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PROLOGUE

JAGAROS

I bounded through the jungle, and eleven other figures followed.

Usually, I was the hunter. On any other day, I’d twirl around and bare my canines at my pursuers as a warning before I tore them to shreds. Or clawed their faces off. The method of slaughter depended on my mood.

Today was different, though. For one, a heavy satchel hung from my jaw by the straps, and I really didn’t feel like dropping it. For another, the eleven other figures running after me weren’t actually chasing me—they were following.

Because something much more sinister was chasing them.

Wouldn’t be my problem if I hadn’t promised Rayna Drey that I would get them to safety. But for all the promises I’d broken in my lifetime, I would not break this one. Not to her.

So I leaped over fallen logs and ripped through hanging sheets of moss, cutting a path for them through the foliage. Monkeys shrieked and swung away when they caught sight of me. Birds took off in a rush of wings. My upper lip curled at the sound of all the exiled ones stumbling and panting behind me.

Useless humans. But we were almost there. A swirling mass of white mist coated the trees ahead, the wall of white rising high above the canopy: the Uninhabitable Zone, modern Esholians called it. Nobody who went in ever came out. That was the narrative they told themselves, anyway.

In truth, nobody with active faerie magic could go in or out. The exiled ones behind me weren’t faeries, and most of them didn’t have active magic anymore, not after each of their brands had been mutilated beyond repair in Hallow’s Perch.

As for me?

Rayna Drey had once asked me if I was a faerie, and I had told her not anymore. Beyond the fact that I didn’t deserve to be called a true faerie after all I had lost for my people, my innate power went beyond what the Shape Shifters at that silly little institute could do. It wasn’t just a temporary bodily change that had to be maintained through sheer willpower. It was something that effortlessly altered my structure down to the very bone.

Whenever I donned this form, I wasn’t a faerie anymore. I was wholly and truly a wild white tiger on the island of Eshol.

Which is why I’d be able to go right through.

Moments before we collided with the mist of the Uninhabitable Zone, however, the exiled ones slammed themselves to a halt, staring up at the swirling, milky white magic that marked the border between worlds.

Go in! I wanted to roar, but all that came out was a growl through my clamped teeth. The nearest exiled one clapped a hand to her mouth with a sob, her face still covered in wounds and burns from Hallow’s Perch.

Where was a damn Wild Whisperer when you needed one?

An explosion rocked the jungle behind us. The ground shook, and half of the exiled ones tipped sideways, falling into the brambles with various shouts.

The Good Council elites were almost upon us, throwing their magic our way. If they caught up, every exiled one would die, I knew, so I put a single paw into the mist and jerked my head in my best impression of a human gesture, growling again.

This time, they started to listen.

One by one, the exiled ones took the risk, scrambling to their feet and plunging headfirst into the swirling mist, their outlines fading away after a few steps. Right as the last one loitered on the border, I spun and caught sight of several silhouettes pushing through the branches behind us, gleaming red dots in the middle of their brands.

Their eyes flashed. They raised their hands.

With a violent swing of my neck, I pushed the last exiled one through, and we both melted into the place where the Good Council didn’t dare follow.

The haze condensed around me, clouding my vision. The ground squelched, suddenly spongy beneath each of my paws, but I didn’t hesitate as I slunk right on through. I’d traveled in and out of the Uninhabitable Zone so many times that I’d memorized the number of breaths it took to get from my lost empire on the outside to all that remained of it on the inside.

Five.

Just five measly breaths kept my people from freedom.

And yet, just like every other time I emerged from the mist on the other side, my remaining warriors stationed on the outskirts caught one glimpse of me, did a double take, and immediately sunk into low bows that I didn’t deserve.

“King Jagaros!” they cried in our mother tongue.

“Welcome back, Your Majesty.”

“A pleasure to see you, Majesty.”