Page 33

Chapter

Thirty-Two

Eluneth had once gleamed atop the sea like an emerald, its cliffs draped in ivy and crowned with ancient oaks and silver-bloomed laurels. Now, it was a corpse.

Loren’s boots crunched across the brittle soil, mist curling around his legs like grasping fingers as he walked through the skeletal, twisted remains of the tortured trees. He had expected ruin. But that didn’t make it any easier to see.

Somewhere in the distance, something snarled—low and guttural. Loren stilled, his breath catching.

A zal’vor . Or more than one.

He didn’t move, didn’t even breathe for a long moment. But whatever was watching from the seething heart of the shadows was content to let him pass. For now.

Loren forced himself forward, picking his way across the blackened earth toward the looming shape of the temple. Bones littered the ground—all human. Gaunt ribcages lay tangled in rusted armor, jaws slack in eternal screams. Some had been cracked open, dragged through the ash before vanishing into the mist that searched across the battlefield .

He picked his way carefully up the ruined stairs, skirting the veins of shadow spidering through the once-pristine white stone. It yawned open, its grand doors shattered. Loren held his breath as he stepped through, half-expecting to be struck down where he stood—but only silence met him.

Whatever had happened here, it hadn’t crossed the threshold. Only time had done its quiet work here, fading the murals and dulling the stone. Dust drifted through the air, the altar looming above it all. The Goddess’ statue still stood there, her face shrouded and her hands outstretched in eternal offering or warning—Loren could never decide which.

But Loren wasn’t here to pray.

He descended the narrow stairs into the crypt. Aetherlamps flared to life as he passed, casting a flickering glow that barely touched the shadows clinging to the floor. They moved with him—curling around his feet, trailing behind like misty specters.

These were the same shadows that had been his only companions for so many years—watching from the corners of his cell, brushing over his skin like whispers. Why had they answered him, when the Shadowed Veil had wanted to kill him? Were they truly pieces of the same whole, or had the tragedy that shattered their people fractured them as well—leaving them broken beyond repair, just as he was?

The crypt was as old as the temple above it, carved into the bedrock of Eluneth itself. Statues stretched along the dimly lit hall, the names of kings and queens long past worn smooth by time and reverent hands. Loren let his fingers brush over one inscription, bowing his head as he passed. These were the rulers that had come before, laid to rest beneath the temple of the Goddess they had loved.

At the far end of the chamber, beneath the flickering glow of the aetherlamps, Loren found what he had come to see.

His mother, Queen Lysana Nightshade, had been rendered in flawless detail—her long hair swept back beneath a delicate crown and her hands folded over the hilt of a sword, its point resting between her bare feet. The sculptor had captured her grace and strength, freezing her in time just as Loren remembered her—elegant and fierce.

Beside her stood his father, King Corwin Shadowbane. He loomed as tall and unyielding in death as he had in life—but the tomb beneath his statue yawned open, empty and untouched. No body had been laid to rest here.

Loren knelt before them. He hadn’t seen their faces anywhere but his memories in twenty-five years. And now all that remained of them were statues and silence.

“I don’t know why I came here,” he said, even his whisper too loud in the silence. “I failed you. Our people.”

The shadowmark on his forearm burned, pulsing in time with his heartbeat as the darkness writhed under his skin. Loren lifted it, staring down at the black veins of power. What right did he have to even kneel at their graves if he couldn’t even claim his birthright?

His homeland was crumbling, the magic he’d sworn to protect dying a long, slow death at the hands of their human oppressors. His people were scattered—lost. And Loren—he was too broken, too far from the male fate had wanted him to be.

Loren clenched his fists, closing his eyes against the sight of his mother’s face. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he said, his voice breaking. “I don’t know if it’s even possible.”

The shadows stirred. Not like the cold, devouring void of the Veil—but quieter, closer. They murmured around him, indistinct, their whispers brushing his skin like the ghosts of old friends. He couldn’t make out the words at first, but they gathered, their whispers joining together until they spoke with a single voice.

She bargained for your chance. Do not waste it.

Loren clenched his jaw. Goddess help him, she really had—throwing herself straight into the path of the Shadowed Veil like they weren’t all about to die. She’d spoken to it—like it was something that could be reasoned with .

