Prince Arthur paced furiously atop a platform of radiant light suspended in the endless sky.
Winds howled around him, ruffling the long silver-white coat he wore, but he barely noticed.
His mind churned with dark thoughts, rage simmering behind his slowly rotating crimson eyes. The Daydream Court—his court—was meant to represent order, unity, and strength. At least on the surface.
And now?
Now the Nightmare Court had become one, under a single prince whose power Arthur could no longer predict, contain, or ignore.
Ezra Matten.
The name burned in his mind like a brand.
His relic, Aether, hummed faintly inside him, sensing his agitation, whispering in waves of light.
Arthur clenched his fists.
He'd spent a century, engaged in a battle of wits with the elders of the Vampire Society. He'd done what most would not dare to. He'd split the vampires and with other royalty, created the Monarchy.
