The Shadow Prince by Bree Despain Page A

uncomfortable with the seclusion of the grove for the first time. The person is cloaked in shadows, but I can tell he’s a man. Or perhaps a boy. But definitely male. He steps closer and his features come into view. I take him in from head to toe. It would be impossible not to. He’s tall, even taller than me, and I tower over most of the guys I’ve ever met. His black jeans look brand-new, and his black shirt still carries the creases from sitting on a department store shelf. Both hug his fit body in a way that makes me take in a quick breath. While his clothes seem expensive and refined, the rest of him looks untamed in a way that reminds me of a wildcat.… Or more like a pirate? His cheeks and jaw are hard and muscular, and his thick hair, the color of ebony, falls inchunky, uneven strands, like somebody took a raw blade to it, just above his shoulders. Long black bangs hide his eyes.
    “I’m not here to create amusement,” he says and steps even closer, closing the gap of safety between us. My heartbeat kicks up a notch.
    “Um … what?”
    “I just wanted to know what that was you did with your voice. And with that.” He gestures at my guitar. “I’ve never heard anything like it before.”
    I’m confused. Does he mean that he’s never heard the grove’s acoustics before, or that he’s never heard
music
before? I am about to ask when he brushes his dark hair out of his face, revealing eyes the color of jade, except for the bright swirls of amber radiating like flames around his pupils.
    My throat feels tight as I try to speak. I can’t recall what I was about to ask. This boy, with fire dancing in his eyes, intrigues me, but at the same time, he reminds me of why I used to be afraid of the dark. Back when I was younger, I thought monsters lived in shadows and could only be seen out of the corner of my eye.
    I should be wary of this stranger. But I’m not. I stand motionless, returning his gaze, as transfixed as if I were in the spotlight on a grand stage. Finally, he blinks, and I glance down at his mouth.
    “Are you real?” he asks.
    I try to laugh, but no sound comes out. Am
I
for real? I am the one who should be asking that question.
    He slowly stretches his hand toward my face but then pulls it slightly back. I notice a pallor under his olive skin, but a strange heat seems to radiate from his fingertips. I look into his eyes again and move my hand toward his. The curious, pulsing heat of his skin draws me to him. We are about to touch, his fingersbreathing warmth against mine. He looks away from my eyes and notices the name pendant—a sixteenth-birthday present from CeCe—that I wear around my neck.
    “Daphne?” He reads my name. His hand drops, and that strange heat falls away with it. “
You’re
Daphne Raines?”
    “Yes,” I say before thinking better of giving this stranger my name. The trance he held me in is broken. “How do you know my name? What—are you some kind of reporter?”
    I notice now that this boy has no sound. No tone, no melody, no song coming off him. Just silence, like the too-still grove that engulfs us from the view of any witnesses.
    I also realize that he doesn’t have a camera. He’s not a reporter looking for a picture.
    He takes a quick step back, like he’s about to run away, but then stops. He looks me square in the eyes, but this time, the intensity of his gaze only frightens me. “Will you come with me?” he says, reaching for my arm.

chapter eleven
HADEN
    I make it to the gate unnoticed. In the mortal world, the gate is cloaked to resemble two curving trees that create an archway at the north end of the grove. The green light has grown fainter. I wonder if it is even visible to human eyes, but as I hold my hand out, I can still feel it pulsing with energy. The gate is still active, which means it is still the same day in which I arrived.
    I have overreacted for no reason.
    I am about to return to Simon’s home, feeling reassured and slightly