The Dread Prince (The Dread Descendant #2)

Chapter 1

“What did you see, Emerie?”

Roswyn’s impatient and demanding tone rang across the room. But his wife did not hear him. Or, if she had, she chose not to acknowledge her husband.

Her forehead and back pooled with sweat, drenching her pajamas. The Witch gripped the satin sheet beneath her with clammy and shaking hands. When she did not answer her husband a second time, his hand slammed around her throat.

She barely flinched under his firm hand. Nor did she cry out as her head slammed into the headboard behind her. But the death grip she held on the sheets beneath her remained.

Malachite clicked his tongue as his eyes slid to Roswyn. Roswyn released her.

“It’s alright, Emerie,” said Mal. “I’m not going to hurt you.” He seated himself on the edge of the bed and smiled softly, in that menacingly beautiful way he had mastered. “But you will tell me what you saw.”

Emerie was no fool. She’d prayed for years to see the future, as her ancestors had before her. She’d gone her entire life without so much as a flicker of prophetic Magic. So long that her own family had abandoned the idea that she was a Seer. She was the bad end of an even worse joke to them.

Seers had once been the most valued Magicals there were, but as the prophecies ran dry, they became irrelevant in the Magical’s world.

At least, until Emerie Videntis woke at the Witching Hour, her eyes glazed black, speaking about The Dread Descendant with prophetic certainty.

When Emerie still did not speak, Mal understood. He looked over his shoulder to Roswyn. “Leave us,” commanded Mal.

Roswyn’s lips pulled into a thin line. He didn’t dare disobey his sworn Prince, but he scowled at his wife before he turned and briskly left the room. She’d pay for that later.

The door clicked shut behind Roswyn, and Emerie spoke before Mal turned his attention back to her.

“You are not the only Dread Descendant the ancient prophecy spoke of, the one my ancestor’s professed. The youngest to point a single finger. . . has not arrived.”

Mal’s head snapped towards her.

She didn’t stop.

“You will create Magic that is unstoppable, that will break the curse of this land and unite all realms.” Emerie took a steadying breath.

But Emerie was not done. “He will be the catalyst that plunges the Magicals into further darkness. A storm unleashed and a beast unchained."

He stared at Emerie now with a solemn expression. His hand twitched slightly at his side. “The youngest to point a single finger?” He asked with a slow precision.

Emerie swallowed hard.

Mal watched her with piercing, dark eyes as she tried to relax.

Malachite’s face remained cool as Emerie breathed heavily and nodded. He stood and paced across the room, his back to her.

His voice grew dark. “You will not speak of this to anyone.”

Emerie began shaking once more. “I will not, my Prince. But. . .there is more, my Prince.”

Malachite stepped back towards her and examined her intently for the first time, his head cocked to one side. Emerie couldn’t bring herself to meet his gaze. She could feel his dark Dread Magic pulsating towards her. A blatant threat.

“Recite the entire prophecy,” he commanded smoothly.