Arkhearth

The night was alive with fire and shadow. Orianne crouched behind a broken wall of jagged stone, the wind whipping her hair across her face, salt and smoke in her lungs. Below, on the rocky shore, he fought. Prince Vaelion Arkhearth, heir to Hearthscale, son of kings, an Elf-kin of legend. He was real. And he was terrifying. The beast was like nothing she had ever seen: scales black as drowned nights, eyes that burned like embers, claws that shredded stone as if it were parchment. And yet, ...