Page 40 of Ringmaster (The Kingdom of Shadow & Bone #1)

Azrael

Tomorrow can’t come fast enough. Mercy will finally be safely tucked away under my protection.

Before she arrives, I have one final task, and for that, I’ll need Zora’s help.

I spent the better part of the day restoring my sleep, with evening falling fast. Now I trek down the worn path to her enchanted boxcar, ready to summon the Prince of Nightmares.

When I raise my hand to knock, the door swings open. Zora greets me with a smile.

“Azrael. Come in. I’ve been expecting you.” She waves me inside and closes the door behind us.

“Zora,” I greet her warmly. “Does this mean you know why I’m here?”

“I only knew to expect you. Tell me how I can help?”

“I need to summon the Prince of Nightmares.”

A hush falls between us for several moments as Zora considers. When she opens her eyes, she nods solemnly. “He’ll have a request of his own. Be careful what you agree to, Azrael.”

“I understand.”

“Then come. Let’s summon him. Help me gather the supplies.” She pulls me toward shelves stacked with objects that defy explanation—things that whisper of dreams and nightmares alike.

Zora hands me a mortar and pestle, then begins dumping dried herbs into it. “Grind it into a sandy texture,” she instructs.

I do as she asks, and once the mixture is ready, she sets the candles in a circle, lighting them in a particular order only she knows. The flames flicker low in the dim room. Zora hands me the bowl of powdered sand.

“Take a handful,” she says. “Draw a circle in a clockwise motion. As you shape it, think of him. Call him. Summon him. And your final words must command his presence. Do not leave him the opening to refuse you.” Her eyes are wide, full of worry.

“What will happen?” I ask. “Why do you look so afraid?”

“Because he’s dangerous,” she replies. “He’s powerful, and unlike us, he’s not bound by the laws of Hell. You must be careful.”

I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “Are you ready?”

“Not quite.”

Zora picks up a piece of chalk and draws a circle around us and our workspace. “Whatever you do, don’t step outside the circle of protection.” She dips a rope in blood. “Tie this around your wrist, and I’ll secure the other end around mine.”

I look at her, puzzled.

“If he pulls us to a dreamscape, into his realm, this will ensure we remain together. As long as you stay inside the circle, he won’t be able to control the meeting or force us into a nightmare,” she explains gravely.

The weight of what I’m about to do for—something that seems so simple, so harmless—finally settles over me. Even now, standing in the circle with the bloodstained rope binding us, I wonder if I’ve gone too far. Some doors, once opened, never close again.

I could always wait for Mercy to arrive. But I want to surprise her. I need her to know how much this means to me. That I’ll always take care of her first, above all else.

“Are you ready?” I ask, jaw set, determined to follow through with this insanity.

“Whenever you are, Azrael.”

The sand, as Zora called it, feels heavy in my hand. I grip it tightly, refusing to let a single grain escape—not yet.

“Prince of Nightmares,” I begin, “I summon you. Join me here. Answer my call.”

Extending my arm, I begin at the twelve o’clock position, releasing a steady stream as I slowly move clockwise, just like Zora instructed. “Come to me, Prince of Nightmares. I request your presence in my realm.”

My arm reaches the halfway point. “Prince of Nightmares, I command your presence. I demand you meet with me.”

Magic sizzles through the air. The candles flicker. “Prince of Nightmares, appear before me.”

I close the circle, and the room explodes full of power. The candles extinguish—only for a moment—before reigniting all at once. And standing before me, enclosed within the greater chalk ring, is the Prince of Nightmares.

Nothing could’ve prepared me for laying eyes on him.

Not even Zora’s warnings. He is a paradox—beautiful and horrifying.

A figure torn straight from a dream… or nightmare.

His marbled eyes, with their catlike pupils stare back into mine, full of menace and rage.

Dark hair falls across his forehead in a disheveled mess, and a swirling cape, colored with every hue of the realms, billows around him.

The collar reaches his ears, but as my eyes flick over it, he lowers the collar and holds his head high.

The prince is just as tall as me. And in one hand, he clutches a crystal orb.

“Your Majesty,” I say, bowing slightly. “Thank you for answering my call.”

His voice rumbles like distant thunder. “You didn’t exactly give me a choice.”

“My deepest apologies. I won’t waste your time. I’ve called you here to request a favor.” “I’m afraid I don’t deal in favors. Who are you, exactly?”

“Azrael, Prince of Shadow and Bone. Descendant of Lucifer.” I bow again, deeply this time.

“Ahhh… Prince of Shadows. I was told I would meet you.”

I quip an eyebrow. “May I ask who told you we would meet?”

“No,” he snaps. “But you already know the answer.”

“The Fates,” I guess.

He nods. “What is the favor you seek, Azrael? Time may be meaningless to you, but to me, it’s everything. I have work that needs doing.”

“I understand. I don’t intend to delay you. “ I glance at Zora, who offers a small, encouraging nod.

“Your favor, then, Prince of Shadow and Bone. What is it?”

