She leaned out over the battlements, her fingers tightening on the cold stone, scanning the plain below. There—she caught sight of him. Rakhal. A lone figure shrouded in shadow, standing apart from his warband. Menacing. Unyielding. A dark silhouette that seemed to draw the very night around him.
The air prickled against her skin.
What is he going to do?
Was this the full measure of his power? Would he unleash the shadows as he had in her chamber, when he’d come to kill her? No—greater. Deeper. This time, to drive back his own.
The darkness below thickened, rolling outward like mist, swallowing the ground at his feet. Around him, his orcs shifted into formation, shields locking, tusks glinting, waiting for his command.
And then she saw them.
The oncoming warband, pounding across the plains, fast as galloping horses, their torches flaring against the night. The flames tossed high above their heads were no beacon of peace. They were a challenge. A warning.
A declaration of intent.
A tingle crept along her spine, raising the hairs at the nape of her neck. Not from the cold night air—but from magic.
Behind her, the war mages stirred. She heard one draw in a sharp breath. “Can you feel that?”
The other swore softly, eyes fixed on the plain below.
Eliza turned sharply. “What is it?”
The first mage’s voice was tight. “He’s pulling on it—the wall. The power contained in its shadow.”
The second shook his head, his lips pressed thin. “Dangerous,” he whispered. “Ancient shadows are… unpredictable. Hungry.”
Eliza’s throat tightened. “Is this something you know how to do?”
Both men looked at her, grim.
“No,” the first admitted. “Only a powerful shadow mage can wield ancient shadows.” His gaze slid back down to the figure cloaked in darkness. “Andhe… is powerful.”
She stood very still, her eyes fixed on the shifting dark below.
How dangerous is he, truly?The thought curled through her like smoke. What exactly was she letting into her city, into her walls, into her life? A shadow prince who commanded forces she could barely comprehend.
If he was this powerful… he could enter whenever he wished. Nothing could bar him. Not stone, not steel, not even her mages.
And yet… he had given her a choice. Had yielded to her demands. He had come alone, with her, when she had asked it.
Still, the doubts gnawed at her. Was this all orchestrated? A deception, some elaborate play?
Her gaze tightened on him, cloaked in shadow, facing the oncoming horde.
No.He was preparing to fight his own. He would not stand there, ready to face blood kin, unless he truly intended to honor his words.
“Could you stop him,” Eliza asked quietly, “if he decided to turn his power against us?”
The elder mage—Elgara, she remembered now, with his sharp cheekbones and silvered brows—shifted his gaze to her. Slowly, he raised his eyebrows.
“The two of us together…” He glanced at his younger companion. “We could weaken him, perhaps. If his energies were already concentrated elsewhere. I’ve sent a message to the Magic Tower. Reinforcements are coming. Do you want us to contain him?”
Eliza pictured it—the shadows turning against her walls, flooding her city, her people screaming beneath them. She could give the order now. End this before it began.
But her voice was steady when she answered.
“No. Unless I instruct otherwise, hold your attacks.” Her eyes never left the figure below, cloaked in living night. “After all, he’s going to fight for us.”
