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Evrardin’s hands gleamed a slick bright crimson, the red sludge reflecting the candlelight from the sconces on the wall. The dirk in his hand slid up the torso of the corpse that sat heavily on the table before him. Evrardin grunted as he dragged the dagger, hitting bones, splitting them with his bodyweight.

The events from the night prior played on repeat in Evrardin’s mind as he dug his hands inside the body’s cavity. Blood pooled on the table, sloshing out from where Ev’s hands assaulted the internal organs. Why had he decided not to inform Mara of Acastus’ intentions before her dinner with the king? Cas had told him to tell her, but he didn’t order it. Evrardin wasn’t sure if he did it as a jab at the prince or to annoy the princess.

Maybe Evrardin didn’t want to be the messenger of bad news, even if he didn’t particularly like the princess. It was strange that he was thinking like that. He had become so rotten on the inside from all the misdeeds he had to do for the prince, he started to dream of the day he’d mess up and Acastus would plunge a dagger into his heart and finally put him out of his misery—metaphorically speaking, of course, the prince would never risk getting his hands dirty, he’d have one of his guards bestow the blow that would end him. Evrardin wasn’t a good man. He wasn’t even a decent man. Not with the blood that coated his hands and sank into his bones, shrouding him in a constant shadow built out of sorrow and anger. So his want to not be the cause of someone else's foul mood for once riddled him with vexation. And he transformed that vexation into strength as he severed arteries, yanking it from the dead men’s chests.

The shuffling of boots and clanking of metal slowly played into the room. “Ev, my boy,” Crowrot sang in his hollowed voice as he entered the covert catacomb.

Without responding, Ev faced Crowrot and dropped the heart into the much shorter man’s hands, the thick blood that still coated the organ making a terrible plopping noise as Crowrot clutched it within the confines of his palms. Ev began messily stitching the gaping hole in the corpse back together, using thick twine and uncoordinated movements.

“Are you still upset ‘bout me running into you ‘n the princess?—?”

“No.” Evrardin’s fingers tightened their grip on the twine, pulling it taut so it slithered through the corpse’s skin and locked the cavity shut in one ungraceful movement.

Crowrot set the heart on the table beside him, a large red stain forming on the wood. “She’s nice. I like her,” Crowrot added, appraising Evrardin, looking for any indication that what he said bothered him.

“You have no idea what she’s like,” he muttered in response. Evrardin slung the corpse over his shoulder, grunting from the sudden weight of it.

“Yes, I do.” Crowrot’s voice was frenetic, his falsetto rising up and down as he spoke. “I bumped n’to her this morning.” He seemed almost smug as Evrardin turned to him and narrowed his eyes.

Ev jostled the body to better get it settled on his shoulder. “What did you say to her?” he demanded, his voice thick and rough like he hadn’t spoken a word in months. Which happened rather often; it wasn’t until the princess became his problem that he began to speak again—more so than his usual growls of agreement, that is.

“Nothing out of t’ordinary. Simple stuff: g’morning; how do you do; did ya sleep a’right?”

Evrardin’s jaw shifted back and forth as he ground his teeth together. “You better not let the prince catch you speaking to her. He would be murderous just knowing she saw you. Twice now.”

“Mmm. Is that yer problem, then? Worried for m’safety?”

Evrardin’s permanent scowl made Crowrot laugh—a jarring, crackling sound. The few teeth he had left made an appearance as his mouth widened to let out the cackle. As unnerving as the sound was, something light and tucked deep inside Evrardin fluttered at hearing the old man laugh. Being around Crowrot was the only thing keeping him going. The only thing he had left.

Ev shoved past him, the legs of the body jutting Crowrot on the shoulder. He carried the corpse deeper into the catacombs, only a faint glow from candles dispersed too far from one another to light his way. Evrardin didn’t need to see anyway, he had walked these tunnels countless times; he knew every branch and turn like he had a map plastered under his eyelids.

He dropped the body off in a recess with a thud. Multiple bodies lay on the cold ground already, this corpse was just one of hundreds that Evrardin had used to line the stone walls.

