It had been over a week since the prince last came to his cell, and the prisoner wasn't sure whether to be relieved or terrified by that fact. During their previous encounter, he had felt fear, true visceral fear as he stared up into the prince's rage-filled expression, blood still pouring warm and thick down his face from his broken nose.
Prince Ragnar rarely lost his temper, but people still feared him regardless. They feared the shadows he could summon, command, and mold to his will. They feared him because they were taught to. They feared him because they believed they should.
But that day, he looked less like a vampire and more like a creature from innermost. His shadows had swirled around him menacingly, coiling and twisting with a life of their own. His eyes had darkened to that terrifying pitch-black shade, the inhuman void that sent grown men scrambling away from him.
