Jes placed one hand on her hip and the other across her heart as she pouted. “I promise to play by the rules.”
Matthias ignored her facial expression, allowing his voice to drop an octave. “My rules say it’s game over.”
Bones emitted a low, threatening growl as she dared to draw near the prince once more. Her audacity stoked the fires of his irritation. Like venomous tendrils, her fingers slithered up his arm—clasping his face. A mockery of a caress, laden with insinuation.
“Well, do let me know if you ever tire of this little game,” Jes taunted, her smirk oozing with disdain, a calculated cruelty that she wielded with glee.
The stench of her need was a constant reminder of how undesirable she was to him. Whether she wanted him to spite his father or if it was because she found him attractive, the prince was never quite sure. Matthias had never given her any indication that he was interested in what she so desperately offered, but that never stopped her from offering all the same.
Matthias’ patience, already fraying, snapped like a brittle twig. With a swift, dismissive gesture, he swatted her presumptuous hand away. His purposeful gaze, cold and unyielding, locked onto hers, a challenge and a warning melded into a single piercing glare.
In response, he stooped to pick up the stick Bones had brought to his side. “I can assure you—his voice dripped with scorn—that such an eventuality will forever remain in the realm of your delusions.”
As he walked away, each step held a resolute assertion of his indifference. He sensed her lingering gaze like a heavy weight, her animosity a festering wound that he paid no heed to. The venom in her eyes, the resentment that clung to her like a shadow, meant nothing to him. Let her wallow in her hatred; it was of no consequence to him.
A bell sounded through the Kingdom and Thorns from all over lifted their voices in a unified roar of victory. Matthias huffed.
A child had chosen Oscuro. His father would be pleased.
Another Thorn to add to his ever-growing army of minions who did his bidding, believing the message that his father preached time and time again. The king claimed that his rival—the King of Lucius—was preparing to go to war against Oscuro, to take away free will, and to diminish the call of darkness once and for all. This divide had been in place since Matthias was old enough to understand. It was all his father ever seemed to talk about. It consumed him. As a young boy, the prince believed every word his father said. Yet no war had ever arrived at their doorstep.
Now, at one hundred and nine years of age, Matthias wondered if it was all a ruse. Something his father had created in his mind to keep himself occupied.
And at this point in his life, Matthias was unfazed at what his father did or didn’t do. He was the King of Oscuro. As long as Matthias was left alone, he could do as he pleased. He knew firsthand what would happen if he ever questioned his father or made him angry. A phantom stab of pain tugged on his bottom lip, a reminder from the last time he’d incurred his father’s wrath.
Walking through the cold stone halls of the palace, Matthias made his way to the rooftop of one of the castle walls, Bones close at his heels. Inside, the palace was noisy and if Jes was going to bother him in the courtyard, he’d find some other place to go. He longed to escape the constant chatter from throngs of wealth-seeking, ladder-climbing, sycophantic Thorns who habitually filled his father’s castle chambers.
The door above the stairwell was already open when he reached the top. As he stepped outside, an unpleasant wind slapped him in the face, rudely reminding him why he hated living in this horrid castle. The wind was either too hot or too cold to be enjoyed. The smell was like a really good wine with a terrible after taste. Andthen there was the company his father kept. Everything felt wrong, like a glamour had been placed over the entire kingdom and should it slip . . . it would reveal the true identity of what rotted beneath.
He surveyed the land surrounding his stone home, and the bell’s morbid clang sounded again. Its low, dull toll carried a touch of sadness. The bell always rang twice when a Shadowkin chose a kingdom, just in case you missed it the first time.
The scenery stretched for miles further than the eye could see. Different regions painted themselves across the land of Oscuro, housing many villages full to the brim of Thorns. Life was ordinary for those who dwelt in the vast villages of the Kingdom of Oscuro. There were farms to attend to and businesses to run, but all the able bodies attended these tasks with a sense of dread. No one seemed to enjoy what they were doing, and Matthias could never quite work out if it was because his father didn’t invest time into his subjects’ lives or if it was because people here truly didn’t care.
Down below, a harsh clanging to the right of the castle assaulted his ears and echoed through his chest like a drum. Swords clanked and smoke billowed into the atmosphere. Thorns were always down in the dens, creating weapons night and day for a war that might never come. Matthias played his part, though, training in the den with the Thorns and sometimes attending meetings his father held. Keeping up appearances was his forte. To the king’s subjects, he may look like nothing more than a bored prince. Little did they know he held onto every word they spoke.
Sighing, Matthias turned and retreated inside the castle. He reached up and brushed his inked fingers across the frame above his head as he stepped through the doorway. At six feet tall, his physique was muscular, but slim—the body of a fighter.
At least, that’s what he considered himself to be.
It was fight night, and he needed to rest. He was up against Drago tonight, a man who bore many scars, yet spoke few words. The prince had fought Drago before but came out the lesser of the two, and tonight he was determined to be the victor. Street fights had become a part of his life when he was just a youth. A place where he could escape the confines of the palace walls and be free to feel something other than the pitiful glances from the king.
Yet, fighting was for the mature folk, and because Matthias was small in age and build, many men refused to fight him, afraid of what his father would do should they injure the crown prince.
After a few weeks of begging, bribing, and proving himself willing to try, Matthias earned acceptance into the ranks at thirteen years old.
Over the years, he’d honed his skills and, more often than not, fought against men twice his size and walked away as champion. Some Thorns found this offensive and took their anger out on him in dimly lit alley ways in town. Matthias was left with a few cracked ribs and missing wing feathers, but he chalked it up to a new learning experience and returned the following week, ready and willing to take on a new opponent. Gold coins were the prize and each time the victory was his, he’d hide the money away, waiting for the day he could leave the palace for good. To be free. To explore the oceans that surrounded his world. Longing for more than the life he currently lived.
Some place he could think, play his veslo and write his songs in silence.
He’d just reached the bottom of the stairs when a figure emerged from the shadows. The presence of the man sent a shiver up Matthias’s spine. His body instantly knew who lurked before him.
“What do you want, Snake?” Matthias spoke low.
Bones growled softly, as if asking the same question.
“What were you doing on the roof?” Snake glared at him with his beady, yellow eyes.
Matthias huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t believe I need to answer that question. What I do or don’t do is none of your business.”
