Page 12

The Prince

I toss into the fire another unreadable book, rotten by time and the elements, and watch the dance of the flames. The blood of Aydalla the Huntress has already clotted on the ancient floor. Her black, empty eye sockets stare at the vaulted ceiling. She’s sprawled next to me, her skin charred, already attracting the bugs. One more dead to haunt this tomb. But unlike the others who left their bones here, this one deserved it.

Fifty gold coins and probably some vague promise—that’s all it took to sell her loyalty.

Sorcia is behind all this.

Just as my spies have reported, but I refused to listen.

I bark a bitter laugh.

How many males has Sorcia’s poisonous beauty ensnarled and dragged to an untimely death? My brother’s bride-to-be has always used her looks and family status for gain. Heartless and power-starved, that’s what she is. But to send an assassin after me? This is a whole new level of stupidity.

The corpse of my brother was still not embalmed and prepared for the funeral ceremony when she tried to seduce me. To secure her place on the throne. I pushed her away, and it seemed she took it too personally.

Well, it looks like the tender neck of Sorcia would rather be kissed by the executioner’s ax than by me. Because that cold, calculating seductress has made a mistake.

And mistakes in the Unseelie court end only in one way.

She’s chosen her assassin poorly. Aydalla is skilled in killing and has been boasting about entering the Trials for months. However, the Huntress was a brute. A silly, arrogant brute. Emboldened by the rusty sword she found somewhere in the ruins, Aydalla sneaked upon me sleeping. Her confidence made her attack me without thinking. She chose not to ponder over the strange fact that a seasoned warrior had let his guard down and decided to take a nap during the deadly Trial. Next to the fire, in a city crawling with enemies.

All it took was one well-aimed spell, and her blood boiled.

Bring me the Heir’s ring and get your reward.

This is the only sentence in the letter the assassin kept in her purse. Enough to recognize the elegant handwriting of Sorcia. Enough to lose a head, especially combined with the golden coins with Sorcia’s family crest.

The plan seems to be working. My enemies are already making their moves, revealing themselves.

Time to move on. Time to continue my hunt. I step over the assassin’s body and head to the door.

The cool night air brushes over my skin. Solid darkness creeps from the northern side of the tower, its long tentacles cold and relentless as death itself.

Shadowfeeders.

Elders, this will be a long, exciting night.

The thought of the human with strange magic upstairs makes me hesitate. She hasn’t left the tower yet, probably cowering upstairs after she heard Aydalla’s scream. For a moment, I stand in the empty street, watching the shadows lengthen. This area will be crawling with Shadowfeeders in no time. Tainted Ones will follow soon. Her magic is intriguing but weak, and they will tear her apart in the blink of an eye. Or worse.

This thought is somewhat…disturbing. Before realizing what I’m doing, I spin on my heel and rush back into the tower.

“Hey, human from Tenebris,” I shout while climbing the stairs, “you’d better leave this tower; Shadowfeeders are heading this way!”

Odd. All rooms above are empty, as if the woman has disappeared into thin air. Or escaped through the crack in the wall. No corpse is splattered on the pavement two floors below, so she made it to safety.

There’s no time to ponder over her fate as more Shadowfeeders crowd the streets around the tower.

I rush down the stairs, taking two steps at once.

Summoning my Shadowblade, I melt into the night and head to that warded white building I’ve spotted before.

*

When the Elders decided to unleash the Hex, Atos released the Shadowfeeders from the bowels of his Underworld. Demons starved for life in all its forms; they are remnants of some long-forgotten war among the gods. Just like everything not belonging to our world, their presence triggers certain alarms. It always gets cold when they’re near, and somehow all living creatures sense them.

The calls of the nightbirds over the ruins have died out, the songs of the crickets—muted. My hurried steps thunder down the desolate streets and draw the attention of the demons. The weight of my magical blade, its iridescent dark surface, and the pure arcane energy leashed inside it calm me.

Shadowfeeders don’t like my sword. They’ve attacked me reluctantly before, just to test out its power, but quickly gave up after I’ve wounded one of them. The creatures are smart and self-aware. They value their lives or whatever twisted form of existence they have and prefer to exhaust Shadowblade wielders with hordes of Tainted Ones. I bet their thralls will show up at any minute.

