Bride of the Shadow King (Shadow’s Bargain #4)

Chapter 1

Thunder on the Mountain

Eloise

When I was a child, I used to fear the dark. I remember begging my father for a night-light to chase away the shadows under my bed, shadows I thought were monsters. Little did I know then how I would change. Darkness means safety. Darkness means time to rest, to heal, to plan.

Darkness is the beginning of everything.

The clash of Stygian blades echoes through the pitch-black cavern where Damien trains the men and women of the mountain dweller clan.

It’s the sound of war, the sound of battle.

A sound Damien is no stranger to. As the prince of Stygarde, he once faced the elves of Willowgulch as he led his elite team of warriors, called the umbrae, against their invading army.

Despite my best efforts to keep my thoughts optimistic, my mind pictures him there, his boots landing on blood-soaked soil, his sword connecting with the elves’ deadly sunlight magic.

I fear that war is again close at hand.

It’s been a month since we arrived and convinced Seamus, Lord of Mount Damocles and chieftain of the mountain dwellers who live here, to ally with us to take back the kingdom of Stygarde. Four weeks that we’ve relied on their protection and hospitality. We’ve had to. We have nowhere else to go.

But both Damien and I know we are on borrowed time.

When New Stygarde found us living among the witches of Dimhollow on the forever-winter landscape of Mount Perilon, we escaped via an enchanted tunnel carved into the center of the mountain, one whose existence was made known to us by the wise witch Catarina.

Her assistance saved our lives. Afterward, Damien led us across the wilds of Tenebris to Mount Damocles, where the moat of lava, the sweltering heat, and the oppressive living conditions repel all but the clan of mountain dwellers who call this place home.

The temperature is almost unbearable here.

It takes a lot to make a shadow sweat, but Damien’s dark back glistens with perspiration as he swings Dawnbreaker, the blade forged in this very mountain by the shade he spars with, the chieftain himself, Seamus.

I confess, my own skin heats another degree at the sight of my mate, his muscles rippling with the force of each blow, the wings and tail of his battle form flexing with his movements.

His hair has grown longer with our time here, and a stray curl sweeps around his horns and daringly across his furrowed brow.

I sigh at the remembrance of how that hair felt between my thighs last night, and something low within me flutters.

Seamus’s much shorter sword meets Damien’s strike for strike, the stocky shade expertly manipulating the long beard that is the mark of his gender among his people.

I don’t know how he avoids tripping over it, even in battle form, but he has proven himself a worthy warrior and leader over our time here.

Damien says he’s the closest to a true umbrae among these men.

It’s a huge compliment. These people have traditionally been weapons makers, not soldiers, but Damien has done his best to teach them what he knows.

Each and every fighter in this room understands that they are at a physical disadvantage to the army of New Stygarde. Each and every fighter in this room is willing to die to return Damien to the throne.

My spine tingles and my eyes mist with tears at the inevitability of what is to come.

This isn’t just about Damien anymore. Before we descended to the Darklands to face Thanesia, Catarina married us in a secret ceremony.

Damien might be the rightful heir to the kingdom of Stygarde, but I am his queen, which means the fate of these men is as much on my conscience as on his.

I would never ask them to do what I’m unwilling to do myself.

I am willing to die to put Damien back on that throne.

I am willing to die to save the children of Stygarde from the evil I experienced firsthand when I was a captive of the dark elves of Willowgulch.

Which is why I’m honest with myself this morning.

New Stygarde will find us here. The dark, belly of this mountain might be the last place they’ll look, the place they’ll avoid until the very end, but they will come here, and Damien and I will have to run.

We’ll have to find more men, more troops, before we have a chance in hell of facing New Stygarde’s army, and we’ll have to build our forces while dodging their attempts to stop us.

Together, we must succeed—for the sake of the people, for the sake of the children.

“I hate to distract you from such a pretty sight,” Amala says at my side, startling me into a smile. She’s Seamus’s wife, Lady of Mount Damocles, and has become a much-appreciated friend and confidante during my time here.

“Do you want to watch with me?” I ask playfully, nudging the rotund woman whose mostly bald head bobs with her easy laughter. “I think you might enjoy the view just as well.” I tip my head in the direction of Seamus.

