Page 68 of The Shadow Prince's Ruin
My heart sinks when something glistens at me from his chest and I finally recognize the crest of the Nightcloaks—a gate wrapped in thorns. They’re the wardens of the realm and deal with the safety of its borders.
Which means he’s here for me.
Chapter 26
Hawk
Sylvan is almost too drunk to stand on his own feet, so I’m in the middle of carrying him to our wedding suite when the music comes to an abrupt stop and all the elves go so quiet their silence rings in my ears like a scream. Danger crawls up my back, a scorpion about to attack whether I pay attention to it or not. I know this feeling way too well.
I look back, narrowing my eyes when a cool breeze combs back my hair. It brings the scent of forest and steel, and by the time I zero in on two soaring figures standing at the entrance to the tavern, one of the men, a broad-shouldered yet lanky elf with long golden tresses speaks up in a clear baritone.
“Sir Lorsen Gloombane, captain of the Nightcloaks. Prince Tristan Bloodweed, my second,” he adds, gesturing at a muscular elven man standing to his right. “We’re here to investigate the disappearance of an exile. Cooperate, and you will soon be able to return to your present activities.”
A raid can’t… be good. Especially as I’m holdingan exilein my arms.
I do a one-eighty and head for the stairs in the hope that we can slip out the window and disappear in the dark, but then the blond elf calls out a familiar name, and a whole chain of quiet curse words drops from my lips.
“The Grimsmith, Tassarion, is missing. He is an elf with ears mutilated to look like a human’s.”
Relief floods my muscles when I realize it’s not us they’re looking for, but then Prince Tristan calls out for my new husband, and Sylvan jerks in my arms, demanding that I let him go. If he wanted to be discreet about it, that did not work out, since thethudof his boots hitting the wooden floor is loud like a fire alarm in the night.
Tristan shouts his name again, but Sylvan’s already grabbing my hand and dragging me toward the stairs, as if he thinks we can walk out without a confrontation. I don’t fight him, since that would only result in more commotion, but the loud creak erupting behind us tells me I better look for a weapon, and fast.
We’re halfway up the stairs when the red-haired elf in shiny dark armor appears on the landing, staring at us as if we were two children caught stealing fruit from the neighbor’s garden. I’m confused to see him there, because he was behind us moments ago, but then I realize that the broad, elongated shadows extending from his back aren’t a trick of the light.
This man has wings and is hovering two inches above the floor.
Despite having an obsidian-like sheen, they appear light as wisps of smoke, and I’m left staring, because what else do I not know about this world?
“Can…youdo that?” I ask Sylvan.
He whips his head around and scowls. “Whose side are you on?”
Behind us, the voice of the golden-haired elf comes from way too close for my liking, and I squeeze Sylvan’s fingers before glancing over my shoulder to spotSir Lorsen Gloombaneat the bottom of the stairs, cutting our only way out of this mess.
“Sylvan? Sylvan Goldweed? Your cousin, whom Lord Kyran banished merely two months ago?”
Cousin?
I don’t see any familial resemblance between my pocket-sized elf and Tristan, who’s built like a wildcat in its prime, but I only care about their connection if it can help us wiggle out of this mess. My hopes are dispersed the moment the redhead speaks.
“The very same. We should have been alerted about his crossing by the sigils on his collar, but looks like he's not wearing it.”
“Interesting that the man we’re looking for is one of the few who could remove it.” Gloombane says, unsheathing a long, curved sword in a silent threat.
A drop of sweat rolls down my back as I note five more Nightcloaks with chest plates bearing the symbol of a gate. They’re standing down for now, but their posture tells me they’re ready to step in the moment their captain commands them to. One can fly and could hunt Sylvan down like an eagle capturing a chihuahua for dinner, so how can I possibly defend my man?
But Tristan can’t hear my inner monologue and lands on the floor, folding his wings. “Look, Sylvan, you might be a traitor, but you did save my life once. I don’t want bloodshed. You are the last Goldweed of your generation. Please, stand down and follow us outside along with your… your human.” He frowns, taking me in as if I was a pet, not Sylvan’s spouse. “We both know you can’t win this.”
Sylvan’s sweaty hand twitches in mine, and something pulls at the very core of me, somewhere beyond flesh. “How dare you? You have no idea what I’m capable of!”
I stiffen when the stairs creak, and a glance down the steps tells me one of the soldiers is climbing our way with a rope so matte and black it looks as if it’s made of coal. We’re surrounded, and the noose tightens around us, leaving little breathing room.
“You know it’s true, cousin,” Tristan insists when the soldier dashes our way, spinning the rope in her hands as if it were a lasso. I step between Sylvan and her, ready to protect my man as the rope flies our way. Obsidian spikes rush from behind me, transforming the cord into dust at first contact. The shadow tendrils then leap toward the soldier and soften to the consistency of flesh, slamming into her. The railing breaks when the black tentacle shoves her off the stairs and into the nearest wall. Her fall is met by stunned silence, which then transforms into panic as all our wedding guests and tavern workers fling themselves at the exits.
I’m frozen, unsure what’s just happened until I realize that it’s Sylvan who controls the dark force behind the tentacle.
One of the other Nightcloaks dashes to his fallen comrade, but raw fear put its claws into every single person around us, even Tristan, who pulls out his own sword, watching us, wide-eyed. “What did you—” His voice chokes when he stares at the black expanse at Sylvan’s feet, then sees where it originates. “That shadow…”
