The Midnight Prince

Sounds in theDark

The Midnight Prince

Ashen

“Did the cinder boy kiss the princess?” my daughter asked.

I stared into the fire.

My son groaned. “Why does she keep asking that?”

“Because she has excellent dramatic instincts,” I said.

My daughter grinned. “So did he?”

I turned the old ring on my finger and smiled faintly.

“No.”

Her face fell. “Why not?”

“Because sometimes wanting something is not the same as being ready for it.”

“That sounds like something grown-ups say when they are scared,” my son said.

I looked at him.

“Very good,” I said softly. “That is exactly what it means.”

Moon lay on top of me, soaked from our ridiculous water battle, her hands braced against my chest and her dark hair falling like a curtain around us.

For one breath, I forgot the cabin.

Forgot the rogues.

Forgot Callan wearing my face.

Forgot Dorian Calder, the ring, SilvaFrost, and the whole kingdom searching for a version of me that did not exist.

There was only Moon.

Her heartbeat thundered so loudly I could hear it over the water dripping from the counter.

Fast.

Nervous.

Wanting.

My hands rested at her waist. I should have let go. I knew I should have.

But my fingers had already learned the shape of holding her, and for one terrible second, I wanted to keep learning.

Her gaze dropped to my mouth.

Mine dropped to hers.

The distance between us was so small that a braver boy might have crossed it.

A foolish boy would have.

I was not sure which one I wanted to be.

Then a sound came from outside.

Soft.

Barely there.

A branch breaking beneath weight.

I went still.

Moon felt the change immediately.

“What is it?” she whispered.

I shifted, helping her sit up before rolling to my feet. The moment I moved away, her scent changed.

Disappointment.

Small but sharp.

I felt it like a hand closing around my chest.

She had wanted me to kiss her.

I had wanted it too.

That was the problem.

Wanting had never been safe for me. Wanting had teeth. Wanting made girls disappear from packs, made brothers angry, made cruel people search for soft places to press bruises into.

And this was not some quiet world where two people could want each other without consequences.

She was the missing princess of LunariaNova.

I was the boy the kingdom thought had been kidnapped with her.

We were hiding in my dead mother’s cabin while rogue wolves, Fire Court traitors, witches, royal guards, and my own family all pulled at the same knot.

And still, I had almost kissed her on the floor like the world outside did not exist.

I grabbed the cloth from the counter and handed it to her.

“I heard something.”

Moon took it, but her eyes stayed on me.

“You are avoiding.”

I looked toward the window.

“Ashen.”

My name in her mouth was becoming dangerous.

I turned back.

She was sitting on the floor, damp and flushed, her expression softer than I knew what to do with.

“I would not have been angry,” she said.

My breath caught.

She did not say kiss.

She did not need to.

“I know,” I said.

“Then why did you pull away?”

I looked down at my hands.

Hands that had scrubbed floors. Hauled wood. Held chains. Killed rogues. Carried her from the snow.

Hands that had no idea how to touch something beautiful without expecting punishment.

“Because I wanted to,” I said quietly.

Moon went still.

The truth hung between us.

Her heartbeat changed again.

I forced myself to continue before courage left me.

“And because I do not understand what is happening between us. I feel…” I stopped, frustrated by words that suddenly seemed too small. “I feel pulled toward you. Like something in me knows your voice before you speak. Like I could find you in the dark if the whole world went silent.”

Her lips parted.

“But my wolf is not…” I touched my chest, where the chained thing inside me slept and watched and hurt. “He is not free. Whatever this is, I do not fully understand it.”

Moon rose slowly.

“I do not fully understand it either.”

That surprised me.

She smiled faintly, but it was sad around the edges.

“Storm knows more than I do, but even she only gets pieces.”

“Storm?”

“My wolf.”

I held the name carefully in my mind.

Storm.

It suited her.

Moon stepped closer, then stopped herself. She remembered. She gave me space.

I hated how grateful I was for it.

“Go check the sound,” she said softly. “I will help clean this up before Nara sees we flooded the kitchen like pups.”

Despite everything, I almost smiled.

“Nara will know it was your fault.”

“My fault?”

“You declared war.”

“You splashed first.”

“Allegedly.”

Her eyes warmed.

For one breath, the almost-kiss became something we could survive.

Then the sound came again.

Further this time.

A scrape against bark.

My humor died.

I moved to the door.

“Stay inside.”

Moon folded her arms. “You do realize giving me orders has never worked out well for anyone.”

“I am learning.”

“Slowly.”

“Stay inside anyway.”

She looked as if she might argue.

Then her gaze moved to the window, to the dark pines beyond the glass.

“Be careful.”

That was worse than an argument.

I nodded once and stepped into the night.

The cabin clearing was cold and quiet.

Too quiet.

