The Prodigal Thorn
The Onyx Keep looms ahead, a jagged silhouette against the bruised sky. It’s exactly as I remember it—sharp, uninviting, and suffocating beneath layers of shadows that stretch like claws across the stone walls. Nostalgia? No, not exactly. But there is something sweet about returning to the place that tried to kill me.
My horse snorts, clearly unimpressed by my sentimentality. I pat its neck absentmindedly, eyes fixed on the spires cutting into the clouds like ugly blunt knives. I can already hear the hush whispers of my return.News travels faster than crows and eagles in Ebonreach, and the prodigal sister’s return is bound to stir the pot.I bet the housewives are going to have a wonderful week ahead.
The guards at the gate straighten as I approach, but the expression on their faces hover somewhere between hate, disdain and amusement. Perfect. I wouldn’t have it any other way.
One of them steps forward, grinning lazily. He’s the kind of man who mistakes standing at a gate for ten years as royal service. “Princess Selene. The palace must be desperate if they’ve opened the gates for you.”
I lean forward in the saddle, allowing a slow, deliberate smile to tug at my lips. “Desperate? Oh Darling, if this kingdom is desperate, it’s not because of me. But I appreciate the warm welcome. I will not forget it” My gaze flicks down to his belt. “And I’m impressed. Not everyone is bold enough to wield a sword that dull.”
The other guards chuckle under their breath. The man’s face flushes crimson, but he steps aside without another word. Smart boy.
I dismount, tugging the deep red cloak tighter around my shoulders. It’s a bit dramatic, I’ll admit ,i knew exactly what i was doing putting on a red robe. But if I’m going to start trouble, I might as well do it in style . The sound of my boots echoes against the stone steps as I climb toward the throne room.
The hall hasn’t changed. It’s still drowning in decadence—velvet drapes, gilded chandeliers, and the faintest scent of roses rotting beneath their perfume. The courtiers scattered along the walls watch me with the same mixture of curiosity and distaste they always have. Their eyes follow me, always hungry for gossip.
Let them stare. I’m here to give them something to talk about.
At the far end of the room, sprawled across the obsidian throne like a spoilt cat basking in the sun, is Draven. My dear horrible brother. His golden hair gleams under the candlelight, tousled just enough to look effortlessly perfect, and his smirk—cocky and cruel—carries the weight of someone used to h. The things go his way ,sharp lines of his jaw could cut glass, and the faintest shadow of stubble softens the otherwise striking symmetry of his face. Broad shoulders drape lazily over the obsidian throne, as if he was born to make ruling look like an afterthought.
“Look who dragged herself out of exile,” he drawls, fingers tapping idly against the armrest. “Selene, it’s been far too long. Didn’t think you’d dare set foot in this hall again.”
I stop halfway down the aisle, tilting my head as if considering. “And yet, here I am. Maybe I missed the family drama. There’s nothing quite like the smell of betrayal in the morning.”
He chuckles, low and dangerous. “You always did have a flair for theatrics.”
“Says the man who staged an entire war just to switch the carpets.”
Draven’s eyes narrow slightly. Hit a nerve, did I brother?
“Careful, Selene,” he warns. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”
I smile sweetly. “I’m counting on it.”
The tension in the room is palpable, each word a carefully sharpened blade. But I don’t look away. This isn’t just about reclaiming my place in the court. It’s about something far bigger.
Draven thinks he holds the strings, but he’s forgotten one important thing.
I’ve always been good at cutting them.
The silence lingers as courtiers pretend not to eavesdrop. They make it so obvious,i wonder if they are dumb or they do not just care to pretend enough .Finally, Draven’s smirk fades into something colder. “Stay out of my way, Selene. I’d hate for you to get hurt.Again”
I arch a brow. “Hurt? Oh, brother. I survived exile. A little palace intrigue is practically vacationing.”
His fingers tighten around the armrest. I savor that tiny crack in his facade. It’s good to be home.
Hi my lovely readers!.I hope you enjoy this book as much as i enjoy writing it!.