Evrardin strolled back into the keep, Crowrot busy wrapping the heart in a thin cloth soaked in a dark green iridescent fluid. He placed the wrapped heart in a wooden chest along with ten others just like it. “You done for t’day?” Crowrot asked as the heavy steps of Ev ascending back into the room echoed off the walls.

Evrardin grunted an affirmative sound, yanking the soiled linen apron free from his chest and tossing it haphazardly onto one of the many benches littered with a motley array of dried plants and odd concoctions in jars. Soft moments like this reminded him of when he first befriended Crowrot. How he had been so young, training to be a guard by himself with no family, the gravedoctor noticing him walking aimlessly in the castle. Inviting him to the catacombs to watch him work, and to eventually assist him in his experiments.

“Can y’take the rats out as you go?”

A bundle of dead rats sat in a woven basket that was falling apart by the door. Their bodies were hollow, appearing like all the blood had been drunk from their veins by a vampyre. Which wasn’t the case. Their blood was drained by Crowrot, not a mythical being.

Evrardin grabbed the basket and marched up the stairs and out the front door of the mausoleum. He sauntered across the graveyard, avoiding stepping on any graves before dumping the dead rats into the lake. The rats’ bodies floated on the surface, but they wouldn’t last long. The naiads that lived beneath these waters would snatch their snack soon enough.

Evrardin would rather do anything than go back to Kairth, secluded in the castle, and—metaphorically speaking—forced to get on his knees for the prince. Instead, he found himself— and often at that—wandering the streets of Dalhurst, one of the districts of Solstrale on the outskirts of Kairth. The shadowed and damp cobblestone road glimmered from the candlelight burning inside the buildings he passed.

He didn’t know what he intended to do, but his feet led him to his usual spot at the tavern he frequented, Sun and Sea, S criminal faces; beaten faces. The smell of spilt rum and beef pie swirled around, and Ev’s stomach rumbled.

Bhedam slid the drink in front of Ev as a hand slapped him firmly on the back. Ev’s grip tightened on his drink, summoning all the patience he could manage. “Evening, Ev,” the drunk man behind him said.

Ev unwillingly turned to Merrik. He was never glad to see him. If anything, seeing Merrik’s face usually meant he was in for a long and painful night. Granted, Merrik wasn’t to blame for Ev’s sadistic pleasure in torturing himself. He could always say no—no one but the prince could force him to do anything he didn’t want to.

Evrardin nodded a terse greeting as the man took a swig of his ale, some foam lingering in his mustache.

“I didn’t see you on the lineup,” Merrik said before raising a hand to call Bhedam over.

“That’s because I didn’t enter.”

“No? I’ve never known you t’pass up coin—Another ale please, Bhedam.”

Evrardin grunted. “I have orders from the prince. Gonna need my stamina in the coming days.” It was a weak excuse. Evrardin was robust; if he wanted to throw punches one night and slave away all day the next, he could with ease.

“C’mon, man. I’m risking a lot of copper when I’m not able to bet on ya.” It was almost a guarantee that Evrardin would win whenever he entered the ring. Merrik watched as Ev’s eyes trailed a warm pie being served at one of the tables in the back. “I’ll buy ya a beef pie.” Merrik wiggled his overgrown brows.

Ev made a noise in his chest that sounded like disagreement, but the next time Bhedam passed the two men, he told him to bring over a slice of pie.

It was far too easy to get Ev in the ring. He cursed himself for being so pliant. He might have acted like he hadn’t expected this exact situation to occur, but truthfully, fighting was the only reason he ever wandered into Dalhurst.

Maybe that’s why he came. Deep down he had no other way to let his frustration out, and his body was begging for release. It seemed Evrardin was doing a lot of things lately without fully thinking it through. He didn’t like to think. He liked to do .

Evrardin’s chest rumbled as he swung his arms around, loosening them up. He dodged a fist flying straight for his chin before dragging his hand upward and colliding with the underside of his opponent.