Snow lay thick over the ground, but near the outer trees, something had disturbed it. Not a wolf track. Not human either.

Veyra appeared beside me so suddenly I nearly sent ice through the porch.

“Do not stab your guardian,” she whispered. “It is rude.”

I exhaled. “Did you see it?”

“No.”

“Then why are you whispering?”

“Atmosphere.”

I gave her a look.

She sighed. “Fine. Because the wards trembled.”

The air tightened.

“What does that mean?”

“It means something brushed against the edge of your mother’s protection spell.”

“Something?”

“Or someone.”

I stared into the trees.

My magic listened.

That was the only way I could describe it. The cold beneath the snow, the frost on the branches, the frozen creek beyond the hill—all of it seemed to turn its face toward me, waiting.

Nothing moved.

But something had been there.

And it had known enough not to come closer.

Behind me, Moon’s heartbeat moved inside the cabin. Nara’s, upstairs. Veyra’s strange fae pulse beside me, uneven and old.

Mine beat hardest of all.

“Will the wards hold?” I asked.

“For now.”

“For now is becoming my least favorite phrase.”

“Mine too,” Veyra said. “And I am a thousand years old. That is a crowded list.”

I looked toward the window.

Moon stood inside, pretending not to watch.

Veyra followed my gaze.

“She is safer here than anywhere else tonight.”

“That is not the same as safe.”

“No,” Veyra said. “It is not.”

Children, while the cinder boy stood guard outside a cabin he barely understood, the rest of the kingdom searched in the wrong direction.

This is the part he learned later.

He learned it from royal reports, from Solan’s furious retelling, from Queen Selene’s silence, and from the way maps were still stained with candle wax weeks after the search ended.

The world had believed a lie because the lie had been loud.

Princess Moona PentNova had been taken by rogues.

An omega named Ashen Drakewood had been taken with her.

The royal court did not sleep after that.

King Aric PentNova himself rode out with the second search party.

Not because he doubted his queen.

Because fathers do not sit on thrones when their daughters are missing.

Solan rode with him, face stripped of every joke he usually wore like armor. He had seen Moon unconscious. He had seen Callan too eager with explanations. He had seen Alpha Torren’s polished concern and Lady Seraphine’s trembling hands.

He trusted none of it.

Dorian Calder joined the search party two days after the kidnapping.

That was the cleverness of him.

He did not return as the villain who had stolen the princess.

He returned as the Fire Wolf noble who had “escaped rogue interference” and wanted to help recover the future queen.

Callan joined too.

No longer wearing Ashen’s face.

No longer pretending to be the boy from the ball.

He arrived bruised, bandaged, and furious, claiming rogues had attacked him during the chaos and dragged him away before he fought free.

A noble son wounded in the same tragedy.

A convenient victim.

Solan did not believe him for a breath.

But disbelief was not evidence.

Not yet.

So he smiled.

And watched.

The royal search party moved through frozen ravines, abandoned hunting roads, burned-out rogue camps, and border villages where no one had seen the princess but everyone wanted the reward.

Dorian offered suggestions.

Callan contradicted them.

King Aric listened to both and trusted neither.

Solan kept a close eye on the Drakewood leadership.

Alpha Torren had been summoned to assist. Lady Seraphine came with him, pale and elegant, grieving as if the missing princess were her own daughter.

She mentioned often how deeply SilvaFrost mourned.

Too often.

Queen Selene noticed.

She noticed Torren’s refusal to say Ashen’s name unless required.

She noticed Seraphine’s smile tightening whenever the missing omega was mentioned.

She noticed that Callan never asked if Ashen might still be alive.

Not once.

On the third day, the search dogs lost the trail near the lower ridge.

Every path split into false scents.

Frost.

Fire.

Rogue musk.

Witch ash.

Old blood.

Too many trails.

Too many lies.

The search returned to the palace to regroup.

Plan A had failed.

The kingdom needed Plan B.

So the king ordered the royal tracker summoned.

Not a guard.

Not a soldier.

Not a noble wolf trying to impress the crown.

A tracker.

One of the old kind.

A wolf who could scent bloodlines through rain, lies through perfume, and magic through stone.

They said he had once followed a missing pup across three kingdoms using nothing but a torn ribbon and a half-burned footprint.

They said he could smell fear two days after it left a room.

They said he never failed.

At sunset, the throne room doors opened.

A tall man walked in wearing a dark traveling cloak dusted with snow, silver charms braided into his black hair, and boots still marked with road mud. He did not bow immediately.

He looked first at the king.

Then the queen.

Then Solan.

Then, with unsettling precision, toward the empty space where Moon should have stood.

Only after that did he lower himself into a graceful bow.

His smile was lazy.

His eyes were not.

“Your humble servant,” he said, voice smooth as a blade being drawn, “is here to command.”