Shards of Midnight

The taste of ash clung to Cinder’s tongue long after the tolling of midnight faded.

Her knees trembled, her hands still clutching her satchel of stolen shards as though it could shield her from what she’d seen. The echo of wings, black and vast, haunted her memory. She hadn’t imagined it—she couldn’t have. Her visions always blurred, but this had been real. She’d felt his shadow crawl across her skin.

Kael.

The name beat through her skull like a curse.

He stood only a few paces away now, silent, unshaken, watching her as though she were prey. The torchlight returned slowly, casting a dim flicker across his face. He looked almost human again—beautiful in that cruel, untouchable way—but she had seen beneath his mask.

And monsters did not go back into cages once freed.

“You saw too much,” he murmured, breaking the silence.

Cinder’s breath stuttered. Her instinct screamed to run, but the palace was vast, and he moved like smoke. He would catch her before she reached the doors.

She tightened her grip on the satchel, forcing defiance into her eyes. “You think you scare me?”

His lips curved faintly. “You’re trembling.”

“I’m cold.”

“You’re lying.”

Her pulse hammered louder. He was right, of course. Terror clawed at her throat, but she would never give him the satisfaction.

She spat at the ground between them. “If you mean to kill me, demon, then stop circling and do it.”

Instead of striking, he laughed—a low, dark sound that rippled through the chamber. Shadows quivered in answer, coiling along the floor like serpents.

“You’re interesting,” he said at last, stepping closer. “Most thieves beg. You snarl.”

“I’m not most thieves.”

“No,” he agreed softly. “You’re something else.”

He reached toward her, his hand a whisper from her cheek. She jerked back, fury flashing. But before she could snap, the air filled with a faint rustle.

Cinder froze.

The sound was unmistakable: wings.

Not feathered wings.

Glass.

Her stomach plunged. She whirled toward the ceiling just as a shard of mirror detached from the broken chandelier above. It twisted midair, reshaping into the sharp beak and glittering eyes of a raven. Then another. And another.

The Glass Ravens had awakened.

“Damn it,” she breathed.

The creatures swooped, their wings slicing the air like blades. One dove toward her head. She ducked instinctively, swinging her satchel. The pouch of shards collided with the raven, and it shattered into smoke with a shriek—but three more took its place.

Kael moved faster than sight. His hand shot up, catching one raven by the throat. The creature screamed, writhing, shards splintering from its body. With a twist, he crushed it into nothing.

Cinder’s eyes widened despite herself. Even in human form, his strength was… unnatural.

The remaining birds circled, their eyes gleaming with reflected moonlight. They weren’t ordinary spies—they fed on memory. If even one escaped the palace, Seraphine would know everything.

Cinder cursed under her breath. She had to destroy them.

Drawing a deep breath, she pressed her hand to her chest. The words of the old language—the language of witches—burned her tongue as she whispered them. Her palm lit faintly, veins of silver crawling up her wrist.

The ravens shrieked at once, sensing her power.

Kael’s gaze snapped to her, hungry and sharp. “You’ve been hiding more than stolen glass.”

She ignored him, thrusting her hand outward. Light seared through the chamber, slamming into the ravens mid-flight. They screamed, their bodies splintering into shards that rained across the marble.

Silence fell, broken only by her ragged breathing.

The ashes of shattered ravens glittered across the floor.

Kael’s smile was slow, dangerous. “Witch,” he whispered again, but this time, his voice carried reverence as much as mockery.

Cinder’s chest heaved. The silver glow faded from her veins, leaving her weak. She swayed, steadying herself against the column. She hated using her power. It always drained too much. It always reminded her of what she was.

Kael stepped closer, eyes glinting. “You should fear me, Cinder. But instead, I find myself fearing you.”

She glared at him, though her body trembled from exhaustion. “Good. Then stay out of my way.”

Before he could reply, another sound echoed through the chamber—the click of boots against stone. Sharp. Calculated.

Cinder’s breath hitched. She knew that sound. It wasn’t a guard’s march. It was quieter, deadlier.

An assassin’s stride.

From the shadow of the archway stepped a woman cloaked in black, her hood drawn low. Her movements were sleek, graceful, a blade hidden in silk. Her eyes—when they flicked up to meet Cinder’s—were an unnatural silver, glowing faintly in the dark.

Nyx.

Cinder didn’t know her yet. But she would.

“Messy,” the assassin said coolly, surveying the shards littering the ground. Her voice was low, melodic, but edged with steel. “Seraphine will be displeased.”

Cinder stiffened. Her stepmother’s name on the assassin’s lips felt like ice water.

Kael, however, only smirked, his eyes never leaving Cinder. “Let her be displeased. I’ve found something far more interesting tonight.”

Cinder’s stomach coiled. She didn’t like the way he said it—like he had already claimed her, like she was a prize to be catalogued.

But worse was the assassin. Nyx’s gaze lingered on her too long, as though weighing her worth. There was hunger there—not of flesh, but of secrets.

Cinder swallowed, wishing her visions would show her what came next. But the future remained a blur of smoke and broken glass.

And she had the sinking feeling that her life had just shattered into even sharper pieces.

Cinder had learned long ago that silence was often sharper than words. The assassin’s pause now, the measured stillness, cut like a knife.

Nyx’s eyes swept the chamber again, not just at the broken ravens, not just at the half-burned torches, but at her. That lingering silver gaze felt like fingers digging under her skin, searching for cracks.

Cinder forced herself upright, sliding the satchel higher onto her shoulder. If Nyx was Seraphine’s hound, she would not bow to her. Not here. Not in front of him.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Nyx said at last, her voice smooth but not careless. “The palace devours little thieves who think themselves clever.”

