Page 18

The Prince

T ime has stopped here, in the golden warmth of this forgotten hut.

Talysse’s supple body is melting in my arms, her skin so soft. Her long hair cascades down the stained, tattered covers like black silk. It’s impossible to resist such a temptation, and I inhale deeply, savoring the smell of hyacinth and sunshine. Of something pure and beautiful, like a sweet dream you cannot remember in the morning but desperately try to fall back asleep just to return there.

Something not meant for a black heart like mine.

The hands that hold her are drenched with blood. How many innocents have I sent to their deaths? How many lives have I destroyed?

Guilt gnaws on me, just like every other night, and the shadows around us thicken.

I might be a damned sinner without any hope for redemption, but I’ve promised Talysse that she’s safe here with me. So I prop myself on an elbow and watch over her sleep.

Even villains like me have the right to dream.

The plunge in the cavern lake has washed away the grime from her face, and the freckles on her skin draw unknown constellations. She’s fast asleep, yet I still draw soothing circles on her stomach, in awe at the way she trusted me. Having someone in my arms, at my mercy, trusting me so blindly is a new experience.

She’ll be dead soon; that’s the way the Nightfall Trials go, either by my hand or—if the Elders are merciful to me—by the hand of someone else. The thought of hurting her disturbs me deeply; it’s like a briar rising from the gloomy depths of my soul, its thorns ripping at my heart, drawing thick, red blood. I choose to ignore this darkness and focus on the warmth of her body molded into mine, her even breathing, and that tender, maddening scent.

My damned body, so unused to closeness, reacts.

I curse softly when my cock strains painfully against my pants, afraid she might feel it.

The fairest court ladies have clawed their faces over my attention, using all the tricks of the Unseelie seduction, yet I have never felt such fire inside me.

And it is so wrong.

She hates me for what I did to her family.

And I have a trial to win.

Any Unseelie would flip her on her back, pin her down, and have his way with her. Fae bodies are different from humans: stronger and more resilient, and people might get hurt in the passionate games with us. In the eyes of my kind, she’s just another human, after all, the pest we’ve been controlling and exploiting for centuries.

The temptation to pull her in even closer, feel more of her soft skin, makes me restless.

Elders, I need to get away from her.

Carefully peeling myself from her, I pull the cover over her shoulders, throw the last piece of wood in the fire, and open the door.

Frigid air hits my face at the doorframe. The cold wind howls between the trunks of the dead trees. The moon has set, and the bottomless night sky shimmers above me; the stars flicker like distant reflections from another world on the surface of an endless inky well. Before heading into the freezing gloom, I turn around one last time. Talysse lies there, drenched in the golden light of the dying fire, her lips parted, her dark hair framing her freckled face, her impossibly long lashes casting shadows over the apples of her cheeks. Something stirs inside me, something better left undisturbed, whose power frightens me.

The door closes without making a sound, and the night swallows me. I rub my face with the heels of my hands and take deep, controlled breaths. The chilly air floods my lungs and restores some of my lost self-control.

It’s past the Dead Hour, and the night creatures are tired of their songs and struggles. Like all living beings, they withdraw for some rest and pick up their music later, as if Cymmetra herself has planted tiny mechanical clocks in their heads.

But this silence is unnatural.

I venture deeper into the woods, the clearing with the hut behind me. The distant chirping of crickets mutes with an odd pace, as if a large animal is moving, scaring the tiny critters.

Heroy, stand by me; this might be a Shadowfeeder.

The Shadowblade soundlessly slips into my hand.

Then its scent hits me.

A concealed stench of death and decay, of cruelty and bloodlust, masquerading as innocence. An ancient evil is making its way toward the hut.

And I know very well what it’s after.

A tiny silhouette—something one could easily mistake for a small animal and underestimate the immense danger—glides between the trunks.

“Lord Deirha?m, you can walk freely,” I shout into the night. “If it is me you seek, you’ve found me.”

The boy smiles timidly, his crimson eyes capturing the starlight in an unsettling way. He would have grown into a fine male.

Too bad his kind doesn’t grow.

“No need to stick to the shadows, Lord Deirha?m,” I repeat, leaning on my Shadowblade. The coolness of my sword, made of condensed magic and shadows, is a comfort in my palm.

“A fine night to stroll and spill some blood, Prince Aeidas. Some...human blood.” His voice is anything but childlike; it’s a voice you’d expect from something that just crept out of a crypt. The boy approaches me, sniffing the air like an animal, then licks his ruby lips. “Mmmm. I can smell her from here. Delicious, isn’t she?”

I casually lean the blade on my bare shoulders and plant my feet firmly in the scorched soil.

Lord Deirha?m barely reaches my waist but grins at my defiant stand. “Let’s share her. Let’s hunt her together, Prince Aeidas. You can have your ways with her, and then—then I’ll have mine. I’ve noticed how you look at her.” His words slither from his mouth like a viper unfurling. The thought of Talysse with her throat torn out by this monster, drowning in her blood, unsettles me. Wouldn’t that be the perfect solution, though? Letting someone else do the dirty work instead of delaying the inevitable?

The clarity of the answer strikes me like a lightning bolt.

No.

She hates me, and she has every right. But I’ll be damned if I let her die.

“No.”

The air shifts around him, the distance between us crackles with tension.

“Do you think I need your permission to get her, Princeling?” He sounds more like a beast now, a reminder of his true nature. Without giving in to his taunting, I raise my blade.

“Will you—” he licks his lips in anticipation, and his canines—ivory daggers—flash in the scarce light, “fight me for her?” A flicker of savage excitement ripples through his face.