I hate begging. But for her, I’d beg gods, the demons, the void itself. “I require your help. I would like to take a dream-walk. So that I might manipulate a dream–”

He interrupts. “Dreams are not to be manipulated. I can’t help you.”

“Please. I want to show my mate how much I care for her. To help her feel comfortable.”

“I don’t see how tampering with dreams would achieve that. It is forbidden to meddle in love. I can’t make anyone fall in love. You know that. I know that. Every entity who wields magic knows it.”

“I’m not asking you to change her heart. Only to let me—“

“I do not meddle in love, Shadow Prince,” he says sharply.

I clench my fists, willing myself to stay calm. “Let me finish.”

He narrows his eyes. “Very well. But as I’ve warned—do not waste my time.”

I think of Zora’s instructions. Be clear, she said, and he will ask for something in return.

“I wish to strike a deal. A favor for a favor, of equal value and weight.”

He tilts his head, clearly intrigued, and I continue.

“My mate arrives tomorrow. I wish for her to feel happiness. To feel at home here. She’s endured so much…

and no one deserves peace more than she does,” I pause, studying his reaction, but he’s unreadable.

“I simply wish to walk through a dream with you. One you conjure, based on my request. I’m building her a room.

A place that feels like it’s truly hers.

A sanctuary. Somewhere she might, one day, feel safe enough to heal. ”

His gaze sharpens. His magic presses against my own, testing me. Trying to see into my mind. “If you’d like for me to prove my intentions,” I offer, “then allow me to show you.”

The quiet surrounds us as he contemplates my words. Then, finally: “Show me.”

He places the crystal orb into my hand. I close my eyes and think of Mercy. Of her smile. Her sorrow. Her strength. All the ways I wish to bring her happiness and comfort. When I open my eyes again, tears line his.

He bows his head. “Azrael, you are pure of heart. I will grant your request. In exchange for a favor of my choosing. Something of equal value… when I call.”

“Agreed.”

He studies the circles of sand and chalk. “To walk in dreams together, you must break the boundaries that contain me.”

My eyes dart to Zora. She’s shaking her head, mouthing no. But I meet the Prince of Nightmares’ endless stare, and I nod my agreement.

“I can only take one. Untie yourself from your companion, and I will guarantee your safe passage through the dream realms—and your safe return, Shadow Prince.”

The rope is stiff with blood. My fingers struggle to untie the knot, but at last it loosens and drops to my feet.

“Don’t do this, Azrael,” Zora pleads. “Don’t step outside the circle.”

“Silence!” the Prince of Nightmares snaps. With a wave of his hand, Zora collapses into sleep, still inside the ring of chalk.

I want to protest his actions, but I stop myself. This is the price. I’ll play by his rules. I kick the sand, stepping outside the chalk circle—

—and am whisked away in a blur.

When the spinning stops, I’m surrounded by blank nothingness. It ripples like black silk. My steps make no sound. Every breath echoes louder than a scream. Beside me, the Prince of Nightmares stands motionless—like a grave statue, tall and foreboding.

“Where are we?” I ask.

“The dreamscape,” he says. “Where all things are possible.”

Everything happens fast. I remember what he said about time—how it’s merely a construct to me, yet something entirely different to others. Flashes of images fill the space, and then the plane shifts. We’re standing in the empty room I plan to gift to Mercy.

“Go ahead. Imagine creating the perfect room. Summon her here to craft the dream. You need only to call to her, reach for her through your bond,” he instructs.

I do as I’m told, and soon Mercy is here.

Her joy radiates through the bond, quiet and golden.

I could live an eternity in this one moment and never long for more.

She begins creating a room centered around a large four-post bed.

Intricate carvings of marigolds adorn the dark-stained wood, and plush, comfortable lavender bedding decorates it.

A soft rug rests beneath the bed to warm her feet, with a matching one laid before the fireplace.

Oversized, eggplant-colored chairs rest in front of the hearth, and a floor-to-ceiling bookshelf lines one wall.

Across the room, a wardrobe stands with carved flowers in matching stained wood.

There’s a tray for tea and a vase spilling out and a vase overflowing with wild, vibrant flowers.

Smaller matching vases are sprinkled throughout the space, and a gentle breeze stirs the curtains.

A tall mirror rests on another wall, and from the ceiling hangs a crystal chandelier casting dancing rainbows of light. It’s beautiful. It’s Mercy’s room.

Everything goes black. When I open my eyes, I’m standing in the very room she imagined—fully furnished and alive with her touch. I spin around, amazed. It’s exactly as it was in the dream. On a table beside the overflowing vase rests a slip of paper. Scrawled in elegant lettering, it reads:

A mating gift for you, Prince of Shadows.

I thank you for reminding me that even the smallest acts of kindness hold far more weight than all the riches of the world.

In time, I hope we can remain allies. A favor for a favor—but this room is not a favor.

It’s a gift that need not be repaid. I look forward to returning to your realm one day.

Until we meet again; Endlessly Dreaming.

Yours truly,

The Prince of Nightmares