‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper to Elowen, as we reach the edge of the forest.

She looks at me for a long, silent moment, and my breath sticks in my throat. Nan told me the fae were dangerous. I thought she meant wild, and keen to fight, and there is some of that in her – but there is more. There is something so true and stark about her, especially here. Her skin gleams beneath the moon, her stance knows the land better than I know anything, her folded wings flicker with bright copper threads, and her stare sees everything.

‘I know,’ she says. ‘Thank you, Stella. Now go – and don’t come back until it’s time.’

‘Oh, Stella!’ Zara halts as we emerge from the trees, looking back at the forest. ‘What is going on? I never saw anything so magical, but that awful sadness . . . And Elowen – what did she mean when she said that to you? Time for what? And what was Yanny going on about, it’s not your fault. How could it be your fault?’

‘I don’t know,’ I say, threading my arm through hers and pulling her back with me, Teacake now tucked under my other arm. ‘I don’t know what to think about any of it.’

My mind is sparking with too many images, too many ideas of fight and flight and shadow creatures and the monster who is my father, hidden away in there. I always hoped that if I did go in there, if I made it past the shadows to the true fae, that it would be a good thing. That my magic would be stronger, brighter than his; that it would be my mother’s moon-sprite power that would shine through. But that didn’t happen.

I draw the shadows to me, just as my father does.

‘But we have to think about it. What do we do, Stella?’

I’ve never seen her so animated. She looks like she might charge back in there and fight the shadows herself if I just said the word. Or run away entirely in the other direction. Her feet are almost stamping with impatience just to do something.

‘Well?’

‘OK. We’ll have to make a plan!’

‘Yes!’ she shouts. ‘A plan! Yes!’

I have to go back in there. If I can draw the shadows to me, it must be possible to send them back where they belong. I am the Lost Prince, after all.

A strange high peal of laughter escapes me and rings out through the moorland. Zara stares at me.

‘I’m so sorry,’ I stutter. ‘I know it’s not funny. None of this is funny. It’s not funny, Zara! We just need to calm down a bit! Stop shouting!’

‘You stop shouting!’

‘OK!’

And then suddenly it’s clear what I have to do next: I have to find him.

I have to find the palace, and I have to find the Shadow King.