Chapter 34
Chapter
Thirty-Four
There were too many people here.
Eloria couldn’t come herself—the fae wouldn’t survive losing both surviving royals.
But she’d sent a small army in her stead.
Loren’s jaw flexed as he scanned the clustered warriors, scouts, and Healers.
Half of them watched him like he might snap at any moment, while the other half tried—and failed—not to look afraid.
She’d even sent Galen.
He stood near the dust-covered altar, arms folded tight across his chest. There was no trace of his usual easy smile today. Just a dark scowl carved deep across his face, his eyes fixed on Loren like he was waiting for him to fall apart.
None of them would make a difference if dara’el chose violence.
Loren stared out the broken doors, studying the roiling darkness. In his memory, it was a wide, green space where he and Thorne had run and played. But now? It was nothing but a graveyard.
Lost. His shadows curled around his boots, slithering restlessly up his spine. Broken. Fractured and forgotten—
“Are you sure about this?”
“No.” Loren didn’t turn to look at Galen as the other male stepped up beside him.
“You know, not one attempt to retrieve your father’s remains ended without casualties,” Galen said, his voice low. “There’s a reason Eloria forbade further efforts—”
“And there’s a reason she approved this one,” Loren said flatly.
Galen turned his head slightly. “And you think she is ready for this?”
Loren followed Galen’s gaze to where Araya stood, arms wrapped around herself as she stared up at the veiled statue of the absent Goddess.
She’d bound her hair back in that tight braid and traded her usual dress for a dark tunic and breeches.
She’d even strapped the dagger he’d insisted she wear to her belt without protest. Loren doubted she’d draw it if she needed to, but it wouldn’t matter today.
No steel could cut down a shadow.
“She’s ready,” Loren said.
As if she heard him, Araya looked up. Her silver gaze met his, and that quiet presence in his chest stirred as the shadows at his feet reached for her—eager and unbidden. Her lips twitched in a faint smile as they curled around her legs, drawing her forward.
“I’ll let them know, then,” Galen said. He inclined his head to Araya as she started toward them, but stepped away before she reached them.
“He doesn’t think I can do this,” she said, stroking the shadow that curled around her shoulder like a fur stole.
“He’s wrong,” Loren said.
He held out his hand, sparks scurrying across his skin when she took it. She let him pull her close, resting her head against his shoulder like she needed the contact as much as he did.
After a long moment, Araya pulled back.
“We should go,” she said softly. “There are no more reasons to wait.”
Loren nodded, though his chest ached with the loss of her closeness. It wasn’t just physical. She was retreating—already holding herself apart, bracing to sever the bond between them.
What would it feel like when she broke it for good?
Loren shoved the thought down, refusing to acknowledge the twist of pain in his chest. Whatever came next, they would face it together. And for now, that was enough.
It didn’t take long to get everything ready.
The soldiers arrayed themselves down the stairs and in the courtyard, while the Healers clustered inside the temple.
A scout leaned close to Galen, saying something low and urgent about the wind—as if something as simple as a brisk breeze would make the difference this time.
But none of them stood any closer to the dark mist than they had to.
Loren didn’t blame them.
The Veil pulsed before them, as cold and angry as the wall of darkness over the Shadowed Sea had been.
Even his own shadows curled around his feet, reluctant to get any closer to the heaving, pulsing darkness.
“Are you afraid?” Araya asked, quietly enough that no one else would hear.
“I am.” Loren didn’t look at her as he answered. He couldn’t lie to her—but he didn’t want to see her face when he said it.
“Me too,” she whispered. “But we have a plan. Don’t we?”
No—no. Turn back— the shadows whimpered, their voices a low moan against his mind. Do not break us—
“We do,” Loren said, forcing himself to meet her eyes. “Are you ready?”
She nodded, her silver eyes bright even in the gloom. She slipped her hand into his, squeezing tightly. He held on, a hundred useless words on the tip of his tongue. But nothing he could say here would make any more difference than a blade or a breeze against the shadows.
