The Prince Of Shadows Novels & Stories

If the plan works out, there will be no more Prince or his fucked up party. I stepped out again, wondering if he at least took a bite. What was the fucker doing, anyway? Will anyone ever find out that he died from a poisoned fruit? No way, unless this is Snow White's story. But he was the evil Prince and soon to be evil King. I should stop feeling guilty or scared. While wandering in the hallways trying to justify my actions, I heard Julia's mother yell at me from somewhere about being late. I walked toward the Prince's chamber again. Did I hear voices? He was talking to someone who was responding in a relatively calm tone.

I finally said as I was passed into Javi’s arms. “I’m so fucking sorry baby, I’m so--” “Shh,” I cut him off. The darkness came again. I was in the dark again, like the time I saw Noora years ago. But there was nothing, just darkness. I tried yelling for someone, but there was nothing. What the hell did this mean? I thought about what Noora said in the first dream, and it all made sense. The prize was the bomb, I knew that now, and I never took my eyes off it, and maybe I was meant to see it through.

the voice instructed. "Affirmative, sir. The 50 Shadow Troops protecting the princess will now begin their attack operation," Nadine responded, emerging from my covert position. "Troops, we move now," she commanded. Like phantoms, the 50 Shadow Troops materialized from the shadows cast by the trees, seamlessly blending into the darkness. They moved with precision and stealth, systematically targeting the outer ranks of Prince Nicholas's special forces. Armed with tranquilizer guns, they began their silent assault.

Lucky there’s nothing deep needing stitches. In my grieving and broken state, I begin to feel faint. I let myself go and pass out. Opening my eyes I feel myself transported into another realm. Standing in front of me is my grandmother’s house which stands in front of a looming property which I dare not go near. The “LeFleur” mansion. A place said to belong to my ancestors from centuries ago. A place that continues to haunt my dreams since a child. Something about this place calls to my soul, it pulls me and begs me to return. The house stands in the Normandy countryside. She feels it in the wind and air, she feels it in the depths of the earth, it’s as if a spirit like a piece of me is locke

“There, no one would ever guess you were a prince.” Her words are meant to soothe, but they sting. Because it’s true—I’m not a prince anymore, not for now. I am merely a cursed child hiding behind another name. I glance at the mirror next to the bed and barely recognize the boy staring back at me. The red is gone, replaced by a deep black that makes my pale skin seem ghostly. My cursed mark, the twisted scar beneath my left eye, looks even darker now. I touch it carefully, wincing. “We’ll need to hide this too.”

“You’re not dreaming about monsters, little prince. You’re dreaming of me.” A shape appears beside me then—a shadow in the form of a man. He’s tall, cloaked, and featureless, a construct of my own magic. His voice is hollow and obedient. “Master,” it says. “Do we proceed?” “Of course,” I reply cheerfully. “What’s the fun in stopping now? Gather my little choir. It’s time to sing to the wolves.” The shadow bows and dissolves into the air, scattering into dozens of smaller wisps that slither away into the dark. Each one carries a piece of my will. Each one will find the edges of Blackwood territory and start unraveling those precious wards thread by thread.

He let out a low chuckle, a dry, rustling sound like dead leaves skittering across stone. "So, the prince plays hunter," he murmured to the wind, his voice barely audible. "He thinks to uncover my plans by chasing shadows. He doesn't understand that the shadows are everywhere. "He reached into a hidden pouch at his waist and withdrew a small, obsidian shard, intricately carved with symbols that seemed to writhe in his grip. He held it aloft, and the air around it grew heavy, charged with an unseen energy. "Patricia," he called, his voice resonating with an authority that transcended mere rank.

A third shadow emerged behind them, bearing Prince Rhett's sharp features warped into calculating malice. "Meet your mates' shadow selves," Anti-Lyra said with satisfaction. "Tyranny, Brutality, and Manipulation. They are quite eager to show your princes what they could have become." My three mates stared at their dark reflections with expressions ranging from horror to rage. "We are nothing like them," Prince Kael said firmly. "Not yet," the shadow wearing his face replied. "But give it time. Power corrupts everyone eventually. Even love-bound fools who think devotion makes them special."

The kind of stain you burn the whole painting for. And yet—somehow—my best friend has two of the most dangerous ones sniffing around her like she's a walking bag of O-negative and unresolved trauma. Two. Not just one of the four fabled Shadow Princes—two. I honestly thought I’d be dead before I ever got a whiff of any of them. These aren’t the type of monsters that waltz around in daylight with fresh haircuts and designer boots, threatening civilians. No. These ones are ancient. Cursed. Practically folklore. The kind of thing new recruits at STSD whisper about during orientation like ghosts that flirt and kill in the same breath.

If a King who is only feared tries to sit, the throne will reject and devour his power] [ENERGY SOURCE: 600 TRUST UNITS - STABLE AT 100%] Behind Jin, the shadow rose from the floor. It didn't rise like smoke. It rose like 600 hands lifting each other. It became a throne. 10 feet tall. Made entirely of interlocked hands, faces, and memories. Room 12's soup bowl, Room 88's drawing, Room 204's shoes - all carved into the shadow. It was not beautiful like Abel's white castle. It was heavy. So heavy the air around it bent. Abel understood instantly. He was S-Rank. He knew what that throne was.