Page 30

The Prince

T he Elders have granted me an unfair advantage in the final Trial: it’s not my first visit to the Silverbriar Woods. I have rummaged through the temple ruins, turned every stone in search of something I cannot point my finger on, and camped near the creek of that confused but friendly water hag. In fact, it is one of my favorite places in the Wastelands; it reminds me of how it used to be before the anger of the gods unleashed the Hex.

The dark inevitability of the future rises like a curse from the churned soil, swirling around my riding boots, mixing with my shadows. A blade delves deep into my heart, making each step slower and heavier. Flashes of the moments we shared with Talysse make me halt and lean against a trunk, rubbing my temples.

Cursed be the Trials, cursed be the cruel, heartless gods who demand this, and cursed be this whole dark, rotting world!

What needs to be done is clear. A swift and painless death by my hand is the best outcome for all of us. For the whole realm. The way to the crown goes over her dead body; it’s as simple as that. No Unseelie will follow a king who shows mercy to a human. No Unseelie will bow to a king who hesitates to claim his victory and land the final blow to a weaker enemy.

Better get it over with fast. I will go to that temple and give them the spectacle they came for.

Yet I’m still praying for a miracle when something makes me stand still.

Blood.

A trail of it, leading to a steep ravine.

And a stench that’s easy to recognize. Tainted Ones.

My rage solidifies, takes shape at my side, and the Shadowblade shimmers in my hand.

Leaping over the edge, I land softly on my feet and press my forearm to my nose. Elders! Over three dozen mutilated Tainted Ones lie around—torn apart by spells, burned or broken. Puddles of reeking ichor cover the forest floor, and their innards already attract the insects. They are lying in a circle around a tiny spot.

There’s blood here, too, untainted one. Lots of it. Smeared over a sharp-edged rock, leaving a trail of thick droplets around. Seems like someone rolled down the edge of the ravine and landed here.

My fingers tremble, and I squeeze the hilt of the blade tighter. Traces of a fight, heavy footprints, and—

A cry of despair claws its way up my throat: Talysse’s broken, bent bracelet in the dirt.

Elders, no—

I drop to my knees and rake shaking fingers through my hair, wailing like a wounded beast, like someone whose heart is being torn out.

I beat the ground with my fists until my knuckles are a torn, bloodied mess, crying her name, cursing and pleading with all gods until my voice breaks to a mad whisper. A void opens in my chest, raging and hungry, threatening to swallow me whole.

To the darkest hell pit with this world. My pain turns into fury, and I speak blasphemous, dark vows, promising Atos to descend to his halls and rip his throat out should he not release her.

I cradle my legs, sobbing, and try to clear my head.

Talysse’s death was inevitable, but an end like this is the worst thing possible. Unbearable as it is, in my darkest moments, I’ve imagined her death at my hands—gentle, painless, sealed with a kiss, like laying a loved one to rest.

When I close my eyes, her face flashes before me, her soft skin and sweet lips, then clawed hands leave bloody marks over it, slashing it open. Was she torn apart by the horde or dragged away by a Shadowfeeder to be turned into one of them?

A pain so primal and visceral tears through my whole being that all I could do is howl like a beast.

Tears of rage blurring my vision, I check every single corpse, but alas. The only sign of her remains is the broken, deformed bracelet in my hand.

Nothing left of her. And the magical relics are gone too.

Galeoth.

It must be him; Talysse cannot cast such a powerful spell and kill that many. That fucking vulture robbed her and is probably on his way to the temple.

I grind my teeth so hard that the pain sobers me up.

Time to make him bleed. Time to make the world feel my pain.

*

There is a bleeding hole where my heart once was when I reach the halo of magic cupping the old temple. My parents, Aernysse Stargaze, and the most privileged families always attend the Trials’ finale.

Crystal clusters and mages feed the magic protecting the ruins, and squads of heavily armed royal guards have enclosed the ruins in a circle. Royal guards, not Shadowblades, I note and smile darkly. My parents, unsure of the Trial outcome, want to prevent my loyal men from interfering and tipping the scales in my favor.

Heartless but understandable. To ignore the rules in favor of your only surviving son would mean weakness, and weakness equals a death sentence in the Unseelie court.

The ruins are circular, like an amphitheater. They surround the shrine where the holy fire has been burning for centuries. My steps echo ominously among the ruins, cutting short the whispers of the colorful crowd of courtiers: a blur of gold and diamonds, complex hairdos and vanity.