Her crooked smile is nothing short of wicked. “Ah, I suppose it couldn’t hurt to give the boys an audience. Although, that’s not why I’m here. The girls in the kitchen are making your Rosinenzopf recipe and can’t remember the proportion of dried berries.”

“Ah, it was two cups, but tell them to soak them in the honey mixture or they won’t be sweet enough.

” Grapes do not exist on Tenebris, so there are no raisins for the braided sweet bread recipe my grams used to make.

But they do have something called crinkle berries, which have the texture of raisins but are less sweet. Soaking them fixes that problem.

“Ah, I’ll remind them.”

“Do you think they need my help? I don’t mind kneading the dough.”

She thumps me on the back. “We always love having your help, El, but I think today, you have your own work to do.” She raises an eyebrow. “And your mate made me swear I wouldn’t give you an excuse to quit your exercises early.”

She’s referring to me practicing my ability to shift.

I huff. “It’s not you distracting me that’s the problem.”

“Still blocked?”

I nod. I haven’t been able to shift completely into shadow since the first time I did it to save Damien’s life.

Only a few weeks ago, I was able to shadoweave, completely transforming into darkness in order to kill the thirteen elves trying to assassinate him.

But the extreme emotional circumstances seemed to help me achieve what I did that night.

Since then, I haven’t been able to fully transform, no matter how hard I try.

And normal shade abilities like coaxing the shadows to perform even the smallest tasks for me remain frustratingly out of reach.

As does transforming into the horned and winged form shades use in battle.

I may technically be a shade, but I have a lot to learn about the new body gifted to me by the goddess.

“I managed to pour myself a drink today, although very little water ended up in the glass, and I broke the vessel when my shadows dropped it,” I confess.

She squeezes my shoulder supportively. “It’s something.

I can’t imagine it’s easy, having so many physical changes at once.

Have you been practicing the meditations I gave you?

” Amala is a healer, and her methods extend into the spiritual.

While I appreciate her help, her meditation, which involves a full hour of throat chanting, isn’t my cup of tea.

I gave it a try, but when it only resulted in my throat going hoarse, with no improvement to my shifting ability, I quit.

“I’ll keep practicing,” I say vaguely.

“And I’ll keep asking the goddess to bless you both.” Amala pats my shoulder in lieu of goodbye, and with one last ogle of her husband, she shifts into shadow and funnels in the direction of the kitchen.

Seeing her shift so easily, I try again, willing my cells to come apart and join with the shadows in the corner of the ledge I’m on, but aside from grunting from the effort like I’m severely constipated, nothing happens. I hang my head in frustration.

I’m delighted when Damien barks a command in the pit below, and the trainees still and sheathe their swords.

A break. Finally. My mate often seems invincible, but I can tell he needs food and water—and probably blood.

Plus, it’s a good excuse for me to rest. It’s not like I’m making any progress anyway.

Although the small platform I’m on is carved into the wall of the cavern and heavily cloaked in shadow, Damien whirls to face me as soon as the men disperse, as if I’m a beacon in the darkness.

Our eyes lock, and in the time it takes for him to twist into a column of darkness and surf the shadows to me, he is by my side in his corse or polite form—no wings, horns, or tail.

“You’re supposed to be practicing, little bird,” he says through a smirk.

“I am! I’m taking a break. You warned me not to force it.”

He runs his callused fingers over the skin of my cheek and then combs them through the red curls behind my ear. “How’s it going?”

“Some success today using shadows to pick up a pitcher of water.”

His teeth flash white in the darkness. “It’s a start.”

“As for sprouting wings and horns, as far as I can tell, the goddess Thanesia left that off my gift list.” I shrug.

Damien’s smile tilts. “You have no need for battle form, my little bird. Your talents are better used off the battlefield.”

The tattoo on my back tingles. By talents, he means my magic, and just the thought raises the bond between me and Phantom, my familiar.

Once a fox and now a dragon, they are the embodiment of my ancestors and the anchor to my spirit magic.

I sense them waiting for me in the darkness, invisible but close.

“I can think of several occasions over the last year when a battle form would have come in handy.”