The city is big, and the ruins offer many hideouts, even from demons spawned by the night.

By Heroy’s spear! What was that? Have they taken to the skies now?

Something massive obscures the moon disc for a brief moment. It casts a winged shadow on the pavement, gone in the blink of an eye. Is it some new monstrosity sent by the Elders to torment us? Or some forgotten creature we’ve just awakened from its slumber?

This city seems to hide more dangers than a handful of Shadowfeeders.

The breeze carries the stench of Tainted Ones. They’re near. The creatures are mindless and easy to trick, but once they catch the scent of a living thing, they don’t give up the chase. They don’t tire; they don’t stop until they get whatever poor creature they’re after. I’ve seen what Tainted Ones do to their victims: the trails of blood and intestines stretch more than a mile sometimes.

Is the human with the Seelie bracelet safe?

There she is, slipping uninvited into my thoughts once again.

Just like the city around me, she’s a mystery. The woman gave me the impression of someone who can manage a tough situation, and here it is—another question to ask her next time we cross paths. Who or what taught her to be like this?

The humming of the ancient wards ahead interrupts those distractive thoughts. The white building ahead vibrates so intensely it would attract all remaining contestants sooner or later.

Smells linger in the night air, untainted by the stench of the horde. At least three passed here.

It’s her.

I halt in the narrow street, crowded with debris, and sniff the air like a beast.

She’s alive.

She does not smell like stables and manure like the jealous blonde female at the feast has accused her. Her scent is that of a hyacinth early in the morning—when the warmth of the day still hasn’t lured out its full aroma. But there’s something else. I throw my head to the side, take deep breaths, and frown. The human is not alone. Another far more intense smell swirls around her. A male. What does he want from her?

I let out a low growl and hasten my step.

It seems that these Trials just got a lot more entertaining than I have thought.

But the real fun will begin after. When I appear before my parents and the court, victorious and ready to take what is mine.

Long and patiently, I’ve been waiting and preparing for this opportunity.

We were so young when I first doubted if my brother would be a good king.

We were playing in Viridis’s gardens. Just like all kids, we were fascinated by all the colors and scents and by the way living things grow. Fencing with our wooden swords, we soon got bored and wandered off into the tunnels of lush foliage, exploring this little world. While I helped bees out of the stream, my brother was busy killing the blue caterpillars hiding under the thick leaves.

“Why are you killing them?” I asked, watching him turn them into blue stains with his wooden blade.

“They eat the pretty flowers!” he answered without interrupting his sinister work.

“But they turn into beautiful butterflies!” I countered, angered for reasons beyond my young mind. My brother didn’t listen to me. Only when I swung my wooden sword at him did he fight back.

It started with caterpillars, but his dark obsession with death grew over time. I knew it was the gloom inside him, the one everyone in my bloodline shares. Our burden since the Hex had been unleashed onto this tormented world. The void in his heart was simply too big, expanding and eating up the remnants of the joyful, smart boy he was.

“All living beings matter. Everyone, big or small, serves a purpose. You cannot discard some just because they appear too insignificant for you. You don’t see the whole picture. None of us does. To the Elders, they are all musicians in the orchestra of life.”

The songs of the crickets around me return as if to confirm Viridis’s words.

The tender hyacinth scent guides me to the wards-protected one-story house I’ve noticed before.

It’s surrounded by an overgrown garden. The crushed bluebells and stomped grass indicate they are headed to the black door of the abandoned mansion.

The foul magic of this place nearly knocks me off my feet when I get closer. Taking another step forward feels like entering another reality—the night colors around me change and distort; the sounds are muted, as if a thick membrane wraps this place, protecting it from the outside world. Yet the hyacinth scent lingers, luring me into an obvious trap with its gentle, seductive fingers.

My steps echo down a surprisingly well-preserved atrium. The checkered tiles are nearly intact, and the silvery paint of the murals reflects my light spell. There is a pile of debris to my left—so odd and out of place. Tiny rocks still cascade down the heap.

Someone was here recently.

A loud rumble followed by an avalanche of rocks crushes me, and the floor cracks. I instantly summon a magical shield to protect myself from the tons of stone burying me. Shrouded by dust and utter darkness, the last thing I hear before the tiles beneath my feet collapse and the chasm swallows me is a hateful: “Die, you Fae bastard.”