So instead, he said nothing. And together, they stepped into the heart of the Shadowed Veil.
In just two steps, they were completely alone.
The dark, swirling mist closed in around them, blotting out Eloria’s soldiers like they weren’t standing just feet away.
His own shadows clung unhappily to his legs, the one around Araya’s neck burrowing into her cloak like it could hide from the darkness all around him.
“What’s the matter with you?” Loren muttered, glaring down at them. “You’re all part of the same magic, aren’t you?”
The shadows only muttered in response, their voices frayed and faint, too scattered for him to catch the words.
Araya took a half-step closer, clinging to his hand as she scanned the darkness around them.
“We’ll need to head to where the shadows are thickest,” she said, her breath misting in front of her face. “If they’re anchored to your father’s remains, that’s where they’ll accumulate.”
“If?” Loren couldn’t help but laugh, as he started to lead them forward. “If you’re wrong, we’re in a lot of trouble, ael’sura.”
“It’s all just theory,” Araya protested, but her lips twitched. “There were seven official retrieval attempts. Many bodies from the edge were successfully recovered. But where the shadows congregate—”
She gestured vaguely ahead, at where the darkness grew so thick it was almost solid.
“—there’s nothing. No one who attempted to breach it ever returned. So it’s a safe guess—”
Her voice was soft but steady, threading together the mess of reports and notes she’d spent so many days pouring over with the precision of someone who needed things to make sense. Her voice rose, gaining confidence and strength as she filled the strange silence—comforting them both.
But then Araya yelped, something turning under her foot with a wet crunch.
She slipped, almost falling into the thick mud under their feet before Loren hauled her back upright.
She leaned against him, whatever words she might have said cut off in a hushed gasp as they both realized what she had stepped on.
Bones.
Loren stared down at the remnants of a ribcage, crushed and half-buried in the cold, muddy soil.
The mist shifted, revealing a spine, twisted at an unnatural angle.
A human skull still wearing a blackened steel helmet—bits and pieces of rotted leather armor still clung to some of the fae remains, too tattered to make out any identifying details.
There were so many. It shouldn’t have surprised him. Not after what they’d shown him. But seeing it…Loren shuddered. No one, human or fae, had escaped that night.
They picked their way forward as carefully as they could, both of them flinching whenever a hidden bone crunched underfoot.
Soon, it was impossible to avoid them—every step accompanied by a sickening snap.
Loren’s shadows fluttered around his feet, growing more and more agitated as they pushed deeper into the thickening darkness.
What are you doing here, shadow prince?
Loren stumbled, his knee sinking into the soft ground as the Veil’s voice vibrated in his bones, crushing the air from his lungs.
Black spots danced at the edges of his vision as the full force of its attention landed on him, pressure building behind his eyes like lightning trying to claw its way out.
“Loren?” Araya dropped to her knees beside him, her hands warm on his chilled skin. “Are you—”
“Keep going,” he ground out. This was the plan. Even on the boat, they’d only turned their attention to her when she confronted them directly. If she just kept moving, she could make it. She could retrieve his father’s remains and save his people, succeeding where he had failed.
But only if she kept moving.
She hesitated, her brow creasing. “But—”
“They’re more interested in me than you.” He gasped in a sharp breath, fighting for air. “This was the plan, ael’sura. Just…don’t stop.”
She hesitated, her grip on his hand tightening like she might refuse. But then she straightened, pushing forward alone. His shadows howled as she vanished into the dark mist, the rising tide of their voices splitting his eardrums.
Foolish. Stupid prince, they cried out, their voices thin and faint as the Veil closed in around them. You need her. You need her. You need her. You need—
Have you come to die, shadow prince?
Loren groaned, mud squelching under his palms as he dug his fingers into the dirt. The deeper, many-layered voice of the Shadowed Veil spoke over his shadows, pressing into his mind from all directions.
“I’m the heir,” he muttered, forcing the words out through his clenched teeth. “The one you chose. That makes you mine to command.”
They hissed, raking sharp claws over his soul.
