The Prince
Aeidas’s happy place
“A
re you wearing Raynar’s clothes?” I ask when we descend the tunnels leading us deep into the heart of the palace. The white cotton shirt and soft, neutral leggings look borrowed from Ayrene’s little brother. How odd. All the dresses worthy of a queen in her wardrobe, and the little human thief has chosen the clothes of a servant.
“Did you change your clothes and washed because there was blood on them?” Talysse responds with a question.
Shrugging, I urge her to follow me.
“And do you kill everyone who disrespects your…guests with your own hands?” she presses on.
“Not all of them, but I kind of enjoyed this one,” I answer with a smug grin. Should’ve taken more time with the drunk fool, but the bruises on Talysse’s neck drove me into a frenzy. The message is clear now: raise a hand at her, die painfully.
And yet, there can be only one winner of these cursed Trials. Only one of us will walk out of this alive.
“Weakness will be your undoing. Attachment is a weakness. Loyalty only belongs to the dynasty. Those are the laws I’ve lived by all my life, Talysse. Cruel but necessary.”
She halts in her tracks. “Attachment is weakness,” she drawls. “Hmm, I wonder how Lady Sorcia sees that.”
“Jealous much?” My chuckle purges the darkness of the bloody, sleepless night. It’s so invigorating.
“Me? Jealous of a noble lady ogling your crown and rubbing your Ancestral Mark as if it is some magic lamp that makes wishes come true?” Talysse snorts. “I’m just puzzled by the double standard here.”
“Lady Sorcia is aware of that.” The tunnel descends steeper. The sconces on the ancient masonry recede, but I stride confidently through the gloom. “But she seems to have forgotten these rules when she bought an assassin to kill me.” Talysse’s throat bobs.
“So her head will join soon poor Lord Haeddyn in the courtyard?” Her fear is palpable, and for a moment, I feel like the monster she believes me to be.
“Not yet. Her little plot requires a more thorough investigation. She’s too vain and superficial to come up with this alone,” I murmur, keeping the rest of my thoughts to myself. There are more involved in this, and something tells me she’ll lead me to my brother’s murderer. “So, she’s in the dungeon now, pondering over her mistakes. And you have me all just for yourself today.”
Talysse snorts, but her footsteps are lighter, more hesitant. When she hears the sounds of the crickets and the damp scent of soil mingling with the fragrance of flowers wafts from the depths, she halts.
“Where are you taking me, Aeidas? Are those—” she rushes forward, “—fireflies? What sorcery is this?”
“It’s my happy place—”
“And a great place to dispose of a body!”
“Disposing of a body is such a waste. Heads on spikes make an excellent decoration. And a statement.”
“You are really a monster, Aeidas.” She punches my forearm.
The anticipation adds a spring to my step, and I do not waste any time wondering why it is so important to me to show her my secret. “Come, there’s someone I want you to meet.”
We stroll through a wisteria tunnel, the purple blossoms brushing against our heads, and I lead her further into the depths of the royal greenhouse.
White pebbles crunch beneath our feet as we follow the path winding around thickets of vibrant flowers and bushes with thick waxy leaves, deeper into the centennial emerald forest ahead. The damp crystal roof lets in beams of sunshine, but the thick branches swallow most of the light, casting dappled shadows. Low among the grass, moss, and blossoms, tiny creatures live their secret, hurried lives in the glow of fireflies and light wisps.
“What is this place, Aeidas?” Talysse murmurs, looking around with wide, bewildered eyes.
“It is a sanctuary. Since the Hex struck, the royal house created this, and I’ve taken it upon myself to save as much of the living world as possible.” Digging into my pocket, I pull out the sachet with seeds and spores from Teír Mekheret.
“It’s so unexpected that your kind values…places like this.”
I bend over to gently remove a centipede from the path. “What did you think that my kind values?” I inquire.
“Power? Murder? World domination?” she muses, brushing her fingers over the low-hanging blossoms.
