XANDER MORTAIN

The night of the ceremony hit, and I was going out of my mind.

I paced the war room, wearing a hole in the floorboards. Every few seconds, my hand went to my pocket. My fingers rubbed the parchment from the Veil stream.

The Void Prince.

The words stuck with me. Anika was mine. Not some prince’s, not the Harvest’s, nobody’s but mine.

I kept eyes inside the Shadow Citadel. Scouts watched from the dark. They said preparations were in full swing. The courtyard was lit. The obsidian circle was ready, and the elders chanted. But Conor was a no-show.

The door banged open. Marek burst in, sucking...