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Telldaira still burned in the distance. Smoke drifted on a phantom wind, disturbing the coral and crimson hues of the sun-kissed sky, were not the lasting remnants of a destroyed city.

Instead, the smell of destruction and the distant memory of strangled screams burned the air above a sea of deep, dark purple tents as Garrik crested an overlooking hill.

The High King’s army waited in the valley like a sleeping beast. Magnelis’s, in such loose terms,exultedRavens were favored above all else. They acted as his ruthless iron hand, collecting misery as payment, and death as their right to execute on a mere whim.

Headsmen of Elysian, given authority above every living thing.

Except the one that dined with darkness … who was its master.

Garrik rolled the tension from his neck and shoulders, gripping the reins until his knuckles turned white and threatened to split. Knowing what was to come—what was always to come. Of who he had to be. And if he was foolish enough to unleash his rippling power without the High King gaining knowledge of what his wrath had carried out…

The entire sea of canvases would be leveled.

Nothing left.

Not even a bloodstain in the dust.

One day…

Through whorls of creeping Smokeshadows, Jade and Thalon were engulfed in a storm of his incredible powers, turning them into shadows as he too became smoke and air and ash. And when that wave of nothingness enveloped his body, transcending them into such great forces, the entire world shifted, flying by as if they were floating in air. Like swimming through the coldest waters of Zyllyryon, crashing inside a billowing wave, and manifesting inside a roaring flame, they drifted on a twirling wind.

He called it ‘dawning’—one of his treasured abilities only possible by Smokeshadows. To be transported through space and time, to become the darkness and appear at whatever destination he chose. This time, they arrived within the border of the High King’s camp, extracting them like he had done to Alorain the woods. He could have simply dawned them there earlier, but he would rather enjoy the solitude and silence of the ride. Besides. There was no rush to endure the dealings of the Raven’s camp. That would come soon enough.

And that time had now come.

Their bodies manifested back to their born forms as they each straightened in their saddles, like transforming into darkness was nothing more than a simple, meaningless thing, utterly unaffected by it.

Instead of the lush grasses from atop the hill, Ghost cracked loose pebbles of the road beneath her hooves.

They rode in unison onto the loose, pebbled path. Thalon sat rigid, his back straightened, and chin high to Garrik’s right, hand on the hilt of his golden-runed sword sheathed at his side. Jade, to Garrik’s left, burned her death glare forward with knives strapped to her thighs, one idly spinning between her fingers.

The smoke in the valley burned into Garrik’s eyes as they neared two sleep-deprived sentries lazily guarding the border of the Ravens’ camp. They looked young. Likely new recruits in training, given border duty because some commander was too indolent to leave the comfort of his bed to instill proper protocol after a siege.

Even so, their attention snapped from their very fingernails when the echoes of hooves rippled across the stones.

“Halt. Identify yourselves in the name of the High King,” a young, six-winged, gray faerie commanded, unsheathing his sword and standing ready.

Pathetic.Garrik formed a wicked grin that was so starsdamned delicious when his silver eyes glimpsed a tremble in the sentries’ knees. Lifting his head, face covered by the black cloak he wore, surging satisfaction thrummed inside his veins.

Without even blinking, he released Smokeshadows upon the ground—effortlessly. Allowing them to fog dauntingly around the sentries’ boots.

It was pleasing to watch them squirm within an inch of their lives. To watch their faces as death stalked them. Purely exhilarating—even though there wasnothingpure about him—not anymore.

Not since?—

Lightning threatened to strike from Thalon’s voice, like a brimstone fury. “YourHigh Prince. Garrik of Elysian. Stand the hell aside.”

I love to see Ravens cower.Garrik’s malicious grin widened. It was the one satisfaction he got from these summons.

Thalon was frightening enough, but nothing compared to the sinister look on their High Prince’s face in that moment. From the stories of times past, Garrik could thieve the life from their lungs without uttering a single word or blinking a dismissive eye.

The Savage Prince—ruthless—bloodthirsty—an unrelenting executioner, prowling and malevolent before them.

He reveled in their cowering.

Enjoyed every bit of fear radiating from their bones.

The older of the two stood at attention, sword shaking in his hand. He almost dropped it to the dirt as they parted, allowing their High Prince and his Shadow Order to pass.