Cinder gave a sharp smile, though her heart thudded painfully. “Then perhaps I’ll let it choke.”

For the faintest moment, the assassin’s mouth curved—something between amusement and disdain.

Kael stepped forward, lazy as a cat circling prey. Shadows licked at his heels, and though his body looked human again, Cinder could still taste the monster beneath his skin.

“Careful, assassin,” he drawled. “This one has sharper teeth than she looks.”

“Then she won’t mind if I test their edge,” Nyx murmured.

Her hand brushed her hip. A dagger glinted beneath her cloak, thin as a sliver of moonlight.

Cinder’s throat dried. She’d fought guards, even wolves when hunger pressed her too far. But assassins? They didn’t waste movement. They didn’t fight unless they already knew they’d win.

Kael, however, moved between them. Not protectively—no, Cinder wasn’t foolish enough to mistake him for a savior—but like a man unwilling to share his prey.

“She’s not yours to cut,” he said.

Nyx’s brow lifted, barely. “And since when does a prince of shadows lay claim to a gutter witch?”

The words landed like stones in Cinder’s stomach. She clenched her jaw, every nerve screaming not to reveal how the insult bit her. Gutter witch. If Seraphine’s hound suspected… if she carried word back—

Cinder’s mind flashed unbidden to the vision she’d once dreamed as a child: fire licking across the palace gates, her own hands shackled in silver.

Nyx’s lips curved faintly, sensing the tremor she hid. “Ah,” the assassin whispered, almost delighted, “so it’s true.”

Cinder’s chest tightened. She needed to get away. Away from Kael’s too-sharp smile, away from Nyx’s piercing eyes. Away from the shattered ravens that glittered like tiny eyes across the marble, reminding her that Seraphine’s spies might still be watching.

But Kael was studying her now with something fiercer than amusement. Hunger. Curiosity. A darkness that didn’t ask—it demanded.

“You should leave,” Cinder snapped, forcing steel into her voice, “both of you.”

Her command earned laughter—Kael’s low, amused rumble, Nyx’s sharper, quieter edge. Two predators circling while she stood trapped between them.

“You have spirit,” Nyx said softly, almost as if speaking to herself. “That won’t last.”

“Perhaps,” Kael murmured, stepping so close the torchlight caught on his jawline, painting him in cruel gold. “But perhaps she’ll outlast us all.”

Cinder refused to step back, though his shadow threatened to swallow hers whole. She met his eyes, forcing him to see the fury coiled in her instead of the fear.

For one fragile heartbeat, something unspoken passed between them. Not trust. Not even desire. Something rawer. Recognition.

Then the sound shattered.

Boom.

The palace bell tolled once—louder than it should have, wrong somehow. Not the hour. Not the call to worship. Something else.

Nyx stiffened, head snapping toward the sound. “They’re moving him.”

The words meant nothing to Cinder. But Kael’s expression sharpened, shadows curling tighter around his wrists like chains aching to break.

“Him?” Cinder asked before she could bite her tongue.

Neither assassin nor prince answered.

But Cinder’s mind twisted with the fragments of her visions—steel bars, a boy’s hollow eyes staring through cracks of stone, a single candle flickering in a tower without doors.

A chill slid down her spine. Thom. She didn’t know his name yet, didn’t know his face, but she felt it—like a splinter pressing beneath her skin. Someone was trapped in these walls.

Nyx’s gaze darted back to Cinder, narrowing. Perhaps she saw too much in her silence. Perhaps she suspected the threads of visions Cinder carried.

“You’ve seen things,” Nyx said quietly, stepping closer. Her silver eyes gleamed like the edges of knives. “Haven’t you?”

Cinder forced a laugh, sharp and ugly. “All I’ve seen tonight is a prince who hides claws and an assassin who talks too much.”

Nyx’s smile was thin. “Then perhaps I’ll cut the truth from you later.”

Her cloak swirled as she turned, vanishing back into the archway like smoke dissolving into shadow. No sound of footsteps. No lingering scent. Only absence, colder than her presence had been.

Cinder sagged against the column, her knees weak.

But Kael was still there. Still watching. Still smiling that smile that wasn’t kind at all.

“You felt him too, didn’t you?” he said softly.

Her chest seized. “What?”

“The boy.” His eyes gleamed, and his voice dipped lower, like he relished pressing on the bruise. “Locked away. Forgotten. Did your cursed little sight show you his tower?”

Cinder swallowed hard. The satchel strap bit into her shoulder. She hated him for knowing, hated him for speaking it aloud.

“You think me cruel,” Kael continued, voice velvet, “but I am not the one who built his cage.”

“And you did nothing to free him,” she snapped.

His smile sharpened. “Not yet.”

The words sank into her like ice water. He was planning something—something dark, something vast—and she, against her will, was being drawn into it.

Cinder wanted to run, to fling herself into the night and forget the way his shadows whispered promises she didn’t dare name. But her cursed visions were rarely wrong, and they told her this: her path had already entangled with his.

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze head-on. “Stay out of my way, Kael.”

Instead of obeying, he leaned closer, his voice a brush of smoke against her ear.

“Witches,” he whispered, “always say that. But in the end, you’ll walk beside me—or burn.”

Shadows coiled at his heels, swallowing the remnants of broken ravens as he vanished into the dark, leaving Cinder alone with the shards of midnight and the echo of her own ragged breathing.

And in the silence, far above, she swore she heard it again—faint and desperate—

A boy’s voice, whispering from the tower.

“Help me.”

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