Reckless—absolutely insane. But somehow, impossibly…it had listened.

“I won’t drag her into this,” he told them. “She deserves better. A life untouched by darkness. Free from people who see her as a means to an end. We have to let her go.”

Then you should not have taken her blood, the shadows hissed, sharp and displeased. You claimed her. You claimed us. And you dare to tell us she is not already ours?

Loren gasped, clutching the shadowmark on his arm. It burned like fire beneath his skin, searing through muscle and bone. The shadows surged around him, the weight of their presence a dark ache that took him to the ground.

You cannot unmake what you bound, Prince of Shadows , they said, the force of their words pressing him into the stone. If you do not rise to meet them, dara’el will unmake you and choose again—and we will allow it.

They vanished as suddenly as they had come, slithering back into the cracks and secret places of the world to watch and wait. Loren gasped in a harsh breath, his face pressed against the cold stone at the foot of his parents’ tombs, one hand still clutching the brand that pulsed like a second heart beneath his skin.

“I took her blood to get us out alive,” he snapped. “Not to bind her to this—to me. If she’s your demand, you should have killed me before I ever left that cell.”

The shadows said nothing. But someone else did.

“Lorendriel.”

Loren stiffened. It had been years— decades —since he’d heard his true name from someone’s lips. And the voice...he knew it.

Hardly daring to believe, he turned. She was a grown female now, far removed from the child he remembered—but he knew her. He knew her raven-black hair and her bright green eyes, both so like his own. He knew her voice, even though it now carried the weight of years of leadership .

“Eloriane,” he whispered, his voice breaking on her name as he stood.

Before he could take another step, his little sister crossed the space between them in a rush, flinging herself into his arms. She clung to him, holding on like she feared he would vanish if she let go. Loren clung to her just as tightly, his face wet with tears.

He hadn’t allowed himself to imagine this—to be found, to be welcomed back. But here she was. Real. Warm. Alive. Holding him as if she could erase the years between them.

“You made it back to us,” she said when they finally parted, her voice shaking. “I thought we lost you forever.”

“I thought I’d lost you too,” Loren managed, his throat thick. “I didn’t think I’d ever see you again. I thought?—”

“You’re here,” Eloria said, her voice firm even though there was sorrow in her green eyes as they traced the scars he wore now. “That’s all that matters, Loren. You survived. You’re here.”

His chest ached under the weight of her words. “I shouldn’t be,” he whispered, dropping his gaze. “So many didn’t make it. And I… I don’t know if I deserve to stand here. Not when?—”

“Don’t.” Eloria gripped his arms. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”

“But I wasn’t here,” he said. “When you needed me. For you. For our people?—”

“You couldn’t have been.” Her tone softened but stayed unyielding. “You were taken, Loren. That wasn’t your fault.” She lifted a hand to touch his face, wiping a tear from his cheek. “You survived. Don’t apologize for that. Not to me. Not to anyone.”

Loren wanted to believe her. Wanted to let the guilt burn away under the strength of her conviction. But it was never that simple. He pulled her into another embrace, wrapping his arms around her like a shield—as if he could somehow protect them both from the pain of the past. For a moment, the weight of decades lifted. Only relief remained.

When they finally pulled apart, Eloria wiped her face, transforming before his eyes from the little sister he remembered to the female who had led their people for the past twenty years.

“Everyone is going to be so relieved,” she said. “We were running out of options. But now that you’re here, maybe we can finally get the Veil back under control.”

Loren’s stomach twisted at her words. “El…” he began. “I don’t know if that’s going to work. The shadows…they aren’t very happy with me.”

Her brow creased. “But they chose you.”

“Thirty years ago,” he said quietly. “A few hours ago they told me I wasn’t worthy of them and they were going to kill me so they could pick again.”

“What?” Eloria stared at him, her mouth agape. “They said that?”

“They were pretty clear.” Loren looked away. “I don’t have the strength to wield them, El. Not after… everything.” He paused. “If anyone deserves to wield them, it’s you?—”

“You don’t think I tried?” Eloria crossed her arms, one eyebrow lifting in the same way she’d always looked at him when she thought he was being a fool. “They’ve been waiting for you for twenty years. I’m not the heir. You are. The shadows don’t care who the regent is. They care who the king is.”

