Page 119 of Fallen Nocturne

“Come back,” she calls up to me with tears streaming down her face. “Please. Come back safe.”

I want to promise her I will. I want to tell her everything will be fine and that I’ll return before she has time to miss me. But a fae can’t lie.

So I just nod once and Dorcha launches into the sky. The palace falls away beneath us. The gardens shrink until the stone paths become pale lines.

The last thing I see before we bank toward the Fae Kingdom is Rhianelle, standing alone in the garden, watching me leave.

Chapter 16 Landon

The Palace of Bones rises from the remains of an ancient beast. Its white towers curve toward the pale morning sky, while bridges fashioned from enormous ribs connect one spire to another. The outer walls are carved with the skulls of creatures hunted by generations of fae kings. Wyverns, giants, sea serpents, and beasts whose names have been forgotten stare down at those who pass beneath them.

Dorcha lands upon the highest terrace. She growls as I dismount, her dark wings lifting uneasily behind her. Even she can sense that something is wrong. The palace has always been cold, but at dawn the chill creeps beneath my armor and settles against my bones.

Be careful, she whispers.

I rest my hand against the side of her face and nod. “Stay close.”

No music drifts from the banquet halls. No courtiers linger beneath the archways. Only the pale witchlights remain, flickering inside cages made from finger bones. The silence follows me as I walk through corridors lined with the remains of conquered kings.

I’ve flown through the night on Dorcha, my heart heavy with questions that have no answers. The summons burns in my pocket and the king’s seal is still warm against my chest.

I should be dead. The king tried to kill me once already. Yet here I am, answering his call like a loyal dog.

The palace guards let me pass without question. They know what I am, Herald of the Wild Hunt. I was the king’s right hand, the warrior who burned cities in his name. They also know the king ordered my death with my entire legion.

The throne room doors open soundlessly and I step inside.

King Eirik sits upon his throne of twisted silver and ancient oak. My breath catches in my throat.

He’s changed.

This is not the same king who saved me from the pyre, who took a red-haired devil-child and gave him purpose.

There’s a hollowness to his beauty despite the glamor. Those eyes that once held warmth when they looked at me are distant.

“My Herald, you’ve returned to us,” he says. His voice is his own, but there is something else beneath it, something hollow and unfamiliar.

“My king.” I bow, keeping my eyes on him. I watch for any sign of the king I once knew. “You summoned me.”

Before Eirik can answer, a figure glides from the shadows beside his throne.

I’ve always hated her, from the moment she slithered into court years ago with her honeyed words and poisoned smiles. A human enchantress from the outer borders. The king became obsessed with her within weeks.

Morgaine was annoying in court but this is different. She reeks of malice now. Every instinct I’ve honed over centuries of battle screams at me to get away.

The witch wears a gown of deep crimson and her eyes are completely black. Shadows around her reach and writhe. They stretch toward me like grasping fingers.

“Landon,” she purrs my name and I feel it like insects crawling on my skin. “The loyal Herald.”

I don’t respond.

A shadow behind her splits in two, then reforms. I realize with dawning horror that the darkness in this room isn’t natural.

It’s hers.

The shadows are a part of her.

But the king doesn’t seem to notice. He’s staring at nothing. I wonder how long he’s been like this. How long has she been poisoning him into this hollow shell?