It was the third and final fight of the night for Evrardin. He couldn’t recall the name of the poor fellow he was brawling, too engrossed in landing hits, his brain catatonic while his muscles continuously pumped with adrenaline. His body was alive, zapping with sparks, blood staining the overgrown stubble on his chin and blossoming on his wrapped knuckles, soaking the linen.

His opponent landed a rather hard blow on the underside of Evrardin’s chin, making him stumble back. Ev shook his head to reorient himself, ignoring the blood that was trickling from his nose. He adjusted his stance and moved back into the center of the ring, arms up, and hands at the ready. When his opponent went to swing at him again, Evrardin ducked, sidestepped, and nailed a fist straight into the man’s gut. As he hunched over, his head coming down, Evrardin raised a knee and slammed it against the man’s face, a loud crunch making his ears cringe. The man collapsed to the floor, blood pooling around his face, the bell announcing the end of the match.

Evrardin had won. But that victorious sensation didn’t riddle his blood with pride like it used to. Instead, Ev’s shoulders slouched, his face unwavering as he was cheered on by the bloodthirsty audience. He bared his teeth in unquenchable anger. He used to relinquish throwing fists, but now he felt more rage than not when he stepped into the ring.

Outside of the ring, multiple men slapped him on the back, eager to collect their winnings, while the others, who foolishly bet against him, snarled in his direction as if Ev did it on purpose just to spite them. Multiple women gushed around him, most dressed in lewd dresses—harlots being the only type of woman who lacked enough decorum to enter the fighting halls. Ev’s eyes unapologetically traced their figures as he moved, shifting from soft curves and silky skin to a belly rounded from ale and stout legs. Evrardin sighed loudly at the unseemly sight of Merrik, trying to shove faster through the crowd. “Your cut,” he said before dropping a small pouch of coins in Evrardin’s palm after Ev had tugged back on his shirt. Ev didn’t bother counting it, he truly didn’t care if he got paid or not. He pocketed the money, expecting Merrik to disperse now that he got what he wanted, but Evrardin was out of luck. Merrik seemed to have more to say—he always had too much to say.

“Heard Prince Acastus’ new wife is already joinin’ the Solar Sect.”

Evrardin glared at Merrik, waiting for him to get to his point.

“Never seen the southern princess for myself, but I heard she’s an eyesore. That true?” Merrik flipped a coin between his fingers as he spoke. Evrardin was seconds away from decking him in the face. “Heard she’s a witch, just like her mother. Bet money that she’ll curse the Genoivres. Acastus shoulda chosen a northern lady.”

Evrardin turned and shoved Merrik, causing him to stumble back into a small alleyway, his back slamming against the exterior stone wall of the tailor’s. Evrardin’s forearm stretched across his throat, pinning him in place.

“Fuckin’ hell, Ev. This ain’t the ring!” Merrik managed to get out, his words breathless as Evrardin pressed against his windpipe, still making quips even while being suffocated.

“It’s treason to speak ill of the prince,” Ev grumbled, glowering at Merrik before releasing him.

Merrik took in a deep breath, his hands resting on the tops of his thighs as he hunched over before looking back up at Evrardin. “You’ll have to hang the whole town in that case.” He gestured around while one of his hands massaged his throat. “It’s just petty gossip.”

Ev ran his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face before turning around and making his way back down the gloomy street. His body far more wound up than usual.

“Didn’t know you had that much actual loyalty to the royal family,” Merrik said, catching up to him. That was the thing about Merrik, he was like an itch on your nose when your hands were tied: irritating as fuck and never seemed to stay away. “Guess I shoulda known, you being the prince’s lapdog n’all.” The glare Evrardin shot Merrik should have sent a chill up his spine. He raised his hands in defeat. “Okay, shit. Thought you were more facetious than that.”

Evrardin rolled his eyes. “When the hell did I ever give that impression?”

Merrik walked with a skip in his step. “Good point. Mighta made that part up—Hey! Don’t look at me like that. It’s hard to keep track of all my fighters. You lot of brutes are all the same.”