“I’m not a king,” Loren muttered, his eyes fixed on the floor. “Do you really think I’m fit to lead? Because I don’t.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy with all the things he couldn’t say.

Finally, Eloria asked, “What about the female who helped you escape? Thorne’s report said she was your mate—that she spoke to the Veil. That it listened to her.”

“Thorne had a lot to say, didn’t he?” Loren said, his voice tight.

“He told me you claimed her.” Eloria crossed her arms, frowning at him. “You know as well as I do that bonded pairs are stronger. Maybe if the two of you stand together?—”

“He must have left out that it was against her will. ”

Loren stared at his mother’s statue, unable to face the disappointment and horror he knew he would find in Eloria’s expression.

“She’s already bound to the mage who tortured me,” he said, his voice ragged. “She stood beside him—put my chains back on me and took my blood to try and give him control of the shadows.”

He swallowed hard, his vision blurring.

“Then he hurt her, and she came to me for answers—for help. And instead of giving them to her…” his breath hitched. “I stole her power. Used her true name to compel her to follow me—drugged her. All so Jaxon couldn’t use her against me.”

He shook his head slowly. “She doesn’t even know what a mate bond is —and she hates me.”

“You did all of that to protect her,” Eloria protested. “Once you explain the bond—once she understands what it means—surely she’ll see why you?—”

“I’m not going to explain it,” Loren snapped. “She’s suffered enough.”

“But she’s your mate!” Eloria’s snapped, her voice rising as her frustration finally got the better of her. “You only get one, Loren. Why won’t you even try to fix?—”

“ Because I’d make as poor a mate as I would a king .”

Eloria flinched back, the silence between them ringing with the echo of Loren’s bitter words.

Loren shook his head, his voice breaking. “She’s had every choice taken from her. Let her make this one, Eloria. Let her leave if she wants to—promise me.”

Eloria’s gaze softened, her eyes sad. But when she spoke, her voice was iron.

“I want to say yes. But as regent—” she sighed, and when she met his eyes again it wasn’t his sister who looked back at him, but a desperate leader pushed to the edge. “I can’t let a possible solution walk away while our people are starving. If there’s any chance she could bring the shadows to heel—with or without you—she stays. ”

Loren stilled—but the shadows didn’t. They slithered out of the darkness, pooling around his feet and rising with his fury, drawn to it like blood in the water.

Eloria’s eyes widened, tracking the movement. “Loren?—”

Loren just stared at her, his jaw locked and his hands curled into fists at his side. He didn’t trust himself to speak—not to the sister who loved him or the regent who had no choice but to demand more from him. But what she was asking…she couldn’t have it.

“Promise me,” he ground out. The air around him thickened, pressing in on all sides as the shadows coiled tighter. “I can’t be the reason she’s made a prisoner.”

But Eloria only shook her head slowly. “I’m sorry, Loren,” she said. “I can’t.”

Her words broke something in him, his rage and despair surging. The shadows struck in tandem, lashing through the air like living whips. Loren shouted, lunging forward to try and pull them back before they reached her—but he was too late.

They struck her head on, ripping through her like a blade.

And Eloria—shattered. Like mist at sunrise, her form dissolved, leaving behind only empty air and the echo of her voice.

Loren staggered back, his breath ragged. An illusion. His sister had been gone long before he ever lost control. Loren dropped to his knees, his mind reeling as he frantically clawed back through the last moments, trying to pinpoint the instant his sister had decided she didn’t trust him enough to stay.

But he couldn’t—and in some ways it didn’t matter. She had been right. If she’d stayed…he would have killed her.

Loren turned to face his father’s statue, his gaze settling on the gaping tomb. He had never truly believed escaping the New Dominion would set him free. He didn’t wear iron on his body now, but their chains still wrapped around his mind—his soul.

But he hadn’t expected this.

The shadows churned through the hall, their whispers fading as they drew back to him, coiling at his feet like smoke too tired to rise. They had waited decades for him to return—but now?

Loren stared down at the shadowmark writhing under his skin. If the shadows wanted to protect the fae, they should have killed him on that boat. Because he was no king. He was nothing but a danger to anyone desperate enough to believe in him.