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Prologue

It has been said that power attracts the worst and corrupts the best and that everyone pays far too high a price.

This prince learned that truth in the worst kind of way.

The council chamber is empty now, the doors sealed behind him, the echoes of raised voices still ringing in his ears. Torchlight flickers along the stone walls, throwing fractured shadows across the floor. He barely notices. His attention is fixed upon his hands.

They tremble beneath hidden scars.

He curls them into fists, willing them still. The effort sends a dull ache up his arms, settling heavy in his chest. Breathing feels deliberate now.

They say from the darkest of times, the most unlikely heroes tend to rise.

The thought almost makes him laugh.

The weight he bears is not noble. It is suffocating. It presses down on him from every direction, duty, expectation, loyalty, until there is no room left for the male he once was.

The crown he wears does not break all at once.

It fractures slowly and quietly, a single piece at a time, as a decision that’s made in silence, a truth left unspoken. A line crossed and never to be uncrossed again.

No one can see the way his hands shake in the empty chamber. No one can hear the name he swallows like a confession, forcing it back down until it burns. No one will know that every step he takes forward is built on something he has already lost.

Oberon drags in a slow breath and straightens, forcing the cracks back into place. He smooths his expression, squares his shoulders, and reshapes himself into something functional, something sharp enough to survive what comes next.

When he finally turns toward the doors, there is nothing left to betray the fracture beneath the crown.

History will remember the choices he has made.

But it will never remember the price he had to pay.

Chapter one

Midnight Stroll

My breath comes in ragged gasps, my footing unsure as I stagger forward, the biting wind slashing across my face. My body’s numb, my legs weak from the strain of running for what may be only hours but feel like an eternity. Icy numbness gnaws at my core. Every step, every broken breath, feels like another small piece of me is unraveling. Still, I have no choice but to keep moving.

The forest around me is a blur of shadows and twisted shapes, the trees looming like silent sentinels in the dark. My breath escapes in sharp bursts as I fumble through the underbrush, my skin scraping against the rough bark of the trees. I barely notice the pain anymore. It’s nothing compared to the agony in my chest. I gasp for air, my lungs burn with each breath, and yet I don’t stop. I can’t afford to, not when the world around me fades into a whirlwind of darkness and fractured memories.

There is no stopping. The distant echoes of their jeers, their sneering laughter, haunt me. I can still feel their hands: cold, indifferent, and cruel, gripping my arms and holding me still while they try to break me. I can’t stop, I think again, as panic claws at my insides. Not now.

My body is betraying me. The exhaustion is overwhelming, and every muscle in my legs is screaming for relief. But the fear, the pure, undiluted fear, keeps me moving.

I force myself deeper into the dark woods, my eyes barely adjusting to the dense blackness that surrounds me. There is no moonlight to guide me, no stars to anchor me in reality. The darkness is viscous, suffocating, as if it threatens to swallow me whole. But even here, among the cold embrace of the trees and the night air, I can still hear them, their whispers curl around my mind.

The chains are gone now, but the memory of them lingers, a constant weight I can never quite shake. The marks they left on my wrists, on my soul, will never fade. The way they bound me tethered me to their whims, but I am free now. Free, or so I tell myself again. The wounds they left are deep, but I am still breathing. That is all that matters.

I stumble, and my foot catches on a twisted root, sending me tumbling forward. Instinct takes over as my hands shoot out, colliding with the cold, unyielding earth. Jagged rocks bite into my palms. Their sharp edges slice through my skin, but the pain is distant, drowned out by the shock of impact as I crash against the ground.

I push myself up, gritting my teeth against the sharp throb in my legs. There is no time to rest. There is no time to think about the pain. I must keep moving.

I press my hand against my side, where a fresh wound stings with every movement. The blood is warm against my skin, soaking through the torn fabric of my clothes. My heart races, and every step sends another burst of pain through my body, but I won’t stop. I can’t look back, can’t let myself think about what I’ve lost. My people, my kingdom, my family, all of it is gone.

The trees that once danced in the wind, vibrant with the energy of the Fae, now stand twisted and gnarled like skeletal fingers reaching up into a dark sky. There are no songs now. No laughter. No light. Just a vacuum of destruction and loss, entangled with the stench of what once was.

I stop for a moment, my fingers brushing against the dead bark of an ancient tree. The weight of all that has been lost presses down on me. I couldn’t stop it. I couldn’t protect them.

The wind howls again, pulling me back from my spiraling thoughts. I grit my teeth, trying to steady myself. My legs shake from exhaustion, but still, I run. Every step drags me further into the abyss, but I have no choice. I can’t stay here. My chest tightens. How much longer can I keep running?