Page 11 of A Cursed Son

It’s as if a cloud covered the sun, and yet the sky is just as bright as before. The air feels heavier, strange. I’m about to turn to Prince Ziven to ask if he noticed something, when one of the horses neighs, then gallops away, followed by more horses. From my window, I see that our guards are disappearing down the road.

The carriage stops abruptly, and then two more horses run away, one of them with the coachman. I guess he detached the horses pulling the carriage and we’re stuck here.

What are they running from? It could be robbers, but on this side of the river? And why would the guards just run? Unless it’s something they planned.

No, I can feel something different in the air, something chilly crawling under my skin.

I turn to Ziven to see his reaction.

He laughs. “Impressed with the bravery of our guards?”

“Why would they do that?”

“Why?” Ziven’s hazel eyes are wide. “Why would they risk their lives for us? If I get killed, they might get a medal or something.” His tone is playful, but he can’t hide the hint of fear bubbling under his words.

I try to think, recall everything I learned in our defense and combat classes, but nothing makes sense. Robbers wouldn’t just approach a heavily guarded carriage—and wouldn’t spook the horses like that. There’s something magical outside, but what?

At the risk of sounding stupid, I voice my question. “Any idea what’s out there?”

“We’re screwed, fake cousin, that’s what we are.”

No kidding. “I’m glad you’re telling me that. It really hadn’t crossed my mind.” Then I change my tone. “We’d better get out.”

Yes, because a carriage is usually a big target. It can provide a fast escape, but not when our horses are gone, and any protection from arrows won’t make up for the risk in remaining here like sitting ducks.

I touch the handle, meaning to open the door, but it’s so cold that I have to pull my hand away. There’s ice around it, ice keeping the door shut, ice locking us in. Someone’s using elemental magic against us—but who? And why?

Ziven is looking down, thoughtful instead of scared. I take my dagger and try to pry open the door, but the layer of ice covering it is too thick. At least I’m holding a dagger. Right. As if it could do anything against magic of this caliber.

The frosted and fogged window doesn’t let me see much, but I hear slow steps coming toward us and strong wind. No, not wind. Air magic.

The ice then cracks and breaks in less than a second. I’m about to open the door, when it’s removed from its hinges by a gust of wind.

A young man stands outside. Human, not fae, wearing a black tunic, his shoulder length curly black hair parted on the side with some of it shaved around his left, round ear, showing tattoos and a scar on his head. A long burn scar, in fact, going down to his neck, then his exposed forearm and continuing until his left hand, which is adorned with rings.

All my hours of study aren’t even necessary now. Human looking, in fae territory, scarred, able to wield both air and water, that has to be King Renel’s brother, the disgraced Prince Marlak. Yep, he’s wearing a ring with a stone that looks like a stormy sky—the Shadow Ring. The sight chills my bones.

I use all my self control not to tremble or flinch, and yet all my mind can do is echo Ziven’s words: We’re screwed.

3

Calm down. Calm down. When facing danger, we should keep our heads in charge, instead of giving in to panic.

What is Prince Marlak doing here?

Why is he targeting us?

These questions are important, I know they are, and yet, for a fraction of a second that feels like an eternity, I’m enthralled by the disgraced prince’s eyes, so dark they look like a bottomless lake.

The prince is neither ugly nor beautiful; he’s strangely entrancing like a too heavy cloud, filled with thunder and lightning, holding a destructive tempest. We know it’s deadly, and yet… Perhaps the word indeed is beautiful, except that it’s not usually used like that. And then, he’s also terrifying.

Terrifying. Enough to pump my heart into action and break me out of that daze. I need to do something. The priestess comes to mind, and her tricks of faith. My tricks of faith, and I surrender to the Almighty Mother. Light. She’s the light in the dark.

Light. Light. Light.

A ball of it materializes in front of Prince Marlak. At the same time, a jet of water hits him, I’m not sure from where. I seize the chance and hurl the bucket at him. It doesn’t hit the target, as the fae prince blocks it somehow, perhaps with air magic, but I don’t have time to look because I slide to the other side and jump out the door Ziven has opened. Is his magic finally being triggered into working? That won’t defeat Marlak, but could buy us some time.

My only guess is that the disgraced fae prince wants to kidnap Ziven, and I can’t let that happen. My honor as a member of the Elite Guard depends on it.