Evrardin wasn’t sure why he reacted the way he did, and he didn’t care to explore it any deeper than that, afraid of what he might find. So he pushed it to the back of his mind along with all of the other baggage he didn’t want to deal with.

Evrardin enjoyed the long walk back to the castle, especially at night. The stars lit the way, small flameflies igniting along the dirt path. He often took the long route, strolling the sea’s edge, waiting to see if the naiads would appear. He relished his time when he wasn’t being hounded by the prince. He could do whatever he wanted. Spending his time fighting dampened a lot of his pent-up frustration that he wouldn’t be able to relieve otherwise.

Crowrot didn’t think it was productive. He’d tell him to spend his time doing something more useful, like horticulture, which he was good at. But that was just the thing, Evrardin didn’t always want to be useful. Sometimes he just wanted to exist. What was the point of living if you couldn’t be useless at least a fraction of the time? Evrardin liked when he could shut his brain off and throw his fists in vile anger at other men who thought the same way.

In the distance of the dimly lit night, Evrardin could see the castle’s fragmented pieces of its former self, with fallen arches, scattered stones, and a sense of shattered history. Even when the sun rose, blanketing the sandstone in a warm glow, the castle seemed to be perpetually cast in shadow, vast stretches encased in darkness, an oppressive aura lingering in every hall when it had always been swathed in light.

As he edged closer to the castle, he spotted a white figure on one of the awnings, decaying ivy climbing between the stones like a disease. That was a perfect location to overlook the sea, the spot high enough so you could gaze over the willows and juniper trees that hid the seaside. In the early mornings, you could see the fish beneath the undulating waves. On a clear night, the stars reflected brightly, making a painting of the water’s surface, turning the ocean into a dark void, ready to be plunged into and pulled away to quiet oblivion.

When he got closer, he recognized the figure as the princess. Evrardin’s hand tightened, wanting to shift his eyes away, unwilling to give her any more attention than he was already forced. But she stole his gaze, finding it hard to resist her. He couldn’t make out the whites of her eyes from this far, but he knew she was looking at him, her head gently moving, lingering over him as he approached closer.

The moon shone brightly behind her, illuminating her figure like a celestial spirit. She wore a white nightgown, making her look like a ghost of a widow forever waiting for her husband to return home. He got a sudden burst of unjust anger knowing she was walking around the castle, not only unattended at night, but in something as unseemly as her night clothes.

A harsh wind blew through him and swept Mara’s gown behind her, sending it billowing in the wind. Her dress melted against her like water, outlining her frame in far too much detail. He could see the outline of her chest and hips, her figure lit perfectly for him. His lips hardened into a fine line before he turned his gaze back onto the ground in front of his feet.

He debated hauling her away, dragging her back to her rooms kicking and screaming. It’s what Acastus would want. Yet something else was telling him to do it—something that didn’t have anything to do with Acastus’ demands.

His eyes flickered back up before he entered the main gate, and she was gone. Just like the ghost she mirrored, she evaporated into the night. He hoped that meant she was going back to her rooms, only to save him the trouble of having to deal with her. Or maybe his eyes had been playing tricks on him this entire time.

When he got inside the castle, his feet took up a mind of their own, leading him up to her apartments. He ignored the small voice in the back of his head telling him that checking to see if she was secure in her chambers wasn’t a command from Acastus. And Evrardin never did anything that didn’t benefit him unless he was strictly told to do so.

“Is the princess back in her room?” Ev asked the guard posted outside her door, his voice clipped.

The sentinel nodded his head. “Yes, Captain. She just went in.”

“And why was she out of her rooms this late unattended? Surely a tiny princess couldn’t sneak past the kingdom’s best men.” His eyes narrowed, ready to chide one of his men, reminding them of the consequences of such foolish mistakes.

The guard scrunched his face in slight confusion. “She wasn’t unattended, Captain. Prince Acastus escorted her.”

Fire formed in the pit of his stomach. Evrardin turned around without another word, his fists clenched at his side, attempting to subdue the disconcerting wave that racked his entire body. Prince Acastus had already been getting on his last sliver of sanity, but the presence of Mara seemed to be heightening his agitation.