Our eyes locked. Ours to his. His to ours.
Fuck, I thought.
Mische went so still it was like she stopped breathing.
Before us stood the Shadowborn prince.
49
ORAYA
It took me a moment to recognize him. I’d only seem him from across the room at the wedding, and I’d been distracted then. Highborn vampire men tended to have the same sort of look about them—the high cheekbones, the smooth skin, the sharp eyes, the dangerous allure designed to lure in prey. The Shadowborn prince had all those things in abundance. A beautiful, dangerous person who fit in seamlessly among all the other beautiful, dangerous people.
It was only once I saw the diadem upon his head of thick hair, and the style of his clothing—fine, tight-fitting brocades—that it clicked into place.
A little smile of recognition spread over his lips, too, though his gaze fell to me only for a moment before sliding behind me—lingering on Mische.
What the hell was he doing here?
If I’d given even the slightest thought to where the Shadowborn prince had gone when the coup broke out, I would have assumed that he’d fled the city. What interest would a Shadowborn have in remaining to watch the Nightborn tear each other apart?
Then again… why wouldn’t he want to watch that? Vampires. Shrewd and bloodthirsty, so easily entertained by violence. So enthralled by the idea of their enemies on their knees.
And why wouldn’t Simon want him to see it all, if it meant a chance at gaining the respect of a powerful Obitraen leader?
Smart of him. Because the prince was valuable.
If I was a better diplomat, maybe I could have seized this opportunity. I could imagine Raihn doing so skillfully—putting on just the right mask to show the prince what he wanted to see.
But I wasn’t Raihn. I wasn’t Vincent. I looked at this prince and saw nothing but a threat, every nerve in my body screaming, Kill him!
Doing that would be foolish. A political nightmare. But—
The prince stepped closer, his eyebrows raising.
“Well,” he said, “this is—”
A smear of bronze-and-gold streaked past me. The brush of a body knocked me momentarily off balance.
The next thing I knew, Mische was on top of the prince, and blood was everywhere.
I had never seen Mische fight like this, not even in the Kejari. It was animalistic, not her typical light, quick movements, but vicious and brutal. The two of them tangled on the ground, limbs flailing, wisps of shadow magic making it impossible to make out what was happening.
I dove after her a split second after she moved. But by then, their fight was already a mess of gore. First Mische was on top of him, stabbing wildly, red-black blood spattering her face and then mine as I rushed over to them.
Then, just as I was within striking distance, he slammed Mische to the floor, snarling as his dagger inched closer to her face.
All thoughts about diplomacy or alliances or impending war disappeared.
I threw myself against him, wrenching him off her. He recovered fast, recoiling, turning on me. I had my sword ready to charge through his chest—
But before I could, Mische leapt on him.
It was an incredible strike, even by the standards of vampire speed and strength. Accurate, quick, powerful.
She didn’t even hesitate as her blade breached his breastbone. It was so gracefully beautiful that the ugly slam of his body against the wall startled me.
She’d driven that sword all the way through him, and she still just kept pushing—pushing that blade against the wall, the two of them inching closer. Her face was unrecognizable, a mask of fury, remnants of her gold makeup settling into lines of pure rage.
The Shadowborn prince did not blink as he died.
And when he was gone, his eyes just kept staring right through her.
She still kept pushing, even though the blade was now buried in the wall. Her once-stunning golden gown was now drenched in black.
The silence was suddenly deafening, save for Mische’s heaving, shaking breath. She was trembling violently.
I touched her shoulder.
She drew in a gasp and stumbled backwards, her hands clapping over her mouth. The sword remained stuck in the wall, through the prince’s body.
“Oh gods,” she breathed. “I—oh gods. What did I just—”
She had just murdered a prince of the House of Shadow.
Cold fear settled over me.
I stuffed it down, far beneath more pressing matters.
“We can’t worry about that—”
But Mische whirled to me, and something about the look in her eyes gave me pause.
I recognized that look. It went deeper than the frenzied shock of an unexpected kill.