My parents sit on thrones of gilded wood just above the mosaic-covered floors, mage Aernysse standing behind them. Toppled statues and exquisitely carved pillars crowd the arena-like surface, lined up by armed to the teeth knights. With the halo crackling above my head and the dozens of torches burning, the light is blinding. A wave of gasps ripples the crowd when I turn to face them, not bothering to hide my darkness and the pain, twisting my features.

All I have to do is wait for Galeoth, kill him, and take what he stole from Talysse. Then the bloodied crown will be mine and my chance to avenge her and make this cursed world a better place.

The sound of steps draws my eyes to the entrance.

Grief must have made me lose my mind. Because it looks as if Elder Cymmetra herself has strolled in.

But no—

This cannot be—

Beautiful and terrifying as the goddess herself, Talysse stands before me.

More beautiful than anything in this cursed, rotting world.

And I am torn between dropping to my knees before her, worshipping her, and closing her in my arms, suffocating her with kisses.

Then reality gets me in its chokehold.

There are no more kisses for us.

No future.

I have to kill her.

I take a hesitant step toward her, as she does toward me, two lost souls trapped by the insidious threads of Seuta, light, and shadow dancing in the final moments of this world.

There’s something oddly different about her, more visible now when we’re closer. I refuse to accept the truth, though her perfect skin, her eyes glowing with immortal radiance, and her hair flowing in thick curls beneath her waist speak volumes.

Her wild, blinding magic, draping around her makes me pause.

The shrieks in the crowd and the clanking of weapons confirm my dreadful suspicion.

This is no human standing before me.

It is when she summons her Sunblade that I know it with certainty.

Talysse is one of them.

The archenemies we hunted into extinction. Those who refused to lay their weapons at our feet, prolonging the bloodbath of the war and triggering the Hex.

A Seelie.

And Seuta makes it worse—her ragged doublet and shirt display her neck and collarbone—the place where her burn scar once was. There, carved into her skin by the Elders, is her Ancestral Mark.

My knuckles turn white, and the Shadowblade slides into my palm.

“Stand back,” I snarl to the knights who are closing their circle around us.

“Prince Aeidas,” she says, and Atos take me, her smile makes my pulse quicken and my cock stir, “it’s good to see you alive and well.”

Even her voice sounds different now.

I open my mouth, my brain unable to produce a fitting response, when an agonizing howl makes me whip my head toward the audience. This was my mother’s voice. Our eyes meet briefly when a spear bursts from her chest, coloring the white gown she’s wearing deep crimson. Next to her, my father’s headless corpse slowly buckles its knees and collapses.

If Talysse—if that Seelie has something to do with this, I swear—

Death comes like a hurricane from the night sky, furious, unbidden, and unexpected. As if the cruel, cold stars shower us with blades, taking my people down one by one.

A legion of Seelie storms into the amphitheater, led by—

I raise my Shadowblade to skewer the damned traitor. When did this bastard sprout wings?

Do all the humans turn Seelie now?

Galeoth—fast and brutal, deals death among my court. He’s wearing golden armor, and his powerful white wings carry him with an unfathomable speed. He’s barking orders to his soldiers, who sow death among our ranks.

Unseelie blood splashes the ancient mosaics; pleas and shrieks echo through the woods.

I shout commands to the remaining soldiers, regrouping them. Transforming my blade into a spear, I manage to take many of them down. But more and more sweep in from the collapsed roof, death reincarnated as warriors with swift white wings.

The air is thick with the metallic scent of blood. I surrender to the battle fury and lose sight of Talysse, in the eye of the storm, unharmed by the Seelie. Of course, they won’t harm her; they’re her people. Her eyes are wide, her Sunblade up. She seems as confused as I was just a minute ago.

Galeoth’s voice slices the cries and the hollering:

“Get the princess! Leave none alive!”

A princess, I note darkly. Yet she’s not flying, so a half-blood then. Worth investigating later.

I stand amid the chaos, the few remaining Unseelie soldiers by my side, bracing for our last stand.

“Hold your ground!” I roar, my voice cutting through the din of battle. “Archers, now! Mages, on three, two, one!”

Hot blood trickles over us like warm summer rain. The archers manage to get many of them, and I’m grateful to whoever organized the defense of the final Trial. But the real breakthrough comes when the mages, including Aernysse, send a scorching volley of death, taking many of them down. The surviving knights greedily take this chance for vengeance, and brutally slaughter them, desecrating this holy place.

Slashing and stabbing, ripping off wings and slicing throats, I slowly make my way to Talysse.

And because the cursed gods cannot make it easier for me, Galeoth lands before me, his eyes blazing with fury. “Keep your filthy hands off her, Prince,” he spits.

