I whirled to the dancing willow tree behind me. He stood beyond reach of the scythe moon, leaning against the thick trunk. Cold warmth turned my bones to stone. “Atakan.” His teeth flashed bright in the falling night. “Hello, dread.” Meadow dangled from his fingers, hissing at the prince who held her by the scruff of her neck. His features were void of emotion. Iced apathy dripped from each word as he said without care for his volume, “Time to go.”
