Page 23 of The Faebound Trials (Mates and Madness: The Phantom Prince and The Bloodweaver #1)

Asael

L had always been the girl my heart would beat for.

L had always been the girl I would long for.

We were both 15 when we first met. We were once strangers who helped each other. I’d always been the wanna be thief, and she, the wannabe assassin.

Oh, but how things had played out.

Then we became so much more. I would never exchange that for anything else. I might have been a mistake for her, a means to an end, but it was so much more for me.

But if that was all she could give me, I was okay with it, I was willing to accept whatever it was. She could give me scraps and I’m willing to take it all in.

I was the happiest when she was under my sheets, her arms wrapped around my torso, her body warmth against mine, her hair a wild mess and smelled like sweet lilacs.

In a world where everywhere you look, there was sickness and death, she was a safe place, my happy place. A home for a lost soul.

She was the breath of fresh air amidst all the chaos.

And of course, it wasn’t only me who wanted her warmth. Dozens of them wanted her too.

They wanted her warmth and by doing so they dimmed her light.

And the worst of them had to be the leader of Embergrave.

And of course, the one her heart once had beaten for, Lowen Vespertine.

Among everyone I hated, it had to be Nilolai and Lowen.

Both had love for her who had no grounds for bound of sanity.

Nikolai’s love was obsessive, paranoid, and would kill her in the process of begging for her attention.

While Lowen, Lowen’s love was selfish, eternal and conditional.

He literally died for her so he could prove to her how much he was willing to do anything for her.

And yet I found it selfish. Cruel.

Because L’s eyes would light up every time he was there.

And my stomach would coil every time I would see them.

A lump would form in my throat as I watched her fall in love with him slowly.

I had envied Lowen since the day he arrived in her life.

Everything would have been perfect if he had never existed.

I was willing to receive even the smallest attention L could give me, I could settle with scraps as long as I could still kiss her, nestle in her arms, hug her so tight.

But Lowen,

Foolish, fucking Lowen…

Had to make her commit herself fully to him.

Lowen had to make sure he was the only man in her life.

I was never filled with rage until the day she told me she’d end everything we had, every beautiful thing we shared, that she cut me from her warmth, to never have her in my arms again. She was my safe space, my home.

And for someone to take it away from me?

I had never loathed someone until Lowen arrived in our lives.

I had never felt this kind of fury in my heart crushing my soul when he decided he wanted her fully to himself.

I never wanted to kill someone so much until that day.

He wasn’t taking her away from me. Never. I would never let him. I’d rather die than let him take her away from me.

She was the only hope living in this world and he dared take her away from me?

No.

I would never let him.

Lowen hadn’t been the brightest of men who wanted her. He was someone who was weak.

A fucking jester.

Someone who makes a living out of playing magic tricks and wearing a stark white powder all over his face and painting it in dramatic expressions.

Every time I would see him I’d ask myself what about him that made L fall for him?

At night he would dress in bright red and black, a jester’s costume and he would play along his troop of freaks.

Lowen earned from shows that nobody watches, but jesters like him do not need money.

They dance and sweep misery like a fresh breath of air, weaving the thread of their souls laced with misery and despair.

Jesters were mortals with abilities like L.

Bloodweavers keep their powers a secret but Jesters make a living out of making it known.

Jester’s make a living out of taking someone’s expressions and feelings. Particularly sadness, frustration, despair, and defeat.

Contrary to what they were known for, Jesters had no use for laughter, excitement, or happiness.

They took every misery and grief and that was enough to fill their souls.

Well, if the rumors were right, they didn’t need to feed like a normal mortal being.

And Enara, Enara was rich with that among everything else.

They were never hungry in a place that breeds sorrow.

That ability the jesters had made Embergrave and the others grow suspicious of them.

They began wanting the ability they had, if the stories about them were real, then they had to make it theirs.

Use it to rule Enara instead.

Sanz gave me my next assignment. And I wished it had something to do with the Jesters. To Lowen Vespertine.

Still, this next assignment could be an excuse to purchase Bonbell.

No one would question me.

The Jesters were dancing, spinning, and laughing at the people as the streets were filled with white smoke-like shadows being pulled from the misery of every single tormented mortal sitting in their own filth.

Agony danced in the air as they inhaled it, tasting the souls of their misery.

One particular Jesper had a wicked grin stretching across his face as he reveled in the taste of misery in his tongue.

Unaware and my mind busy disparaging the Jesters, I collided with something. Or someone.

My brows knitted at the sight of two men who just walked ahead without apologizing.

One was tall, his massive broad shoulders had hit me. He had black curly hair covering almost half of his face. The other had messy blond hair. They were around my height. They had an aura of an animal hunting for prey. Both were wearing unfamiliar blue uniforms.

My confusion deepened when I saw what was etched into their skin: a vertical golden crown was split into half by a black arrow.

Bloodweaver Elites?

What was their business around here?

It was rare to see them anywhere let alone around here.

Som.

A vile place where you could find anything. Anything you could think of. A mermaid’s tail, a fairy’s chopped left and right hand, a monster’s intestines, a Samlver widow’s eyes, or a book of ancient tongues, and many more.

L, had been hidden by her parents in such a plain painful sight.

And her, dismissing her powers and inheritance had been concerning.

One day she would lead these people.

I followed them silently.

I didn’t know the real purpose of bloodweavers but somehow, they embody what most people fear: mystery, their isolation amongst the other weavers, and the ambiguity of what they believe in and what they actually do.

People fear the unknown. And the Bloodweavers Order was dreaded because of that.

The man behind the stall opened a brown box. The blond paid the man with gemstones as he checked the book he bought. In length, the book was almost the size of a grown man’s palm.

When satisfied, the blond bloodweaver raised the book and gave it to the other bloodweaver.

Checking the spine and the cover as the raven-haired twisted it, I caught a glimpse of the book.

Above the modern translation of the title was the old tongue’s original letters that none could read now.

Letting out a chuckle, I felt like I’d wasted time.

It was a children’s tale.

The Phantom Prince and The Time Traveler.

Why would two Bloodweaver Elites buy a tale made by a madman?

With that ridiculous title, I would think someone had wrongly translated the old tongues into the translated version because they doubt the real meaning behind those letters.

I moved past the volume of incoming mortals and headed for the shop that sells Bonbell.

I had wasted enough time.