We chose you, they snarled. But now you are broken. Weak. Unfit. But you are not a fool. So tell us—why are you really here?
“This has to end,” Loren ground out, forcing the words through gritted teeth. “You’re hurting the fae—this can’t be what you want.”
We protect…always protect. Their voices splintered, every word striking his mind like a shard of glass. From the humans. From you. And if you will not tell us…we will take the answer ourselves.
Loren choked on his scream, the sound strangled in his throat as dara’el sank its claws into not just his body, but his mind.
They tore through his thoughts and memories, shredding every barrier he tried to throw up in their way until everything he’d ever thought or feared was laid bare.
You would let her bind us?
Their fury blazed through him like wildfire, icy whips of darkness shredding the flesh from his body as surely as they flayed his mind. His own shadows shrieked, straining to shield him as dara’el ripped at them both.
“No,” Loren rasped, forcing the word out past the pain. “You don’t understand. She’s not here to enslave you—she’s here to fix you.”
There is nothing to fix.
You’re killing our people, Loren’s shadows cried out. They starve under your darkness. Devoured by creatures from your heart—
And you cling to a broken prince, the greater darkness snarled. Loren groaned, the pressure in his skull building to a white-hot crescendo. We gave him a second chance. For her. For you. Better that it end here. Leave him and rejoin the many.
No, his shadows hissed, more united than he had ever heard them. He is ours. And she is his. We will not abandon them.
Fury rolled through the Veil, the ground itself trembling beneath its wrath. Then you are traitors too, it said, its voice like two great stones grinding together. If you will not yield the broken prince… then we will unmake her.
And then it turned.
“No—” Loren groaned, damp, fetid air flooding his lungs as the unbearable pressure on his chest lifted all at once. His shadows writhed around him, their hissing voices full of the same panic that surged in his blood.
“Go to her,” Loren demanded. He dragged himself to his knees, every ragged breath torn from his chest.
His shadows didn’t move.
“They’ll kill her.” Loren tried to stand and failed, cold mud soaking the knees of his pants. “Go. Protect her.”
Several voices joined together, hissing. If we leave, dara’el will kill you. And everything will be lost—
Loren shook his head, choking on blood. “You love her. She is ours. That makes her yours to protect as much as mine.” His voice broke as the shadows shuddered around him. “Don’t let them kill her.”
They were silent for a long moment, whatever they had to say kept between themselves. Then, a cool tendril brushed his cheek, almost tenderly. And for the first time since they’d come to him in his cell all those years ago, Loren didn’t feel haunted by them.
Then they left him.
Loren sagged, burying his fingers in the cold mud as the shadows streaked across the ruined battlefield. Mist parted before them, and for a fraction of a heartbeat, Loren could see her.
Araya turned, her silver eyes going wide as she saw his shadows rushing toward her—barely ahead of the storm surging in their wake, a tide of darkness that wanted to consume her. Her lips parted, a soundless cry breaking from her throat as the thread that bound them blazed white-hot with panic.
Loren answered. Not with words, but with everything he had been too much of a coward to say aloud. His trust—that she would finish what he could not. His sorrow—for every wound he’d given her, and every truth he hadn’t. His love—as deep as the shadows themselves.
“Not her,” he said. His voice was barely more than a strained whisper, but dara’el heard him. They turned, their terrible regard finding him there on the ground—abandoned by his own shadows. Defenseless.
“If you take one of us,” Loren managed, each word ripped from his chest. “Let it be me.”
For a heartbeat, nothing moved. The Veil drew itself tighter, the vast weight of its attention crushing the breath from his lungs. It sifted through him. Measuring. Judging. And then at last, it spoke.
Accepted.
It crashed over him, slamming into his body like a collapsing star.
Loren fell back into the cold mud, choking on blood and magic as every nerve flared white-hot with agony.
The world fractured—light, pain, darkness—all of it spiraling out of reach.
He reached for the bond, the shadows, anything—but there was nothing but silence where they had once stood.
For the first time since the shadows had chosen him, Loren was completely alone.