Young Immortals

Prologue

My husband projects the image of everything you want to see in a ruler at a dire time like this – grave yet confident, powerful yet reserved. I stand behind him on the palace balcony, along with his closest advisors and knights. Our son, the crown prince, has yet to arrive. 

The dark of the night obscures most of the commoners below, except the ones holding torches, displaying a handful of restless faces among a sea of spectators that stretches miles past the palace grounds. When the king steps forward to greet them, his crown gleaming and his dark robes billowing behind him, they immediately fall silent, staring up at him in reverence.

"Time is of the essence, so I will state the news plainly!" Devlin announces, his voice booming against the night. "Yes, the rumors are true – after a hundred years of peace, the exiled betrayer has returned! It seems slaughtering one brother was not enough to satisfy his bloodlust! He will not quit until he is dead or has slain us both!" 

The crowd stirs twice as loud as before. The knights slam the butts of their staffs into the ground to quiet them enough for Devlin to continue his speech. He reassures the commoners that he will do everything in his power to protect them against the danger to come, then promises title and riches for any information leading to the fugitive's capture -- dead or alive. 

But the longer he talks, the harder time I have staying focused. My eyes drift over his shoulder to one of the torches mounted against the palace wall. As I stare into the brightest part of the flame, his words echo in my head on repeat, like there is a drum pounding inside of my rib cage, beating harder with each turn.

Silas is back. 

And he's not here to claim the throne. 

He's here to burn it to the ground.