Her eyes narrowed even more.
This time, in utter exasperation. “Kinlear Laroux. You’ve been warnedtwicetoday about telling lies. Once more, and it’s penance you’ll pay.”
She often gave him three chances.
If she didn’t, he would have been covered from head to toe in penance marks.
Not Arawn.
NeverArawn, who was born pious from his very first cry.
“It’s not a lie,” Kinlear said, eyes wide. “It’s always there in the dark place, waiting for me. It could even be here.Right. Now.” He glanced at the floorboards, where the shadows were thick beneath his bed. Where a claw could so easily reach him. He shifted deeper beneath his covers as the queen sighed yet again.
She didn’t believe him.
Sheneverbelieved him.
“There are no monsters here,” she said.
He crossed his small arms and leveled his gaze on her. “Prove it.”
“Your challenging nature doesn’t come from me,” she said, raising a pale brow. But she stood, and went to the enormous window across the room, where she pulled the heavy velvet curtains open. It was just enough to send a beam of cool wardlight into the room. It bounded off the white rhinestones on her nightgown, as if it were made of tiny stars.
“There will neverbe monsters inside the Citadel, Little Prince. Not while we live protected by the power of the Five.” Asnap of fabric, and the curtains were closed once more. “Sleep. And no more speaking of this, or it’s penance you’ll pay.” She pressed a kiss to his forehead, her smell sweet as roses. “You must always remember. A Sacred doesnottell lies.”
She left him alone, trembling in the darkness.
He fought to stay awake as long as he could. Beyond his window, the world rumbled with the whisper of war. Somewhere out there, his father led a sea of Sacred andnomagesin the battle against the Acolyte.
Somewhere out there, shadow monsters with wings and talons tore apart the sky. It was enough to frighten any child.
But it was the monster waiting only for Kinlear – the one inside his mind – that even the strongest of Sacred Knights would have feared.
3
In sleep, he visited a dark and dying wood.
It was a cold place, as everywhere in the north. But while the Thornwell beyond the Citadel was snow-kissed and Sacred-white, this forest was utterly barren. It was a place that felt like it was already dead, and it hid his monster within.
“Wake up,” Kinlear whispered.
His breath formed before him in a cloud as he found himself, barefoot and shivering, on the edge of the trees. It was the same place he always began these dreams. His silk pajamas had been replaced by a dark and tattered cloak, a far cry from the Sacred whites his mother’s servants always dressed him in.
“Wake up,” Kinlear tried again. “Wake up-wake up-wake up.”
The mantra never worked.
But he tried it anyways, just as he had last night. And all the others before.
Behind him was only darkness. A world of depthless, inky black, where a boy of his age and stature would never dare go.
So, into the forest he went.
There were no leaves on this forest floor. Instead, the ground was made of churned up dirt, like a freshly dug grave. It was silent and cold on his bare toes as he wove through the trees, following the only sense of direction he knew.
North.
He felt it, each time he entered this wood.
