as he rounded the corners toward Isarion’s office. He could feel the elder’s energy signature inside—hurried, anxious… Was he packing?

Rain felt like he’d woken to an alternate reality. Was he still dreaming? The pounding in his skull suggested otherwise.

He didn’t knock. He forgot himself entirely in his urgency.

Isarion jolted upright, clutching his chest as if his soul had leapt out of his skin.