And so instead, I did the impossible. The unfathomable.
I betrayed my own heart, and I turned my back on Kieran Vistarii.
Heart pounding, hands trembling, utterlyterrifiedof the man I loved… I walked away from the best thing I ever had.
And each step forward was agony.
Epilogue
Every year, when the Blood Moon rose, Scáth Saoirái sent an emissary to their crown prince in the dead of night.
It didn’t matter where he was in Atlas. Whether he was on a mission halfway across the continent, safe behind the aetheric wards of Sophrosyne, or lurking somewhere in the Shadows in avoidance—on the eve of his birth, they always found him.
Though the identity of the emissary had changed from time to time over the years, the intent was always the same: To pass along messages from the Crones. To remind the prince of his duties, his destiny. To ensure that he never forgot about the prophecy, even if he had long since decided to leave it behind, letting those weighted words gather dust in the back of his mind.
This was his fate, they would remind him, year after year. Written in dark stars, before he had taken a single breath. There was no escaping what had been foretold, they would claim. No matter how long the prince chose to delay it.
They would try to convince him that the ruin of Aemos was inevitable, and that the survival of his people depended on the destruction of theirs.
His people. It had been a long, long time since the crown prince of the Shadow Plane had held on to any illusion that the people of Scáth Saoirái were his to serve, or even to rely upon.
Tonight, he did not bother to hide from the emissary. He would be waiting for them, whoever they were. He had questions of his own.
On the cusp of midnight, the envoy arrived as expected.
“Greetings, my prince.”
The man who stood at the threshold of his townhouse door shared just enough of the prince’s own bloodline for his features to read as a dismal mirror. Just looking at the brother of his sire was a reminder of his place amongst a family fueled by bloodshed and cruelty.
“Abraxas.”
As much as the heir to the throne of Hel had tried to pretend that he could escape the consequences of his birth, the curse of his own blood—he had already proven otherwise, just a few weeks ago. Cruelty would always be in his nature. He was a bitter, cold-hearted bastard, just like the rest of them.
At least now, she saw him for what he truly was.
“I come bearing messages from the King and the Crones,” Abraxas said, handing over the sealed scrolls.
The emissary flinched as his prince accepted the missives, and then promptly tossed them in the fireplace.
“Fuck the King. Fuck the Crones,” he replied, letting them all burn.
“So this is still the role that you choose to play, Kieran?”
“Did I fucking stutter, Abraxas?”
“You did not, Your Grace.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“As you wish. Still, it would be remiss of me not to make the observation that something appears to have changed in you. Your aura is… different.”
Abraxas Vistarii had what they called the Sight—the ability to detect reflections of the soul, the waves of energy that surrounded any living creature that apparently gave insight into their base natures and motivations. It was a rare gift, and Kieran didn’t particularly like that his uncle was reading his right now, but it was no exact science. Hardly a concern.
And he was not surprised to hear that his aura had changed, now that he had crossed paths with the second Harbinger.
Arken.
Her name had a sharp edge in his mind these days. It all seemed so obvious in hindsight.