The arrow whistled past Lyralei's ear, close enough to steal a strand of her silver hair.
She didn't flinch.
Lightning crackled between her fingers as she spun, her storm-blue eyes scanning the shadowed forest that surrounded the ancient ruins. Three more arrows flew from the darkness—deadly silent, perfectly aimed. With a flick of her wrist, wind howled through the clearing, sending the projectiles spinning harmlessly into the moss-covered stones.
"Show yourselves, cowards," she called out, her voice carrying the rumble of distant thunder. "Or are you too afraid to face the Storm Queen's heir?"
A low chuckle echoed from somewhere behind the crumbling pillars. "Storm Queen? Is that what they're calling you now, little princess?"
The voice made her blood freeze. She knew that voice—had heard it in nightmares for the past three months. The same voice that had whispered threats in the darkness before her cousin's body was found, drained of every drop of royal blood.
"Impossible," she breathed. "You're dead. I watched them burn your body."
"Death," the voice purred, "is such a limiting concept, don't you think?"
A figure stepped from behind the largest pillar, and Lyralei's heart slammed against her ribs. Tall, broad-shouldered, with coal-black hair and eyes like molten gold—eyes that held power no man should possess. He wore the midnight-blue uniform of her own kingdom's elite guard, but wrong somehow. Darker. Ancient symbols stitched in silver thread caught the moonlight along his collar.
Commander Arzhel Theo. Her mother's most trusted warrior. Her secret protector for the past five years.
Her first love.
"Miss me, storm girl?" His lips curved into a smile that had once made her forget how to breathe. Now it made her want to run.
"The real Arzhel would never—" she started, but he cut her off with a laugh that scraped against her soul.
"The real Arzhel? Oh, darling. I am more real than any of you could imagine." He took a step closer, and the temperature dropped ten degrees. "I've been real for longer than your precious matriarchy has existed. Longer than your great-great-grandmother's grandmother drew breath."
Power—raw, ancient, and wrong—radiated from him in waves that made the air itself tremble. This wasn't bloodline magic. This was something older. Hungrier.
"What are you?" she whispered.
"I am what your ancestors tried to erase." His golden eyes flared, and suddenly she couldn't move, couldn't breathe. Invisible chains of ice-cold power wrapped around her chest. "I am the first son. The rightful heir. The one whose blood they spilled to build their pretty little queendoms."
No. Impossible. The histories spoke of no male heirs, no—
"Ah, but they wouldn't write about me, would they? Hard to justify stealing a crown when people remember who wore it first." He was close enough now that she could see the flecks of silver in his eyes, could smell cedar and steel and something else—something that reminded her of graveyards. "Your Storm Crown looks lovely on you, by the way. Tell me, does it feel heavy? It should. It's weighted with the bones of my family."
The chains around her chest tightened. Black spots danced at the edges of her vision. She tried to summon lightning, wind, anything—but her power felt muffled, distant, like trying to shout underwater.
"What do you want?" she gasped.
"What I've always wanted. What was stolen from me." His fingers traced along her jaw with mockingly gentle precision. "My birthright. My crown. My kingdoms." His thumb brushed across her bottom lip. "And the blood of every royal daughter who dares sit where I should rule."
The world tilted sideways. Her knees hit the ground hard enough to send shockwaves through her bones. She could feel her power draining away like water through a broken dam, flowing into him, making those golden eyes burn brighter.
"Starting with you, little storm queen."
That's when she heard it—the whistle of a blade cutting through air. Arzhel's head snapped to the side just as a silver dagger buried itself in the ancient pillar where his skull had been a heartbeat before.
"Get your hands off my queen, you bastard."
Nicolas dropped from the shadows above, landing in a crouch between her and the thing wearing Arzhel's face. Her personal guard—no, her best friend, her anchor—rose to his full height with fluid grace, two more daggers spinning between his fingers. Even without magic, he moved like death itself.
"Nicolas, run," she tried to scream, but only a whisper escaped her lips.
"Run? From this cheap imitation?" Nicolas's green eyes never left their target, but she caught the slight curve of his mouth. "I've been tracking him for three days. Did you really think you could use a dead man's face and fool those of us who knew him?"
The thing that wasn't Arzhel laughed. "Clever boy. Yes, your Commander Theo has been rotting in his grave for months. But his memories, his knowledge, his feelings—" those golden eyes flicked to her meaningfully, "—those belong to me now."
Nicolas's jaw tightened. "Then you know how much he cared about her. And you know what he'd do to anyone who tried to hurt her."
"Indeed I do." The creature's smile turned predatory. "Shall we find out if you're half the warrior he was?"
They moved at the same time.
Nicolas's daggers flew in perfect arcs while he drew his sword in one fluid motion. The creature dodged with inhuman speed, golden light flaring from his hands. Where the light touched the ground, the earth withered and died.
Lyralei felt the invisible chains loosen as his attention shifted to the fight. Power flooded back into her limbs like lightning through her veins. She pushed herself to her feet, electricity crackling along her skin.
"That's my girl," Nicolas called out without looking back, parrying a strike that should have taken his head clean off. "Show this pretender what real power looks like."
Wind howled through the clearing as she raised her hands. Lightning gathered in the storm clouds above, responding to her call. But as she prepared to unleash everything she had, a voice echoed through her mind—not the creature's voice, but another. Familiar. Warm. Heartbroken.
Lyralei... run...
Arzhel's voice. The real Arzhel, somehow still fighting from whatever prison held his soul.
He's stronger than you know... warn the others... five kingdoms... all in danger...
The voice faded into nothing, but the message was clear. This thing—whatever it was—wasn't just hunting her. It was hunting them all.
Every royal daughter in the Five Kingdoms.
Thunder crashed overhead as realization hit her like a physical blow. In Pyrathia, Queen Embria's heir would be preparing for her coronation ceremony. In Verdancia, Thornwyn would be in her healing gardens, unprotected. Crystiana would be alone in Glacialis's ice palace, and Shadowmere...
"Nicolas!" she screamed, pouring everything she had into the lightning that split the sky. "We have to warn the others!"
The bolt struck the creature center mass, sending him flying into the ruins. Stone cracked and crumbled. For a moment, blessed silence filled the clearing.
Then laughter echoed from the rubble.
"Warn them if you can, little storm." The voice was fainter now, but no less terrifying. "I've had centuries to plan this, and allies in every kingdom. The others are already being hunted."
Nicolas grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the horses they'd hidden at the forest's edge. "Move. Now."
They ran through the darkness, her heart hammering against her ribs. Behind them, that horrible laughter followed like a curse.