Page 43

Wynter

I come to with something slippery and wet dragging across my face. I blink, groan, and sputter. Ivor’s on my chest, tail thudding like a mallet on packed earth. His tongue scrapes my cheek again, rough and urgent.

I squint blearily up at the sky. The moons look too high. I’d better be fucking hallucinating that.

So far, the plan’s going great . Just brilliant. What an absolute shitshow.

“Off, Ivor,” I rasp, pushing at him weakly. “Your tongue isn’t helping.”

I wipe a smear of blood from my chest, run my fingers over a gash on my thigh.

I’m cold, bleeding, and of course I’m fucking naked.

Flat on my back in the middle of a blasted ruin, dirt ground into my skin, blood dried at my temple. No clothes, no weapons—those two I can fix—and no idea how long I’ve been lying here while Summer’s at the mercy of Moiron fucking Ravenseeker .

“Perfect. Couldn’t be better,” I croak, sitting up so fast the entire realm spins three times.

Scorched runes smolder in the dirt around me. Whatever spell I triggered burned itself out while I was drooling on my back. How long was I out? And how much time have we lost?

Seven hells . Stripped down to the skin, battered, and late. Thank fuck for glamours and the ability to shift.

Ivor scrapes his claws against the ground, then noses at my arm, anxious. I drag myself onto my feet, head pounding, the ground tilting.

Above us, those moons are definitely higher than they should be.

Way higher.

Panic fists my gut.

The trial. It’s probably started already .

I snap into wolf form without thinking, barely managing to stay conscious through the nausea, and then sprint toward the Hollow with Ivor at my heels.

Trees and the dark shapes of ruined buildings blur at the sides of my vision as I pass. I don’t stop to think what might be watching or following us. I don’t stop for anything.

The longer I run, the worse the silence around me feels. I can’t hear any sounds of the Shade Court up ahead. No crowd chanting. No Moiron booming out instructions. Nothing.

I push harder, paws bleeding over rough stone, lungs burning until I finally hear it—cheers and applause.

I glance up at the arc of moons again. I’m too fucking late, and Summer’s alone down there with a court full of vultures.

By the time Ivor and I reach the upper ridge overlooking the Hollow, the crowd is hushed, the air strung tight with anticipation.

My bones burn as I shift into my fae form and conjure a glamour of dark leather and a cloak that lashes the air like a weapon with every step.

I shape it fast, brutally. I don’t need to be pretty. I just need to be terrifying.

Pushing through the fae gathered on the Hollow’s rim—judges, nobles, and observers—I move to the front with Ivor beside me. I scan the slope for a path down the hill, my eyes adjusting to the figures in the pit below.

“Where are you, Summer?” I whisper.

The Hollow glows dimly in shifting tones of green and silver—cast by torchlight burning at the edges and flames flickering from three braziers. Landolin stands near a ceremonial post at the center, arms crossed, dark hair whipping in the breeze.

Shadow magic vibrates against my skin, and I swallow hard, trying not to gag at the taste of it on my tongue. In the darkest corner, linen-wrapped bodies lie stacked on wooden pallets.

And then I see Summer.

Shoulders drawn back, her chin is set at a determined angle, but her posture is tense as if she’s bracing against pain. There’s blood seeping from her palm, a bruise blooming on her cheek.

Landolin presses a crystal vial against her lips, and Moiron’s shadows swirl around her waist, chaotic like he’s losing control. Or has already lost it.

Rage boils inside me, and I curl my fists, grinding my teeth. “Let’s do this,” I tell Ivor, conjuring a sword from the elements.

I descend the slope slow and steady, each step deliberate, shaking the earth. Let them see me approach. Let them wonder if they should stop me. Or run .

The court watches, murmurs dropping off one by one. No one tries to touch me.

Good.

Ivor keeps pace at my side as we move through the crowd and my glamour builds. It’s fueled by anger, drawing energy from the Hollow itself—from the very ground I might be buried under before daybreak.

My skin darkens as I walk, veined through with gold and silver, resembling the ancient stone of the Dún Mountains near my home when the light hits them just right.

Thin layers of slate and gold dust cover my cloak. The edges appear worn and rough, trailing behind me as my feet strike the ground with deliberate thuds. Dust whirls up around me, the land rising to my earth magic, embracing me.

When I reach the center of the Hollow, I stop, feeling the ground pulse underfoot, the entire Shade Court’s attention locked on me.

