Page 33 of Song of the Shadow Prince
From this height, the Southern District looked like a patchwork of shadows and flickering lights that gradually faded into the distance. The moonlit ocean stretched out below us, a vast expanse of inky black water.
Damien flew with a grace and power that was awe-inspiring, but it was clear this was his first time carrying someone. We wobbled and dipped, and I constantly had to adjust my grip to stay steady, especially since I was only holding on with one arm. Each powerful wingbeat jolted through my body, but I wasn’t nervous. Years of jumping out of airplanes had prepared me for the skies, no matter how bumpy the ride.
“Keep it steady, David!” I called out, my voice barely audible over the wind. He snorted in response, the sound vibrating through his body and into mine. I giggled, fully aware that I was just calling him David to annoy him.
Cold air stung my face and loose strands of my hair whipped wildly around my head. I gritted my teeth and held on tighter, shifting my weight as Damien adjusted his flight path. The view was incredible, even with the constant jostling. The stars were a dazzling blanket that sparkled on the ocean like a thousand tiny diamonds.
Despite the rough ride, it was exhilarating to fly on a dragon. The sheer power and raw energy beneath me and the sense of freedom as we soared through the night sky was unlike anything I’d ever experienced.
Suddenly, we hit a particularly strong gust of wind and Damien banked sharply to the left. I slid to the side, my good hand holding firmly to the ridge on his back to keep from falling off. “Watch it, dragon boy! I only have one good arm!” I shouted, laughing despite myself. This was insane, but I couldn’t help but enjoy the thrill of it.
I could tell we were heading toward an island up ahead, which I assumed was where he lived. I used my bad arm to glide my hand across his scales, wondering if it was like plucking a strand of hair. I grimaced from the slight pain in my shoulder from the movement, but the touch of his scales was a unique tactile experience. With layers upon layers on top of one another, I couldn’t see skin. My curiosity piqued, I gripped a scale and plucked it with enough force to free it. He shivered beneath me, but otherwise didn’t react. I tucked the scale into my bra as a token of the experience.
The outline of a volcano came into view as we approached the island, but Damien didn’t slow down. The steep, jagged cliffs and dark, foreboding landscape provided an air of isolation and mystery as we soared closer.
“What are you doing?” I called out. “You’re not going in there, are you?” No response. “Damien!” I screamed.
We descended into the crater, where the walls of the volcano rose around us like a protective barrier. I shrieked and held on tightly until the scenery changed and I loosened my grip.
The bottom of the volcano had been transformed into a grand hall, with dried lava forming natural pathways and platforms. Damien landed roughly and stumbled, and I gripped him tightly until he let out a massive huff, which I assumed meant, “get the fuck off me.”
I looked around in awe. I was literally inside a volcano. Like, what the heck? This was insanity! The only lava I saw was dried up, but I itched to touch the walls that glowed reddish orange.
Damien huffed again and impatiently motioned for me to get off him. I grumbled and slid off his back, my legs shaky but steady. “You should come with a warning next time,” I mumbled as I watched him shift back into his human form. I watched in awe and realized my first thought was correct; his forms shifted between veils, he wasn’t compelled to shift and break bones like what you saw in the movies.
“Did you take one of my scales?” he shouted, scratching his back as if he knew precisely the area I had plucked it from.
I shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said cryptically. I sauntered around him and approached the wall, my fingers itching to touch it. “Can I?”
“Yeah.” He watched me with narrowed eyes.
I slid my hand along the bumpy walls of dried-up lava and fought back the goofy grin that threatened. Even though it was dried up, it was still slightly warm. Idly, I wondered if it could possibly burst at any moment. The textures varied, with some smooth, glassy areas while others were rough and pockmarked. The walls emitted a faint, almost imperceptible heat, giving the space a cozy, albeit slightly eerie, warmth.
“You turned this into an apartment?” I tilted my head back and looked around the vast volcano.
“A what?”
“A home,” I repeated.
“Ididn’t. My father did,” he said sharply. “And it’s not a home; it’s my prison.”
“Pretty nice prison,” I whispered just as someone cleared their throat.
Damien and I whirled around to find an older gentleman standing in a living room area, watching us with a book in his hand and a curious expression.
I jabbed a thumb in his direction. “Butler?” I questioned. “Is he your Alfred Pennyworth?”
“My who?” Damien scoffed.
“Never mind.” I rolled my eyes as I approached the older man. “Hi, I’m Cat—I mean, Arya.” I extended my hand for him to shake.
The man looked down at my waiting hand and up at me for a split second before taking it. “Hello, Lady Arya, I see you don’t remember me.” I frowned. “I’m His Highness’ uncle, Royal Prince Bai.”
“Oh!” I quickly retracted my hand. “My bad,” I mumbled and did a clumsy curtsy. “Apologies, your, uh… Your Highness?” I wasn’t sure what the proper protocol was in this situation. Damien was treated as just a regular Joe Blow at the Ryder residence, and Maeve hadn’t taught me how to interact with any of the royal family because it wasn’t necessary up until this point.
“Yes… I see the rumors are true. You are unwell,” Royal Prince Bai murmured mainly to himself. He glanced at Damien. “Care to explain why she’s here?”
Damien hurried to my side. “I found her in the Southern District. She’d just been attacked by vampires and as you can tell, her memory is gone and she didn’t know her way home after parting ways with her servant. I… I couldn’t take her backfor obvious reasons.” He whispered the last part like a guilty admission.
