In the thrilling sequel to Of Shadow and Death, the mysterious Dracul Dregoth and the tenacious Evette Star return to seek each other out amongst the ashes.
Though Evette once vowed to kill the King in the West, she soon realizes that he is the only...
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The castle was a fantasy all its own. Evette caught herself wishing she had grew up in such a place. She could hear her own quiet footfalls, small and innocent and imaginary. She had come too far to daydream in the dark—had fed too many of her own starving demons to earn such a contentment as the one she dreamt of. She deserved love, and forgiveness, and a daring second chance, though she refused to give those things to herself, and thought most who were truly righteous would not want someone who was truly broken.
Evette passed by shadows as she entertained herself in the silence, taking an unenjoyable stroll while hugging herself tight, in hopes to ease the discomfort she felt in her empty stomach. Regret settled there, once it was forced down her throat by her own conscience, the only resource she had left to chew on.
Warmth radiated through her when she reached the second set of black, colossal doors at the front of the second hall she had found whilst walking in the dark. Rays of colored light flashed beneath the thin cracks at the bottom of the heavy doors, before fading. Eve used every ounce of her energy to pull open one of the heavy doors, weakly tripping on air, falling onto the hall floor as a familiar laugh echoed around her. It was her own, quiet and humor-filled. She stumbled to her feet, smiling.
The center table stretched wide, white and gold and deep purples colliding under platters of tarnished silver. Sharp points of silverware were bent out of shape almost laughably. The wax of candles draped stiffly over the edges of overflowed holders, and the flames that flickered in their wicks were not bright. They were little flames of shadow, flickering and popping as if they were just as bright as the real thing. Evette drug her feet until she reached the far end of the table, where a tall chair awaited her, the fabric stiff and unworn. It was pulled away from the table slowly, shadow accommodating her. Her arms would have been too weak to pull the piece of heavy furniture. She sat, staring cautiously at the edibles that had been placed before her. She was hungry enough to eat every piece of fruit, and every slice of bread, and every sliver of the strange, cake-like pastries, but refused to reach for them.
The quiet sound of slow movement sounded from behind the body of her chair, and she stiffened. She did not turn her head to see who had started toward her. His hands gripped the sides of the round chair, his long fingers tapping against the metal edges. Suddenly, Eve felt self-conscious of her posture— the way she could not fully sit up straight because her body was still healing. He had stitched up the ragged cuts in her clothes, and she realized how underdressed she must have been, how plain and modest her clothes must have looked. He was so regal; unlike anything she had been seen as by others.
"I have no interest in seeing you in finery. The days of such vain thoughts are long over." His voice startled her, but it did not show. Eve swallowed, tilting her head to stare down at her chapped hands in her lap.