I respond with a low growl, raising my blade.

We clash, my Shadowblade shifting and morphing to counter each of his attacks. He wields his sword with grace and precision, but my endless training facing the threats of the Wastelands gives me the edge. I parry a strike aimed at my heart, the Shadowblade transforming into a shield at the last second.

“Is she a part of this?” I roar in his face. With a swift motion, it shifts back into a blade, and I drive it toward Galeoth, forcing him to retreat.

Around us, the battle rages. My soldiers fight bravely, outnumbered but not outmatched. The mages send blinding surges of lethal light to the skies, bringing more of them down, to the raised blades waiting to meet them. Drenched in blood and sweat, I feel like my heart has been ripped from my chest twice. I’ve lost Talysse once, only so that the cruel gods bring her back to me to be taken again. The ruins become a labyrinth of death, the thunder of spells, clanking of steel, and the cries of the wounded and dying echoing through the forest surrounding us. I catch glimpses of my men holding their own, their desperation fueling their ferocity.

Galeoth strikes again, his blade singing through the air. I block it, our swords locking. “Is she a part of this?” I insist, but the cursed Seelie responds with a cruel smile. Now his glamour is lifted, I can see him well. There’s immortal radiance in his eyes, and his bronzed skin is glowing. His massive golden earrings, carved with runes, are missing. The realization nearly costs me my life as a sweep of his blade almost misses my shoulder.

“So you’ve figured out my trick, Prince,” he mocks. “My people are skilled in creating illusions like this.” He gestures toward Talysse, and a surge of fury makes me strike at him again, nearly breaking his defense. Now, it is my turn to smile. The prick might act all confident and arrogant, but I can clearly see his rapidly rising chest, the sweat trickling into his eyes, and his open mouth gasping for air. I’ll finish him soon.

A dying Seelie plummets from above, nearly taking me down in his agony, but I quickly recover my balance, just to see Galeoth turning on his heel and leaping toward Talysse.

Never, never turn your back on a foe wielding a Shadowblade. His cursed wings are in the way of my blade, now shaped as a spear, so I get him in his lower back. Just ten feet away from the petrified and bloodied Talysse, he halts, and his knees give in.

A cruel smile dancing on my lips, I stride toward him, stepping over pools of blood and corpses. This bastard will pay for slaughtering my family. I must be a gruesome sight as soldiers—Seelie and Unseelie alike—quickly step out of my way. With his final strength, he yanks my blade out and takes to the night sky, barking orders to his remaining men.

And leaving Talysse behind.

My soldiers rally, cutting through the remaining enemies on the ground with renewed vigor. I turn, the Shadowblade back in my hand, transforming now into an ax, cleaving through the winged warriors that dare approach.

They are retreating, bidding us with a deadly volley of arrows from above. I leap toward Talysse, but she’s unharmed.

The battle is over. The legion of Seelie Fae lies slaughtered among the ruins. I stand amidst the carnage and the scent of blood, breathing heavily, my body aching, but it’s my heart that’s hurting the most. The few soldiers that remain gather around me, their eyes filled with awe and respect.

The Shadowblade shifts back into a sword, its dark surface gleaming in the light of the spell above us.

Darkness pools at my feet. The gloom inside me is growing, tainting everything. The ruins have grown quiet again.

I look around, taking in all the bodies and the pools of blood, my parents among them, along with the best of our court. Then my eyes land on Talysse, the only Seelie still standing there, and something breaks inside me.

I cast a spell that sends Talysse flying. She lands on her back, her head hitting the floor. “Chain her tightly. Make sure she cannot summon that cursed blade. I need to know how a legion of Seelie entered our lands, as all these traitorous bastards should’ve been dead decades ago. And her too.” I turn around and point at Aernysse Stargaze, standing bloodied and confused next to my dead parents. “She failed to notice that there were two Seelie right under her nose. In our court. Chain them both and drag them to the Pits.”

The soldiers are all on their knees, their fists pressed to their chests.

“Long live the king,” one shouts. “Long live the king!” The rest pick up, and soon, the ruins shake with their roar. I take in all the death around: the blood-soaked ancient tiles, the mutilated corpses, the sliced white wings of our enemies, and the severed heads, the smell of blood, steel, and magic in the air. My gaze follows the unconscious body of Talysse, being dragged away.

“What are your orders, Your Majesty?”

Death and ruins are such a befitting decorum for the beginning of my reign.

I straighten my shoulders and dismiss my blade.

The world is about to change.

“I declare this Trial over.”