Curse of Shadows and Thorns (The Broken Kingdoms, #1)

by L.J. Andrews

“A good heart,” her soft voice flowed from behind the veil. I was certain now, she was young. “Interesting.” “Excuse me?” I’d heard rumors of Zyben’s interest in seers and witches. Not exactly Night Folk, but if books were to be believed, more than fae carried fury in their blood. “Your heart does not live here,” she whispered. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “There isn’t much time.” A desperate plea was buried underneath the soft hum of her voice. Pulse racing, palms sweaty, I bent closer. “Don’t fear the past, trust those undeserving of it⁠—”

A gasp escaped my throat when the masked girl gripped my wrist. A hum of warmth bled from her fingers. “When you see the beast within, let him in to let him go.”

“The only hands I consider capable are my own.” Legion lifted one brow, a playful gleam in his eyes. “Ah, but you have never experienced what mine can do.”

“This is my refuge. Books are my windows to another world, another life.

“The Night Prince,” Runa muttered bitterly. “You know the idea of him being alive is what spurs the bleeding Agitators.”

This was not a proud moment. I didn’t understand why death—even an enemy’s death—was a thing to celebrate.

How could I think of anything else but the memory of what we’d done, what we hadn’t, and what I wished we would.

“A troubled heart,” she said. The room went silent. The girl stepped closer. “Release the past and trust those undeserving of it.”

“What your heart desires, there your fate lies.” She lowered her voice to a rough whisper. “When you see the beast within, let him in to let him go. Only then will he bring the change you seek.”

The nurse came for the girl, but before she left, once more as she did at my manor, the girl gripped my wrist. A steady thrum of heat pulsed along my skin. “The tomb. Open it. Change it all.”

“I was told once, each decision we wrestle in our minds, each consequence we weigh, is how we gain faith in our final choices. We take time to decide who we are and when we choose, as you said, we stand by those choices fiercely.”

“I ask how I am to give you to some fool because I do not know how. How am I to accomplish anything I set out to do here when my heart burns to have you for myself?”

I’d seen the bloodlust in the Wraith’s eyes. Red, glowing, inhuman. This look was different. Black, simmering rage. The look of a mortal man defending what was his with his life.

But what choice was there? How could I walk away knowing they suffered? I had feared them—sometimes I still did—but the truth was Halvar had saved me; Tor had protected us all with his watchful eye. And Legion, he had brought me to life in more than one way.

“Tell him,” I started, “if you see him when this is over, tell him I wanted it to be different. I wanted to bring the change at his side.”

His eyes were lined in red again, but he was still him. Still there. Still good. He would be the good in this world.

“I’ve not forgotten, nor will I ever forget any part of you and your sacrifice.”

He made his choice. And I wasn’t it.

He’d broken my heart. A heady pain I carried hour after hour. Day after day. But by the gods I loved him. A brutal, funny, irritating, passionate dead prince.

I’d see him again. I was too stubborn—so was he—to let this matter lie.

I knew it like I knew to breathe. Fate led me here, and in all her games and tricks, she would lead me back to the Night Prince, to a new rising Etta.