Let them see me stripped down—a cursed prince facing death. Whatever the price I pay tonight, it’ll be worth it if they let Summer return home. If she’s safe.

Dead silence falls over the Hollow. Even Moiron, perched on a broken column in his raven form, stops preening his gold-streaked feathers. His beady gaze drops to my bare, bloodstained feet.

As I step into the light, Landolin’s jaw tightens, and his grip on Summer releases—an odd move considering the circumstances. She turns, seeing me for the first time since I entered the Hollow .

“Wyn,” she breathes, stumbling forward—until Moiron shifts into his fae form and positions himself between us, silent and unyielding.

“Bit rude to start without me,” I say, my voice echoing as wind drags my hair across my face and I step around the Shade King.

“Don’t worry, Wynter Fionbharr, Prince of Dirt and Graves,” says Landolin. “I’m happy to fill you in on what you missed.”

“Not much by the looks of it,” I say, loud enough for the courtiers to hear. “Testing the wrong mortal for zombie-raising magic is fucking embarrassing. Even for the Shade Court.”

Wide-eyed, Summer rings her hands. It’s the first time I’ve seen her clearly since Landolin stole her from our campsite.

Dark smudges line her eyes. Her dress is smeared with dirt, hair a tangled mess, and other than the bruise she looks well enough. And alive and beautiful.

“Who hurt her?” I snarl.

“Father’s shadows got a little too close,” says Landolin. “She’s fine.”

I’ll be the judge of that. And I’ll also make that fucker Moiron pay, no matter how long it takes.

“I failed their ridiculous test,” she says, indicating the pile of bodies behind her.

“Not entirely,” says Landolin. “One… burped. Perhaps that can be built upon.”

She glares at him over her shoulder. “No, it can’t. I promise you. If I tried for a thousand years, I couldn’t resurrect a single fly, which means I can leave with Wyn now. Right?”

Her eyes cut to Landolin again, seeking the confirmation I know he won’t give. As predicted, he stays silent .

Summer tries to move closer to me, but the Shade Prince tugs her back, and it takes everything I’ve got not to lop his head off with my blade and snatch her away. Trouble is, we wouldn’t get far.

She attempts a smile. “I can’t believe you’re here. I’m so happy to see you, Wyn. You look… different. Incredible.”

Summer’s right. Of course I look amazing. I burned through most of my power crafting this damned glamour, gambling that I could bargain our way out of this mess. Every shift between forms takes more out of me in this realm, draining what little magic I have left.

Feigning indifference, I clasp my hands behind my back and circle Summer and Landolin. “At this point, I’m more relieved than happy. The other night, when I told you not to move, I didn’t mean you should traipse around the campsite alone and get yourself carted off to the Shade Court.”

“I know. I’m sorry. His shadows drew me out of bed. Believe me, I didn’t want to go anywhere.”

Gods, I’ve missed her. And she’s going to kill me when she hears my plan to get her out of this miserable excuse for a royal court.

I flash her a grin. “Told you I’d always find you.”

She doesn’t smile again, but her shoulders drop half an inch. That’s something, at least.

Landolin steps forward, his expression unreadable. “This is a closed space. Nothing that happens here concerns you. It’s best if you leave.”

“Looks open to me,” I say, shrugging.

“The girl is under our protection. You have no right to interfere. ”

“I have every right,” I snap. “She’s not your toy or the Wild Hunt’s sacrifice. She has given herself freely to me. Summer is mine.”

Landolin tilts his head. “You’re not a fae of this land, Wynter. What you say is of no consequence. The human was ours before you and your sister ever laid eyes upon her. Accept this and go in peace, maintaining the goodwill between our realms. Go!”

Shadows wind up his body, enveloping him in darkness. When he reappears, Summer is trapped against him, her back pressed to his chest, his arm banding her waist.

“That’s my mate . Get your hands off my future wife.”

“Wife?” says, Moiron, morphing into shadows then appearing in front of me.

“Shouldn’t you pretend she means little to you?

Now that you’ve played your hand, we can ask anything of you in exchange for her safety and still maintain peace with your kingdom.

You’re as subtle as a landslide. Who taught you diplomacy? Your brainless, bonded wolf?”

The so-called brainless, bonded wolf bares his teeth beside me.

The Shade Court knows she’s my mate. The entire seven realms probably does. Moiron’s just playing games.

