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She was a female, trained in the fighting arts. Instead of jewelry, she dripped steel.
Haven was different, and in mortal Penryth, there was nothing more terrifying than that.
“You’re my best friend, Haven. My person. But I don’t think you were made to live in anyone’s shadow—even a handsome prince like me.
Defending a body was easy; defending a heart was a lot trickier.
Her breathing became a cadence to ground her, a battle cry. Every breath meant she was still alive.
Her feet tripped and slid over bones. Scuffing the slick stone floor. Slipping along small, gooey piles of regurgitated human parts.
“Then all of your world and mine will be like the Shadow Kingdom”—he nodded toward the inky clouds in the distance—“a cold and desolate place without sunlight or life.” “And that doesn’t bother you?” A bitter smile curved his jaw. “What do I care for sunlight and greenery? I am a creature of wintery, midnight skies rife with stars and shadows.
He was both impressive and terrible to behold, a beautiful winged demon.
