Page 2 of The Panther's Price

“But you question your heart,” she murmured, stepping close. Her cold fingers cupped his cheek, nails grazing his skin like little blades. “You were not made to feel, Lucien. You were not made to doubt. I shaped you in shadow, forged you in silence. You are mine.”

Her lips brushed his brow. “Do not disappoint me.”

The shadows stirred like crows in a storm.

He stood, rigid. “I’ll find her.”

She smiled. That terrible, beautiful smile. “Good boy.” She handed him a sealed paper with a satisfied smile.

He didn’t breathe again until he was alone.

Lucien paced the upper balconies of the Court’s west wing, ignoring the murmuring courtiers and wide-eyed servants who slipped out of his path like ghosts fleeing fire. His black hair hung damp against his neck, sweat slicked beneath his collar despite the cold.

Evryn Hale.

The name tasted wrong in his mouth. Too soft. Too alive.

And the whispers—royal blood, forgotten lines, prophecy—those were stories for fools and rebels. He’d buried enoughdreamers in the name of order. He knew what believing got you. Dead, mostly.

But the hesitation…

That had been real.

Lucien leaned against the stone balustrade, staring out over the cliffs where the Shadowfell sea crashed below. The winds tore through the panther spires with a howl that sounded too much like mourning.

He’d killed for less than a name. He’d ended bloodlines on suspicion alone. Why was this different?

He pulled the folded parchment from his sleeve—the Queen’s seal cracked and blood-red. Inside: a sketched likeness of the girl.

She wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense. Her hair was wild, curls tumbling down like the woods themselves had claimed her. Her features were strong, stubborn. Her mouth looked like it laughed too little and fought too often.

But it was her eyes that caught him.

Even in ink, they stared back—violet-shadowed, silver-gleaming. Unafraid.

Lucien’s chest tightened. He crushed the paper and tossed it into the wind.

He could feel the Court’s eyes on him even now. The guards. The nobles. The traitors. Especially Cassian. His little brother was probably already preparing his own moves, his knives hidden behind smiles.

Lucien couldn’t afford softness.

His gaze lifted to the sky, where the moon hung crooked and low, silver over the sea.

He whispered the name. Just once.

“Evryn.”

Then he turned from the sea, summoned the shadows with a flick of his wrist, and vanished into them.

TWO

EVRYN

The dream was sharper tonight. More teeth than shadow. More truth than memory.

Evryn Hale woke with her pulse pounding against her ribs like it was trying to claw its way out. Her breath came in short bursts, her skin damp with sweat that chilled too fast in the cold air of the Grayridge flat. She didn’t scream. She never did anymore. Not since the dreams had started whispering instead of screaming at her.

She sat up, pushing tangled curls from her face, and blinked into the dark. The moonlight spilled in through the broken blinds, laying silver stripes across the threadbare blanket and stained floorboards. Outside, the wind howled like it wanted in.

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