Shadows Over Arcadia Chapter 52: 51. Making a Scene

Read chapter 52 of Shadows Over Arcadia by Zacheas on NovelPedia.

I am Ren Drakemore, age 9, second prince of the Kingdom of Arcadia, currently on a journey to the Kingdom of Hyperion—where Lady Willow just outed a fae. https://shadowsoverarcadia.com/api/storage/objects/uploads/94d9f12d-768f-4ec3-a12d-51b487be4617 It happens so fast. In a fraction of a moment, the fae’s voice erupts into a deep, monstrous growl, sweeping through the room like a shockwave. The very air trembles with it, and a biting chill rolls out from her words, smothering the hearth’s warmth and raising goosebumps along my skin. Her mask of humanity slips —yellow eyes blazing with primal fury. Instinctively, I cast a translucent shield around myself, tight to the skin like a second layer of armor. I hear the loud clang of a heavy bolt sliding into place on the front door, and out of the corner of my eye, I see the drapes swing shut as Willow unleashes a rapid series of spells, sealing the room against entry, observation, or escape. My mind, enhanced to process at superhuman speed, barely registers it before Willow launches at the hostile fae’s throat. Her arms transmute in an instant into the massive, obsidian-skinned claws of her true self. The fae’s monstrous expression twists in surprise, a hint of fear flashing across her glowing eyes as Willow’s talons wrap around her neck. The fae lashes out, claws raking into Willow’s arm in a frenzy, trying to tear her away. But the flesh she strikes turns to black smoke as it’s ripped, reforming instantly—her efforts futile against the vise-like grip. Willow’s hold is no mere physical restraint. As I raise my own hand to cast a spell, I see a surge of energy flowing from the ensnared fae into Willow’s clawed hand. She’s using a version of Drain Touch. Of course. She taught me—when fighting a fae, you strike at their energy, not their body. My hand is outstretched, spell ready at my fingertips, prepared to cast whatever support my mentor might need. But the sight before me gives me pause. The sinister smile stretching unnaturally wide across Willow’s face, the triumphant gleam in her eyes, and the fae’s desperate, terrified grimace as she writhes in pain—all of it tells me enough. Willow has the situation well under control. And of course she does. Then comes the screech—piercing and feral, like a wounded tiger caught in a trap. I wince as the sound stabs into my ears, forcing me to recoil. The room begins to sway. A wave of nausea crashes over me as the shrieking intensifies. The fae thrashes and claws wildly in Willow’s grip, but it’s useless. The sound is so loud—so sharp—that it becomes disorienting. For a moment, I feel like I might crumple to the floor as the world spins around me. I barely manage to stay upright, one hand clamped over my right ear, the other swaying in front of me as I struggle to steady myself. But the room isn’t what’s moving—I am. My balance is distorted, and I stumble, lurching side to side in a clumsy attempt to correct. Through the dizziness, I catch flickers of what’s happening: the fae is shrinking in Willow’s grasp, black smoke rising from her as if she’s being cooked from within. Arcs of yellow energy crackle from her body to Willow’s hand, pulsing in rhythmic bursts. Her scream gradually weakens. And finally, as my balance returns and the nausea begins to fade, the spinning world slows. The fae shrinks into Willow’s grasp, her body dissolving into a cloud of black mist. The tortured wailing ends abruptly, leaving behind a jarring silence. Willow stares at her closed fist with sadistic satisfaction, as though the pain she just inflicted had been a particularly exquisite meal. There’s a twisted joy in her expression—one that lingers. With my senses returning, I notice Maribel at the base of the stairs, on her hands and knees beside a fresh puddle of vomit. She must have circled back. Maybe curiosity got the better of her. Maybe Envy insisted. Either way, not much time had passed between her reaching the top of the stairs and the two fae clashing. Ho