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PROLOGUE

Amongst the Lyre Shores of the Sun Kingdom, August the first, 593 A.G. (After the Gods) Sixteen days prior to the Summer Solstice

The sun glazed over the sandy shores, the auburn foliage filtering the morning light, making it gleam the same crimson sheen it bore centuries ago after the War of Lyres. Bodies strewn amongst the seaside, blood soaking deep into the grains and staining the sand a ruddy beige for over a year. Now, that battle lived only in memory, a tale spun to keep the fear of the fae rooted within the people of Kairth—to blame the sinking city on another kingdom.

The Captain of the Royal Guard looked out beyond the steep of Kairth’s graveyard, over the beachy waters, letting the rising sun warm his groaning bones. He gazed at his hands, tainted in blood, the same carmine shade as the trees surrounding him. The innocent soldier’s pulse thrummed in the center of his palms. Flashes of bloody spurts gurgling from the arteries of the solitaire knight, seeping into the cracks of the sun emblem embossed on his copper chest plate, haunted him. The magnificent sea could not erase the image of the knight sitting helplessly on his knees, his arms flailing up to his neck in prayer as he tried to stanch the overflow of cascading blood.

It wasn’t just this knight—or this one time—all of his victims’ faces were plastered across his vision, forced to remember what he unjustly stole. Ruefully, he knew it was a mirrored fate for those innocent men that plagued him—they, too, would be ingrained with the captain’s face as he robbed the life from their bodies. He would never be free of this torment, of these ghostly memories. The terror on their faces—realization, confusion, betrayal—followed the captain like a wraith. He loomed behind his victims, always in rumination about the ancient tale of being endlessly intertwined with the last thing you saw before you crossed over. He didn’t want to be inadvertently hindered by these men, yet his soul was tethered to their grueling purgatory.

He let that solitude wash out of him momentarily as he loosened a breath. He climbed the sandy gravel, his hand wrapped tightly around the sword sheathed at his hip as he traipsed back toward the castle. The castle’s halls were peaceful this early in the morning, glowing from the sun, the air not yet warm enough to cause discomfort in his long-sleeved tunic. He strolled into the prince’s chambers, unsurprised to find Lord Alfson speaking tantalizing whispers into the prince’s ear.

“Captain,” Lord Alfson greeted when he finally laid eyes on the intruder.

“Evrardin,” the prince said with a sly grin growing on his lips, “pack your things. We shall be attending the welcoming of the Summer Solstice in Wrens Reach this season.”

Evrardin adjusted his stance, the metal buckles on his boots rattling, his curly hair spilling over his face and slicked to his sweaty skin. He thought the prince would be nose-deep in affairs here in Kairth, too busy to consider leaving. “We will?”

The prince glanced at himself in his floor-length mirror, the sun shining in such a way that it reflected off the surface and cast a halo around his inky hair. “The Glass Princess is looking for a suitor.” He turned to Evrardin. “A well-paired match.”

Evrardin took a moment to process his words. “And… you suppose you’re that match?”

“I must be,” he insisted. His eyebrows relaxed, serenity coating his features like a glaze. “She does have a glass heart, after all—though, I do wonder how tempered it will be.”

“You’re so certain you can waltz into Wrens Reach and secure her hand just because you’re a prince?”

“A Sun Prince,” he corrected. He wasn’t just another crowned prince, but one with the power of the sun growing within.

Evrardin scoffed. “The southerners are a surly lot. I wouldn’t be so convinced they’d graciously accept someone of such balmy blood.”

“Ah, you doubt me, old friend?” The prince tugged on the leather gloves he had left on his armoire. His lips quirked in a brash tilt like he knew something the captain didn’t. “I plan to make her mine whether she agrees to it or not.”

Evrardin laughed. “That whole house has lost its magick. No one’s glassfaired in almost a century. You do not want her bound to you.”

“Are you so sure about that?” Lord Alfson interrupted. Evrardin had the sudden urge to wrap his hands around his neck.

The prince’s words unthreaded his sharpening snarl, calling the captain’s attention back. “So they’ve said. But I don’t believe they're telling the truth.”

Evrardin raised his brows. “And you think she’s worth the risk?”

The prince nodded. “I know she’s worth the risk.”