Page 16 of To Dwell in Shadows
Sam flinched at the rush of light and fresh air. The scents from his mother’s prized poison garden patch breezed past him—bitter belladonna, the cloying sweetness of baneberry, the faint almond tang of oleander. It unleashed a flood of memories, making his racing heart pound faster.
This is it. It’s about to happen.
There was a murmur of voices, but he couldn’t see anything past the thick foliage growing above the hidden door. He took a step forward, but Vanthee pulled on his arm.
“Wait. Let me announce you first,” Vanthee said.
Sam paused, then gave a tight nod.
Vanthee turned to Selene and Thema, her tone sharp. “You two, stay here.”
She strode ahead, vanishing into the sea of greenery. Pushing through thick, glossy leaves, she called out, “Your Majesties, forgive the intrusion, but I bring news. Joyous news.”
The murmuring stopped. Silence fell, then he heard his mother’s voice. “Come forward then, Vanthee.”
Sam clenched his fists, trying to steady himself,but the sound of his mother’s voice caught him off guard. Emotion surged through him. He reached up and pulled aside a curtain of ivy near his face, revealing a glimpse of his father’s horns. They were as thick and gnarled as he remembered, but the crown of spikes he wore around his bald head seemed more battered.
As Sam brushed back a hanging cluster of golden laburnum blossoms, he saw his mother’s profile. Her auburn hair was braided through her crown, and her gray wings swayed leisurely at her back. They both sat at a small table, sipping from mugs.
The sight of them—real, not imagined—made Sam’s legs tremble. He focused on his footing, planting each step deliberately as he followed a few paces behind Vanthee, trying to ground himself in the moment.
When Vanthee reached the table, she dropped into a curtsy. “Fate has bestowed us with a gift.”
King Asmodeus looked at her closely, his brows furrowed. “What is it?”
“The most precious gift any of us could dream of,” Vanthee replied, still bowed low.
Queen Lamia gave a huff of impatience. “Stand and tell us, Vanthee.”
Rising gracefully, Vanthee met their eyes. “I was in the east wing and heard noises coming from Prince Samael’s former bedroom.”
The pain that clouded his mother’s face at the mention of his name was stark. It made him want to burst out to announce himself, but he stayed back.
“More rats?” Lamia asked. “I’ve told the imps that wing mustn’t be neglected.”
“No, Your Majesty. Not rats.” Vanthee glanced back at Sam before continuing. “Please, prepare yourselves. What I’m about to say may seem… impossible.” She took a breath. “Prince Samael has returned.”
The words landed like a thunderclap. Confusion consumed both their faces, swiftly giving way to anger. Asmodeus’s tone was low and dangerous. “What kind of cruel game is this?”
“Why would you say something like that?” Lamia asked, her eyes wide with hurt.
Sam realized his return must have seemed so improbable that they had taken Vanthee’s words as a jest. Before Vanthee could speak again, Sam stepped forward. A dry twig cracked beneath his boot. The sound made them both turn.
“It’s not a trick,” he called out, his voice shaking. When he pushed the last tangle of vines separating him from his parents, he paused to take in the full sight of them. “It’s me, Sam. I’ve come home.”
The king and queen seemed temporarily frozen with shock. They stared at him for a moment until Queen Lamia let out a joyful shriek and dropped to her knees.
King Asmodeus shot to his hoofed feet to rush toward Sam. He enveloped him in a hug so hard it nearly knocked the air from Sam’s lungs. He returned the gesture, wrapping his arms around his father’s broad back and pressing his palms into the leather cape he wore.
After so many years of being the largest person in every space, it was a strange comfort to be dwarfed in the arms of his powerful father. His scent was just as Sam had remembered—blood and hearth smoke.
The next moment, Sam felt his mother behind him, her small hands clutching at his shoulders. The scent of her pomegranate perfume brought an eruption of emotions. She trembled and sobbed, “My son, my son, my son,” against his shoulder. Tears began to flow from Sam’s eyes as well.
This was the moment he had waited for—one that had existed only in the sanctuary of his dreams. It was the vision that had carried him through lonely nights. The fantasy that he replayed when nightmares had stolen his sleep. The wish that quieted his demonic urges when they felt too much to bear.
It was real. It was his.
And for the first time, he allowed himself to believe he deserved it.