Summer’s thoughts pierce my mind—sending me a message.

I’d rather you live than have to watch you die trying to save me. Please, Wyn. Be careful.

Ivor growls, ears back, hackles raised.

The Hollow hums around us, the court shifting and murmuring, eager to see spilled blood glistening in the pastel light of the moons. All hoping my next words will be foolish ones .

Landolin loosens his grip on Summer, his spine straight as a sword, and Moiron—dark-robed, red-eyed, black-hearted bastard—watches me with calculated calm.

“My diplomacy skills aside…” I raise my voice just enough to carry it to the edges of the crowd. “I have something you may be interested in bargaining for.”

Moiron’s head tilts the way a bird’s does just before it pecks a creature’s eyes out, his interest clearly piqued.

Pressing on before I lose my nerve, I say, “Summer Brady has no gift to give you. No grave-born power. Whatever you thought she was, she isn’t it. Whatever the Hunt needs, it’s not in her possession.”

Gasps ripple through the crowd. Landolin’s jaw tightens. Good. Let them squirm.

I keep my gaze locked on the Shade King’s. “But you can still win a prize tonight. Something valuable. Something worthy… For a price.”

He says nothing, only waits to see what I’m prepared to give up.

I exhale through my nose slowly, calming my racing thoughts.

Don’t think about Summer behind you. Don’t think about how fast her heart’s beating. Don’t let her fear stop you.

“I’m sure you know about my curse.” I spit the words out like they burn. “So bury me in Dorthadas’s soil. Curse lifted or not, if I remain buried for seven nights, the Elemental magic released when I rise—or die—will answer to your land.”

A low hiss runs through the gathered fae. Not outrage. Excitement.

I push harder, my voice low and cold. “You’re aware of the old law, Ravenseeker. What the land buries, the land claims. If I rise, I rise tied to your earth. You’ll have more than walking sacks of reanimated bones to boast about—Elemental magic to nurture and remake.”

Moiron’s lips curve into something that might be a smile. Or a snarl. Hard to tell with a face like his.

Landolin folds his arms across his chest, suspicion in his gaze. “You offer yourself freely?”

“Yes,” I say, my mouth dry as dust. “No bonds. No bargains owed. Simply let Summer leave this realm whenever she wishes. Give her safe passage home. I’ll send a messenger through a portal to my sister and my parents, explaining what I’ve chosen and why.

And if they come here and interfere, my life is forfeit.

They’ll have no claim to vengeance—no recourse, no retaliation. ”

A long, heavy silence, then Summer shifts her weight behind me. I don’t dare turn. If I see her face, I’ll break.

“ No , Wyn ,” she cries out.

A scuffle sounds, and I glance back in time to see Landolin’s shadows crawl into her mouth, silencing her. Power moves through my gut, and the ground beneath the Hollow shakes.

“Settle down,” says the prince. “This is only temporary. For her safety.”

Moiron’s eyes gleam like wet mulberries under the torchlight. His voice slides out smooth and certain. “Very well. I accept your terms, Prince of Earth.”

He takes two steps closer, his shadows slithering ahead of him. “You will be buried by our hands. You will lie beneath our soil. If you rise, your magic strengthens our court. If you do not...” He spreads his arms wide in mock generosity. “We will mourn your failure with all appropriate dignity.”

Laughter sparks from the crowd, loud and vicious.

“And the girl?” I say, forcing the words through my teeth. “Vow that Summer will be free.”

“I vow that she will be given leave to sit at your grave,” Moiron says, casually, as if discussing a disfavored pet. “She will be free to wait. Free to leave our realm should she wish it.”

Free to rot inside if she chooses to stay. Which she definitely won’t.

Landolin meets my gaze over the king’s shoulder. There’s no triumph there. No cruelty. Just... inevitability. He knows the cost I’m prepared to pay better than anyone—the leader of the Hunt with no mate. No key to solving his own curse.

Maybe he was never quite the monster I thought he was. Or maybe monsters just recognize their own.

To be respectful, I incline my head. Just enough to hide the surge of terror clawing at my ribs.

“So be it,” I say, taking the king’s outstretched hand. “Our bargain is struck.”

Summer’s thoughts slam into me. Pain, fury, heartbreak. I shut her out before the sound of her agony breaks me.

Beneath the Hollow, a tremor rolls through the earth—the old magic waking.

Let it tremble.

Let it remember me.

Because soon, we will be one.