The Shadowbound Queen

Chapter One

The night reeked of blood and rain.

Rhia Valtris pulled the hood of her cloak lower over her face as she slipped through the twisting back alleys of Vareth, the capital of Eryndor. The streets were nearly silent at this hour—save for the distant clatter of drunken soldiers spilling out of taverns and the occasional beggar coughing in the shadows. A heavy mist clung to the ground, coiling around her boots as she moved.

She shouldn’t be out this late. Not with the king’s men scouring the city for anyone suspected of magic. Especially not when her own magic pulsed beneath her skin, hungry and restless.

Rhia adjusted the dagger at her hip, its familiar weight comforting. She just needed to reach the safe house. One more turn, one more darkened street, and—

A flicker of movement to her left.

Rhia froze. Her breath caught as she pressed herself into the shadows between two crumbling stone buildings. The mist shifted. A single lantern bobbed at the end of the alley, casting flickering golden light on a group of armored figures blocking the exit. The king’s guards.

“Nothing down this way,” one of them muttered, his voice muffled beneath his steel helm.

“Check again,” another said. “The informant was sure. Said she’s been hiding near the lower quarter.”

A chill coiled in Rhia’s stomach. She had thought she had covered her tracks well, but obviously, someone had seen her.

She clenched her jaw, her heartbeat drumming against her ribs. The shadows at her feet stirred, responding to her unease. Power whispered through her veins, dark and waiting. She inhaled, forcing herself to stay still. Stay hidden.

One of the guards took a step forward, then another.

Damn it.

Rhia didn’t wait for him to get closer. With a sharp flick of her fingers, the darkness surged. The lantern’s flame guttered out, plunging the alley into blackness.

Shouts rang out. “What in the—?”

Rhia moved. Fast. She darted toward the alley’s other exit, her boots barely making a sound against the damp stone. Behind her, the guards cursed, fumbling for their weapons.

“Find her!”

She was already gone.

She ran, twisting through the labyrinth of Vareth’s slums, ignoring the burning in her lungs. The safe house wasn’t far. If she could just—

Pain. White-hot and searing.

Rhia staggered as something struck her side. An arrow. No—just a grazing wound, but enough to slow her. Enough to cost her everything.

She forced herself forward, gritting her teeth against the pain. The shadows at her feet writhed, whispering, urging her to let them in, to let them consume.

No. Not yet.

Not until she had no other choice.

The safe house’s door loomed ahead, half-hidden by ivy and years of neglect. She reached for the handle just as another arrow whistled past her ear.

She threw herself inside, slamming the door shut behind her.

And then—silence.

Rhia’s breath came in ragged, uneven bursts, each inhale sharp enough to sting her throat. The heavy door groaned under her weight as she tried to calm her racing heart. The damp, musty air of her small home pressed close, the scent of old wood and melted wax mingling with the iron tang of her own blood.

Shadows stretched long and restless across the room, curling at the edges like living things, drawn to the presence lurking in the corner. A figure sat there, half-shrouded in darkness, utterly still. Watching. Waiting.

The silence stretched, taut as a bowstring, before a voice—low, smooth, and edged with something like amusement—broke it.

“Well,” the stranger murmured, the single word dripping with languid confidence. “That took you long enough.”

Rhia’s fingers curled around the hilt of her dagger, the cool steel grounding her as she stepped forward, her pulse a steady drumbeat in her ears.

The darkness shifted, yielding just enough for her to make out the figure. Slowly, his features emerged from the shadows—strong jaw, piercing eyes, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. She had seen enough portraits in her time to know this face.

Kieran Vael.

The rebel prince. The ghost of a long-dead heir. The one person in Eryndor who might be more dangerous than her.

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I hope you enjoyed it! Come back next week for chapter two!!

Bridget