Fate of the Faithless Prince (Broken Magic #1)
1. Saved by a Shapeshifter
T he bitter wind stung her skin like the whip about to flay her flesh. Her arms stretched above her, tied to the gallows by a rope secured to the iron shackling her wrists. That iron bit into her skin so harshly it drew blood. Hanging like so, with her numb toes barely touching the snow-covered platform beneath her, her shoulders ached so badly she feared they’d pop from their sockets. Her thick iron collar, a symbol of her status and inscribed with her slave number, bit into her neck. Her filthy sack of a dress hung down around her waist to give the executioner her full bare back.
The crowd jeered, yelling and spitting insults. Rose didn’t look at them, the citizens of Black Down, the town where her current master resided, gathered to witness this spectacle. She was to be punished along with two others on this overcast and snowy evening. The two females, strung up like slabs of meat just as she was, cried up to the sky. The farthest on the left whispered to the Gods for mercy through her tears .
Rose knew there would be none. No one, and certainly no Gods, cared for slaves, who were property, not people. Those who disobeyed were always made an example of.
The townspeople did like their examples and even now, as the executioner paced in his black leather pants and thick boots, they screamed for justice. The executioner cracked his whip, and stunned silence descended before the crowd went wild, cheering even louder than before.
Over the din, the executioner called out, “Slave four-nine-eight-two-five-three-seven, guilty of stealing from her master, is sentenced to fifty lashes!”
Obscenities shot from the mouths of the spectators like knives from hands, though they did little to wound. Someone spit, the fat glob of it landing on the first slave’s foot, who openly sobbed more prayers.
The anticipation was palpable.
Rose looked to the sky as the executioner called the first lash. The sound of the whip cracked, and the slap of it connecting with flesh rang out. Rose tuned it out. The continued counting, snap of leather, and screams of pain all became background noise.
As she took in the delicate flakes of white dancing slowly down from the dismal gray clouds, she noticed a large black bird standing on the top beam of the gallows. Focusing on him, on his red eyes staring at the crowd, his deep orange beak, black-taloned feet, and glossy feathers, it was easy to ignore the cruelty around her.
The creature was a Devilbird, a scavenger, and it was said that its appearance was a portent of death. Rose didn’t know if that was true, but those creepy red eyes made her shiver even more so than the cold. They reminded her of vampire eyes, of her master’s eyes, promising no good things.
Was it her day to die, she wondered?
The ugly bird tilted its head, seeming to study her as if it heard her thoughts, and then cawed, turning its attention to the first slave. Blood droplets flew from the tail of the whip, landing on the platform, which the Devilbird strutted several steps down the beam toward.
Rose shivered again, the biting breeze stinging her bared nipples and whipping her filthy hair across her face. She gritted her teeth to stop them chattering, refusing to give anyone in attendance the satisfaction of seeing her discomfort.
Death, she thought, might be a mercy. It would end the days of bitter cold, the gnawing emptiness of hunger, and the weight of the shackles and collar. The work would end, the endless labor she never seemed to complete well enough, and maybe grant a reprieve. There would be no more pain, no more punishments.
She almost wished for it.
Lost in her thoughts, ignoring the goings-on right next to her, she missed the murmur that ran through the crowd. It wasn’t until the huge horses entered her periphery that she turned her attention to the street and the procession making its way through the square.
Knights in silver armor rode the large and muscular beasts whose manes and tails fluttered like flags in the wind. The Royal Crest, a wily fox that stood before two crossed swords and beneath a crescent moon flanked by two stars, decorated the chests of the armors.
News of trouble brewing with the werewolves had been in the papers Rose sometimes stole to read after her master was through. It had also been gossiped about, even by the lower servants and slaves of her master’s household.
Word was, the werewolves of Lea Valley were on the brink of revolt. Lea Valley was only a day’s travel from Crimson City and within a few hours of Black Down. Given the direction the entourage was traveling, they were heading back to the capital after whatever meeting had been held.
According to the papers, negotiations between the vampire monarchy and the werewolves pushing for change had stalled. The human Prince Dimitri was sometimes sent on occasions such as those, to charm and placate whoever the King needed him to. But in the center of the formation marching down the street, Rose could see the telling red eyes and pale skin of a vampire.
This was Prince Adrian then, heir to the throne. The sight of him made her shiver. His profile was sharp and aristocratic, his expression haughty as he focused on the road ahead. He paid no attention to the spectacle his entourage was passing in the square.
Such things were beneath him, Rose thought.
Sudden shocking pain flashed across her back. So sharp was it, so stunning, that a gasp escaped her, and tears stung her eyes. Clenching her teeth, she returned her gaze to the Devilbird as the sounds around her rushed back in—the roaring crowd, snap of the whip, and count of the executioner punishing her.
Fast lashes struck her, but she refused to cry out, refused to show her pain to those screaming for it. Staring at the black bird now watching the executioner’s whip, she relished the cold wind on her face. The sting of it distracted from the hot sear of her back tearing open. Her muscles involuntarily jerked, pulling on her sore arms with each lash, and her agonized wrists bled.
Looking back to the fat white flakes above, she found blessed detachment in the silent snow.
A shriek rang out, pulling her from the black beginning to creep into the edges of her vision. A hawk landed beside the Devilbird on the crossbeam of the gallows. The birds tussled, all flapping wings, slashing talons, and snapping beaks until the Devilbird flew away.
Proud of the victory, the hawk puffed its chest as it stared down at Rose with intelligent amber eyes. A copper-red flecked with darker brown and light tan, the hawk had a creamy white belly speckled with more red.
“You’re prettier than the horses,” Rose rasped.
Cocking its head, the hawk gave a quiet, chirp-like sound.
The next lash sent a lightning-flash of pain through Rose, and her body arched away from it on reflex. Biting her tongue to stop herself from crying out, she fought stinging tears and dizziness, focusing on the hawk.
Giving a sharp kree, the hawk stood tall, ruffling its feathers as it looked toward the street. Rose was only half aware of another sharp kree before the hawk dove from its post, swooping toward the executioner behind her with talons bared. Twisting her body uncomfortably, she kept her eyes trained on the flurry of feathers attacking the executioner.
When deep gashes bled down the executioner’s bare chest and along his forearm, the hawk swept back to Rose. Its form seemed to waver in place, shimmering ethereally. In an instant, a leopard stood where the hawk had been, curling its body around hers. Baring its teeth, growling low, the leopard pinned its ears back, tail flicking in agitation as it dared the executioner to strike again.
The crowd went wild. Someone threw a rock, demanding the animal be removed so punishment could continue. The leopard growled harder.
“Enough!” came a call from the stalled procession. One of the Prince’s guards dismounted and cut through the crowd to the gallows, where he stood beside the leopard and faced the executioner. “This slave’s punishment is over.” In a smooth motion, he used the dagger swiftly pulled from his side to slice the rope tying Rose up. She fell into his arms, staring at his hazy face as the world around her swam .
“That slave is mine !” Rose shivered at the sound of her master’s angry voice.
“The Prince’s pet has claimed her. Do you wish to fight him for her?”
The leopard hissed as if to back up the guard’s words.
Fading in and out of consciousness, Rose understood she was being taken.
The last thing she saw as she lay across the lap of the guard was the gallows where her fellow slaves hung limp and lifeless.
Nearby, the Devilbird drank from a puddle of blood.
Her destiny was not to die that day.
But her life would never be the same.