Chapter 1
Daed
Before her.I am a cursed prince, bound to a cursed throne. Hated, loved, feared, and desired in equal measure. The favored son of an ill-fated house, my name lingers in whispers meant for horrors too dreadful to speak aloud, the kind that haunt your dreams and leave you trembling in the dead of night. The shadows do not own me. I command them. Born of smoke and ash, betrayal and blood, I am the terror they dare not name. To face me on the battlefield is to meet your end, your final breath stolen before the void consumes you whole.
But today, there is something greater than my curse, greater than the weight of my name. An omen so terrible that the mighty Fae houses tremble at its coming. Whispers of its existence ripple through the Sundered Kingdoms, seeding panic where arrogance once reigned.
And so I am dispatched, my presence a reluctant admission that this threat could undo even us. I am to find it, this nameless dread, and drag it into the dark where it belongs.
A hard, echoing knock shatters the silence of my cabin. The door swings open, and Reaper Arax stands tall and broad in his black armor.
“Prince Daedalus,” he says, pounding his gloved fist to his chest in salute. “We’ve arrived in Valorne.”
I glance up from my table, where maps and scrolls are strewn amid an empty goblet and a drained jug of wine.
Fuck, he looks old. Is this what I have to look forward to when the years pass in their thousands? Hair long and fine as silk, streaked through with gray. Deep lines carved into my brow from too many years of scowling. I suppose it’s a testament to his endurance. To the sheer stubbornness it takes to live this long after all the battles he’s fought and won.
Insufferable as he may be, with his rigid sense of duty, he is a warrior of the highest caliber, and I trust him with my life.
His gaze narrows at my empty goblet, and I hear the disapproving grumble in his throat. But he says nothing. He knows better.
“Good,” I say. “I will meet with Lord Eryndor alone.”
My words earn another rumble of disagreement.
“I do not recommend such an action, my prince,” Arax says. “The Sundered Kingdoms are vast, with many who wish you harm.”
A laugh escapes me. A sharp, bitter thing that doesn’t suit the gravity of his tone.
“I would welcome any fool who thinks my crown would look better atop their head. I hope its weight crushes their skulls.” I rise from my chair, pressing my hands against the table, the runes tattooed on my knuckles pulsing faintly. “Or I’ll separate that ambitious head from their shoulders. Either way, it won’t end well for them.”
Arax is still unconvinced. I can’t see his lips beneath his thick, gray beard, but I’m certain they’re twitching.
I exhale. “Fine. You may come. But only you.”
Now I’m certain he’s grinning.
“As you command, my prince.” The thump of his fist on his chest signals his exit.
I stand for a moment, the room falling still around me. My thoughts press in too close, spilling into the space that wine should have dulled. Jugs of it emptied since leaving Baev’kalath.
This is no easy task. No simple squabble between Fae houses that bend to Mordorin’s will, nor an uprising from humans who bend even lower. If Eryndor is right, if what he claims has risen in this forest of his, this… Grove, then it is a threat I must tear from the earth like a weed and burn to ash before it spreads. Father’s patience is already running thin with me.
When I step out of the dark of my cabin, the sun strikes me, harsh and unforgiving. I raise a hand to shield my eyes from the glare, its intensity unbearable. And the heat… it’s worse. It creeps under my skin, like it’s trying to worm its way into my blood.
Baev’kalath is cold, dark, and hard, and centuries spent within the insidious walls of its fortress have shaped me into its image. This sunlight will not undo that, no matter how much its warmth tries to soften me. I am beyond saving.
The Reapers stand in formation along the deck. My lieutenants, my elite warriors, the finest killers in the Sundered Kingdoms. Clad in black armor and heavy cloaks, they are a stark defiance against the endless expanse of blue sky, where wisps of white cloud driftlike specters. Their faces remain unseen, swallowed by the shadows of their shroud helms, faceless harbingers of death awaiting my command.
Arax tugs his own helm roughly over his head, then arches his back, and with a rippling sound, his wings burst forth, black feathers streaked with gray, a marker of age that gnaws at even him.
“My prince,” he says, dipping his head.
I step to the railing, letting my gaze sweep over the land. Green. A sea of it, stretching on forever. Rolling hills, endless forest, and mountains in the distance, their peaks lost to the clouds and gleaming like a gem amongst the beauty of this land, is the seat of House Maledannan.
Their castle rises from the earth like something torn from another world. Spires reaching for the heavens, stained glass windows glinting in the sun. If storms raged around it, it might look like home. The Vornahl, or the First Fae as the humans call them, made their mark on this world with their love of towering, elaborate monstrosities. Structures meant to awe and unsettle. But this one is cloaked in green. Vines creep across the stone as if the forest is intent on swallowing it whole.
Arax watches me, his wings flexing as he waits for my word. I roll my shoulders, and with a satisfying snap, my own wings erupt, stretching wide and sending a sharp gust across the deck.
