Crown of Shadow and Bones

A Prince of Shadows

The fae realm was an assault on the senses, a place where the air shimmered with magic and the landscape thrummed with life so intense it almost hurt to look at. The glen Elara had landed in pulsed with vibrant color—flowers glowing faintly as if they held the light of a thousand stars within their petals, trees stretching toward a sun that burned too bright. Even the wind felt alive, brushing against her skin with a sentient caress that sent shivers down her spine.

But beneath the beauty, Elara felt a deep and gnawing sense of isolation. This was her punishment. Exile.

She pushed herself up from the soft, damp grass, her legs unsteady beneath her. Every muscle in her body screamed from the shock of the portal that had torn her from the human world, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the ache in her chest. She had been banished to this world as retribution for her reckless use of necromancy. A death sentence would have been merciful compared to this—an eternity trapped in a realm where her magic was not only forbidden but reviled.

Elara's fingers twitched, a reflexive motion as she reached for the familiar cold tendrils of necromantic power that usually lay coiled within her. But here, in this fae realm, the energy felt different, slippery and elusive. She swallowed back the rising tide of panic, her mind drifting, unbidden, to the moment everything had gone wrong.

The ritual. Mara.

She could still hear the echo of Mara's scream, the final sound her friend had made before the life was drained from her body. Elara had watched her, powerless to stop what she'd set in motion. It had been an accident—a desperate attempt to peer deeper into the mysteries of life and death—but it didn't matter. Mara was dead, and Elara had killed her. Now, she was banished from her world, forced to live out her days in a land that held no place for a necromancer.

"Elara."

Her name, spoken in a voice both smooth and commanding, jolted her from her thoughts. She turned sharply, her heart leaping into her throat.

Standing before her was a figure of startling elegance, a fae male with sharp features that seemed sculpted from the very essence of night. His skin gleamed with an ethereal glow, and shimmering tattoos coiled up his arms, shifting like living ink beneath his flawless skin. His dark hair, longer than any man she had ever seen, cascaded past his shoulders, catching the light with an almost otherworldly sheen. But it was his eyes—deep, emerald green and filled with an unsettling mixture of amusement and calculation—that held her captive.

"Welcome to your new home," he said, his lips curving into a smirk that sent a strange shiver down her spine. "The fae realm."

Her mouth went dry. She had heard stories of the fae, of their beauty, their cruelty, and their strict laws. Laws that forbade anything associated with death magic, the very thing that pulsed beneath her skin.

"I don't belong here," Elara managed, though the words came out weaker than she had intended.

His smirk deepened. "And yet here you are." He took a step closer, his movements so fluid and graceful that it was as though the world bent to his will. "Banished by your own kind, for crimes I imagine you'd rather not confess, no?"

Elara stiffened at the word crimes. That's what the Council had called it, hadn't they? Her insatiable curiosity, her desire to push the boundaries of necromancy—they had labeled it dangerous, reckless. And perhaps they were right. But that didn't lessen the bitterness that twisted inside her.

"I didn't mean for it to happen," she said, more to herself than to him. "It was an accident."

The fae prince tilted his head, his eyes narrowing with interest. "An accident?" His voice held a note of mockery. "Is that what you tell yourself? That your curiosity cost someone their life, and it was simply... an accident?"