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Chapter One

Nothing But a Vile, Loudmouthed Ghoul

Crossbody

I hated Vince Burke.

As in the Rolling Rimmer. As in one of my fellow Goliaths. As in the ghoul with the big mouth and no decorum who rankled me like no one else with his mere presence.

He was an uncouth swine. He walked around our place of work in nothing but a towel, he found toilet humour hilarious, he made obscene remarks constantly and waggled that disgusting long tongue in the air.

He acted like he was better than me, when I was prince of the Spring Court. Middle son of Queen Galantha. Heir presumptive to the throne, although that was all a bit up in the air due to my decision to come here and launch my career in professional wrestling.

But I was still fucking royalty.

And Vince “Rolling Rimmer” Burke was nothing but a vile, loudmouthed ghoul.

I hated him.

This was all his fault.

The back of my neck burned as I made my way to my dressing room, making sure to keep my chin up and my head held high.

We had just held the wrestlers’ court, a faux courtroom session that allowed us to self-govern and discuss issues as a group. I usually enjoyed it, because it was a place where we all—and by ‘all’ I really just meant me—got a say in how things were run around here.

However, this time, Corey—our de facto leader, the Tasselled Tussler—had called for court to be held because a few weeks ago, Vince had started ranting and raving and screaming at me during rehearsals. Apparently, it had also been my fault somehow. Apparently, I was part of the problem. Apparently, I was one of the people causing tension in the workplace.

Drivel. It was Vince. It was all Vince.

That hadn’t stopped Corey from chastising me in front of everyone, though. Me.

I made sure to close my dressing room door quietly and politely, when all I wanted to do was slam it. Maybe kick it. Which wasn’t like me. I was always in control of myself. It had been drilled into me since I was able to walk.

But I was still seething. And I was utterly humiliated from being told off by Corey in front of all my co-workers. Had my mother witnessed it, she probably would have disowned me for allowing myself to be spoken to that way by who she considered “common folk.”

She’d almost disowned me for leaving to become a professional wrestler. But I knew that even six years later, she still regarded this as folly—some frivolous thing I was getting out of my system before I returned to Otherworld and resumed my place as prince, second in line to the throne.

She still sent letters about what an embarrassment I was. Often. Every time I received one, every time I saw that neat, spidery handwriting on the envelope, my entire body clenched up with dread.

Dropping into the chair in front of the mirror, I stared at my reflection. My cheeks were flushed with anger, eyes snapping with it. My hands were still trembling with rage.

I hated Vince Burke more than anyone.

This was all his fault. Because he couldn’t control his wild temper and had started shouting at me for no reason, when I’d simply been watching him and Dan rehearse.

Alright, I may have been chuckling to myself when he kept fucking up a simple move, but it was unbelievably childish for him to have reacted so explosively to that.

And unfair. So unfair. The others all ribbed each other, poked fun when they messed up and made mistakes. Why couldn’t I? Why wasn’t I allowed to do the same?

They were like the bitchy groups of noble fae that loitered in my mother’s palace all the time, giggling and whispering to each other about those they didn’t like—those they saw as beneath them. These wrestlers were just as bad. If they decided you weren’t ‘good enough’ for their little gang, you were left out of everything.

Corey was the only one who didn’t rise to the pack mentality, but he had still told me off in front of all of them. Me. Next to him, I was the most refined one here. He had to know that this wasn’t my fault. It was Vince’s. Vince couldn’t control his temper. Vince had decided he loathed me and made it apparent at every opportunity. Vince was the reason for all of this.

While I knew Corey had to remain impartial during our court proceedings, I was still furious about being spoken to that way, especially by him. We were friends. Rationally, I understood. I’d witnessed this before many times. Like when Mother had exiled one of her oldest friends from the Spring Court because they’d been seen speaking to a Winter Court informant.

When I’d asked her afterward if she was feeling alright, she’d simply shrugged and said, “It is the burden of being queen.”

Honestly, she hadn’t seemed particularly upset. Able to compartmentalise, I supposed, so she could do what needed to be done. It was something I had always struggled with, which she despised. She saw it as a weakness. An unwillingness to do my duty as her son and a prince.