Page 19 of Midnight Reign
“That was quicker than I expected,” he murmurs, gazing into my eyes.
“You’re mine,” I reply, brushing my thumb lightly over his bottom lip. “And I’m yours. All of yours.”
I know it’s true. There is no doubt in my mind this is fate that has tangled us all up together in a relationship that goes far past anything physical or emotional. We’re all bound together by something deeper, something ancient and powerful and real.
8
ZEPHYR
The shadows bendaround me as I materialise in the heart of the Dark Fae Kingdom. The atmosphere is thick with ancient magick, a heavy presence that settles on my skin like a second layer. It’s different to the comparatively thin magickal atmosphere of MistHallow, and for a moment, I find myself struggling to breathe, my lungs adjusting to the density of power that permeates every molecule of this realm.
Towering obsidian spires pierce the constant twilight sky, their surfaces gleaming with an inner fire that pulses in time with the kingdom’s heartbeat. The structures are impossibly tall, defying the laws of physics as they stretch towards a sky that seems both endless and oppressively close. The ground beneath my feet is black volcanic glass, smooth and treacherous, reflecting the eerie, purple-tinged light that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. Each step I take sends ripples through the reflective surface, like walking on the surface of a dark, still lake.
All around me, dark creatures flit through the shadows. They give me a wide berth, recognising the prince instantly. Their eyes, glowing with a dark fire, follow me as I makemy way towards the central Palace. Some gazes are curious, others fearful, and a few - from the more ambitious courtiers - calculating. Politics never sleep in the Dark Fae Kingdom, and my unexpected return is sure to set tongues wagging.
But that’s why I arrived outside the Palace walls. I want them to see me.
The scent of night-blooming flowers fills the air, gorgeously sweet with an underlying note of decay. It’s a smell I associate with home, but after my time at MistHallow, it seems almost cloying.
The Palace of Eternal Night looms before me, a massive structure of black stone and twisted metal. Its architecture is a nightmare made real, all sharp angles and impossible geometries that hurt the eyes to look at directly. Thorny vines with leaves as dark as pitch crawl up its walls, their flowers blooming with a sickly sweet scent that makes my head spin. The blossoms snap at me as I pass, hungering for a taste of flesh and blood.
As I approach the main gates, two guards snap to attention. Their armour is made of shadows, constantly shifting and reforming, and their eyes are pits of darkness. I recognise them - Nyx and Erebus, twin brothers who’ve served as palace guards for centuries. They were my sparring partners when I was younger, teaching me the brutal efficiency of Dark Fae combat.
“Prince Zephyr,” Nyx murmurs, his voice like gravel. “The King awaits you in the Throne Room.”
Of course, he does. News travels fast in the Dark Fae Kingdom, especially when it concerns the royal family. I nod curtly and stride past them, the massive doors swinging open silently at my approach.
The interior of the Palace is a study in contrasts. Opulent wealth sits side by side with brutal reminders of Dark Fae power. Tapestries depicting ancient battles and conquered realms hangon walls studded with the skulls of fallen enemies. The floor is polished black marble, veined with threads of silver that seem to move when you’re not looking directly at them. Chandeliers made of crystallised shadow hang from the ceiling, casting ever-shifting patterns of light and dark across the halls.
As I make my way to the Throne Room, lesser Fae scurry out of my path. Servants bow deeply, their foreheads nearly touching the floor. Courtiers watch from alcoves, their whispers following me like a trail of smoke. The air grows colder, heavier with each step. By the time I reach the ornate doors of the Throne Room, it feels like I’m wading through treacle.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for this meeting. The weight of my purpose here - to secure help for Adelaide and MistHallow - sits heavily on my shoulders. But beneath that is a deeper anxiety. Facing my father has never been easy, and now, with so much at stake, it feels downright dangerous.
Squaring my shoulders, I push open the doors.
The Throne Room is vast, its ceiling lost in shadows so deep it takes me a second to adjust. Along the walls, statues of previous monarchs stand in silent judgement, their eyes seeming to follow me as I walk the long path to the dais at the far end. The floor here is a mosaic of black and silver tiles, forming intricate patterns that shift and change with each step. It’s disorienting, designed to unbalance any who approach the throne.
Seated on that throne of twisted black metal and bleached bones, is my father. King Malachar, ruler of the Dark Fae, Lord of Shadows, and Bringer of Nightmares.
He’s imposing even when seated, his form absorbing the light around him. His skin is pale as moonlight, contrasting sharply with his long, dark hair that merges with the shadows around him. A crown of thorns sits on his head, drops of black blood occasionally falling from where the spikes pierce his skin.His eyes, when they fix on me, are the same purple as mine, but filled with a cruelty and hunger that speaks to me on a very basic level.
“Zephyr,” he says, his voice like silk over steel. “What are you doing here?”
I drop to one knee before the dais, bowing my head. It galls me to show such subservience, but I’m not dumb enough to challenge the King of Dark Fae in his own throne room. The stone is cold beneath my knee, and I can feel the judging gazes of my ancestors boring into me from their statues.
“Dad,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “MistHallow was attacked.”
“Attacked?” Malachar frowns, leaning forward slightly. The bones of his throne creak ominously with the movement.
I rise, meeting his gaze steadily. It takes every ounce of willpower not to flinch under that piercing stare. “Strix. Dozens of them, and the students were left to deal with it on our own. “
For a moment, surprise flickers across Malachar’s face, quickly replaced by a cold fury. The temperature in the room drops several degrees, and I can see my breath misting in the frigid air. “Strix? At MistHallow? Impossible. The wards?—”
“Were breached. Again, I might add,” I interrupt, earning a sharp glare, but fuck him. He needs to know.
Malachar’s eyes narrow dangerously. “And where exactly were the faculty during this attack? Where was the vaunted Order of the Crimson Shadow?”
I mentally roll my eyes. Dad hates the Order, and with good reason.
