Page 4 of The Path of Blood and Betrayals

The doors groan and protest as my strength shoves them wide. The guards keep their eyes forward as I saunter in and stare at my father, sitting on his massive ebony seat. Shadows flicker over the smooth, cold floor like phantom ghosts.

My shadows.I have yet to release my rage and they flicker, ready to swipe everyone away.

“What is it?” my father barks, eyes narrowing.

With two fingers, I pass off the parchment to the guard with a practiced bored gesture.

King Zelos is almost three centuries old but doesn’t look a day past a human’s middle age. Whereas we both have long raven hair and burning amber eyes, he’s built for beauty and me for the battlefield.

He waits as the guard hands off the paper to him, shoulders strained. He wasn’t expecting me to return so soon.

It’s hard not to see his unease. I am my father’s heir, but I was trained from an early age to be his favorite weapon.

It’s made me dangerous and a threat. Even to him.

It’s why now, we rarely stand alone together. Not because we don’t get along—wedon’t— but because he doesn’t trust me.

He’s smart. He shouldn’t.

Standing, I tuck my hands behind my back, legs opened wide in a neutral stance. My father reads the note, once, twice, before looking up at me, mouth curving into a baffled grin. “Am I to believe this is true?”

“Believe it or not, I took it directly from the scout’s corpse. Unfortunately killed before the white flag could be seen.” I’m not in the least bit apologetic. I’ve never liked Humans. “It’s from King Griffin directly.”

“It’s a declaration of truce.” He scoffs, tossing the brittle parchment to the floor. My jaw locks tight. “King Griffin has never wanted peace. Never before. Why send a scout now begging for it?”

“Maybe this sad excuse of a war has grown tiresome for the Humans?” War is too strong a word for what our kingdoms do.

We battle, the last two fractions on our continent who still fight. The Humans try to take our people, and I slaughter them. My father tries to assassinate the king and, yet, he continues to live. It’s notrealwar. “They tire easily of things.”

“As most things do, when they do not live as long as we do,” my father mutters, arrogantly. He sips from his silver chalice.

Inhaling, I catch the copy tang of blood in the air. AllDark Fae must ingest animal blood to survive, and my father is already partaking early today.

Luckily for him, he does not have the affliction that I possess.

I cannot sustain off of animal blood alone; I must ingest mortal blood to live.

It’s a curse all first born royals must bear—usually succumbing to the beast within the first year of it’s manifestation, all my ancestors morph into a deranged, mindless monster that is compelled to take and destroy until sated.

My uncle was the first to learn to harness his curse. When I was born, and it manifested, he helped me do the same.

“What do you think of this, my heir?” Zelos asks, voice prompting.

Silently, I glance at the torches flanking his throne, watching the flames stretch toward the ceiling. My mind is always a storm of thoughts, actions, and consequences. But my father rarely seeks my opinion. Zelos only likes his own counsel.

Rigidly, I shrug. “I think we should attend.”

“The peace talks?” My father mocks. “That’s absurd. We cannot go into his lands, into his palace and hope to walk back out.”

My shoulders tense, shadows flickering off of me in heavy waves at the careless dismissal.

Zelos’ eyes glint with annoyance when he sees my shadows grow. “It’s a trap, my heir. He doesn’t want peace. He wantsus.”

Under normal circumstances, I would agree.

“So?” I shove my hands into my pockets of my leather pants. Ash falls where I stand. “Do you think a few DarkFae would not be able to withstand his attack directly? Besides, what better way to figure out his plans than to attend his peace talks?”

Zelos doesn’t look convinced, back straight as his goblet dangles from pale fingers. They press just enough to indent the metal. “What do you propose?”