Instincts kick in. My feet assume a fighting position, and the Shadowblade drops to the boy’s face.

“You should know better than to stand between someone like me and their prey,” the child growls, a feral and inhuman sound.

Indeed, I know.

The creature before me is more deadly and unpredictable than a Shadowfeeder.

Vampires are cursed by the Elders. Legend says they tricked the gods into letting them taste their blood and stealing some of their powers. For that, they were punished, and everything they have is a twisted parody of the Elders’ gifts. Even their immortality is not given but bound to their consumption of blood. They are forced to walk the night and crave the lives of all. This is not a boy before me but a millennia-old demon who sees us all, both humans and Fae, as livestock. A rich and powerful demon, though, with an army very useful to the crown.

What leaps on me is no longer human—it’s a monstrous abomination towering at eight feet, a beast with claws like scythes meant to tear flesh from bone and fangs that could crush a skull. Patches of brown fur cling to its gray, leathery skin, and its eyes blaze like gateways to hell. Its guttural growl reverberates through the woods, a sound so primal and terrifying it could freeze even a Shadowfeeder in its tracks.

I barely manage to roll to the side as it barrels toward me, my blade poised to strike. But the creature is unnervingly quick for its size, skidding to a halt and whipping around with a feral snarl.

It lunges, and before I can react, it’s on my back.

Elders!

Pain explodes across my shoulders as its razor-sharp teeth sink into my flesh, tearing through muscle and sinew. The smell of my own blood mixes with its rancid breath.

“Atos take you,” I growl, feeling its acid spit eating through my flesh. The pain explodes, throbbing and blinding, but my instinct doesn’t let me succumb to panic.

Gritting my teeth, I will my blade morph into a dagger, feeling the comforting shift of magic in my hand.

The beast’s chokehold tightens, its foul breath hot against my neck as it hisses in my ear, “Royal blood is a rare delicacy. I’ll bleed you dry, then take my time with her—”

The thought of her—mangled, screaming—drives a cold spike of fear through me. My grip on the Shadowblade tightens, the hilt slick with my blood, as I slowly force him to loosen his grasp.

I can’t lose her.

Not now.

With a savage roar, I plunge the dagger deep into its thigh. The blade cuts through the dense muscle, and the creature howls, a sound so piercing it rattles my bones. Acidic spit dribbles from its fangs, burning through the skin of my shoulder, the agony nearly blinding me. I twist the dagger and rip it upward toward its hips, the blade tearing through flesh with a sickening squelch.

The creature’s howls turn into shrieks of pain, and its grip weakens, the chokehold loosening just enough for me to shake it off. The Shadowblade morphs into a lance, the weapon lengthening in my grasp as I spin it in a lethal arc. The beast is fast, its hulking form dodging my first strike, but not fast enough to escape the two vicious slashes that carve through its abdomen.

Black blood spills from the gashes, steaming as it hits the ground. Now, this is a sight for sore eyes.

“Maybe you’ll bleed first, beast,” I snarl, a savage smile curling my lips as I launch myself into a somersault, the world spinning around me in a blur of motion. I land behind its back, and just when the Shadowblade descends to the abomination’s shoulder blade, the beast spins around faster than anticipated, its massive claws lashing out.

What a fatal miscalculation.

Pain erupts in my side as its claws rake through my flesh, and I’m thrown backward, crashing into a tree trunk. My vision blurs, my head dizzy as I struggle to rise, but the demon is on me in an instant, its colossal weight pinning me down. I can barely breathe under the crushing pressure, and my limbs scream in protest as I try to free myself.

And just when I think it cannot get any worse, it does.

“Aeidas?” Talysse calls from the clearing. “Aeidas, are you there?”

My blood curdles in terror.

“Do you hear that, Prince? Dinner is served,” the vampire hisses and releases me.

Cold air fills my lungs as the beast suddenly lets me go and leaps toward her, frenzied. Not wasting a second, I push myself up and give chase.

Talysse stands in the middle of the clearing, her form shimmering as if reflecting the starlight.

Deirha?m leaps on her in one swift move, his claws raised like daggers. Elders, she’ll be dead before I can reach her. My blade morphs into a spear, and I send it flying. The abomination reaches Talysse just when the Shadowblade finds its mark, piercing it with lethal precision.

It’s too late.

My heart pounds as I race toward the monster, each breath a searing reminder that I’ve failed.

With a scream, I yank the blade out with a wet smack, morph it back into a long sword, and swing. The vampire’s head rolls into the soot on the forest floor.

I step back to avoid the massive collapsing body crushing me and lunge forward, bracing to see a mortally wounded Talysse.

Skidding in the soot, I come to a stop, looking around confused, then rubbing my eyes with a bloody fist.

She’s gone.

Vanished.

“Aeidas? Are you hurt? Say something!” her voice, laced with worry, calls to me.

A good fifty feet away from here.

My mind stutters. How can she be there? How is this possible?

I glance at the empty space where she was just a moment ago, the spot now nothing but a patch of disturbed soot. And then I see her—alive, whole—standing in the doorframe, golden light spilling around her like a halo.

I chuckle.

Relief and disbelief crash over me, but the revelation that she’s more than she seems stirs something deeper. This human…she’s full of surprises.

Weaving illusions is a rare gift, and to do it so skillfully, without any guidance, is far more advanced than any human magic. To the hell pits of Atos, it is more advanced than most Fae magic around!

This oddity requires a more thorough investigation. Yet another reason to keep her alive for a while.

I dismiss my blade and stride back to the hut, my wounds throbbing, the poison working its way through my body.

Above us, a purple shimmer veils the sky, and the stars flicker, paling.

The sun is rising.