Chapter 1
“YOU’LL BE stabbed and left for dead.”
Cal stared out the window of the carriage as Julius’ words echoed in his mind. Unfortunately, unraveling a Seer’s vision to find who could possibly want him dead wasn’t even the most pressing issue he needed to deal with.
His father’s death had brought the court and general government processes to a grinding halt. Part of that was his own fault, as he refused to be crowned, but a month seemed like far too little time to pass before he accepted the throne.
He might have brushed Julius’ vision aside as a nightmare, but his Sight was never wrong. Still, his experience with visions was that they were confusing at best, and Fate’s way of fucking with everyone involved at worst.
The carriage jolted as the cobblestone road gave way to the dirt and gravel of the seedier part of the city. He’d been working on plans to restore the worst areas within the next few years, but even that would have to wait now.
“We’re here,” Julius said as the carriage rolled to a stop in front of the prison.
Dread and excitement burned hot in his gut as Cal stared at the large iron building.
He glanced briefly at his left hand, at the shimmer of a red Fate string coiled around his little finger.
It’d been there for as long as he could remember, stretching into the distance, so faint he’d been convinced it was just his imagination.
Until several weeks ago, when it started growing brighter and he couldn’t deny its existence anymore.
Whoever his fate was tied to, they’d finally arrived in his kingdom. And now the string was brighter and thicker than ever, pulled taut and leading directly into the prison.
He sighed and climbed out when Julius opened the door.
He straightened his tunic and smoothed his hands over the fabric before striding inside.
The threshold sparked along his senses, but the original function of the prison was so long forgotten, the lingering magic laid into its boundary was little more than an echo.
One of the guards took a single, imperious step towards them before shock settled on his face. He quickly bowed and fell into step behind Cal. “Your Highness.”
Cal left the guard to Julius as he glanced at his hand, following the string deeper inside, past the iron-and-silver-wrought walls that still stood as testament to darker times, when they were needed to protect against the creatures and beasts that ruled the night.
Creatures that hadn’t been seen in Ages.
He ignored the oppressive weight of metal towering over him, his heart thrumming in his ears as the string brightened and seemed to pull tight enough to snap. He stopped in front of a solid iron door and found it locked. He flicked a glance to the guard. “Open it.”
The guard hesitated. “Your Highn—” he started, but Julius didn’t let him finish.
Julius stepped forward, grabbed the handle, and with a burst of condensed magic, wrenched the door open so hard the metal gave a sickening screech as it bent and twisted. He preceded Cal inside, but stopped two steps in.
Cal’s heartbeat skipped at that hesitation, before the scent of blood, piss, and worse hit his nose.
He grimaced and stepped inside, scanning the room.
There were instruments strewn on iron tables and hung on the walls that wouldn’t have been out of place in a torture chamber.
Which, he realized, was exactly what this was.
Most had signs of old blood, and all of them were iron or silver or sharp-edged metal.
His gaze landed on the table in the center of the room and the man bent over it, his back a bloody mess, his thin pants torn and soaked through.
Two others stood near him. Not guards, they were dressed like human nobles.
One held a whip, the other a single long strip of leather with jagged metal pieces woven through it, glinting with malicious spells.
His Fate string stretched out across the room, connecting him to the one strapped to the table.
“Release him,” Cal snarled, taking another step into the room.
The man with the whip turned with a sneer that melted into horror. The other man ignored him completely and lifted his weapon for another strike.
Julius surged forward, but Cal was faster, lifting his hand as he gave his magic and rage an outlet. Coils of light wrapped around the man’s wrists and throat, and he screamed as the magic burned him enough that he dropped his weapon, the stench of singed hair and skin mixing with the filth.
The other man hastily dropped his whip and scrambled back, hands lifted in surrender.
Cal stalked to the table, intending to release the man tied down, but Julius planted a hand against his chest.
“Don’t you dare,” Julius hissed, pushing him back a step and giving him a warning glare before going to the table himself.
Cal twitched at being denied, but he’d waited thirty-five years. He could wait a few more moments to get a look at the man Fate had decided belonged to him.
He ordered the new guards, arriving due to the commotion, to arrest the two men, as well as the first guard.
Only then, as he turned back to Julius, did he notice his finger.
The string was still there, glowing pure and bright and leading to the man now collapsed on the floor beside the table.
Except it was thinner than before, because there was now another string, just as pure and bright and stretching to the other side of the room.
His breath stuttered as he moved to follow, faltering to a halt in front of what looked like an upright, rounded iron casket. He reached for the lock, but even when he strained with all his strength, it wouldn’t budge.
“Juls,” he said, his voice rough as his stomach twisted with a fresh wave of unease.
Julius appeared a moment later, pressing Cal back before studying the casket. He found the seam, gripped it, and heaved. Metal scraped against the floor with an ear-piercing screech. As soon as it was open, a slim form slumped forward.
Cal reached out instinctively, in time to keep the young man from being impaled on the spikes sprouting from the lid.
“Don’t—” Julius started, but it was too late.
The magic inherent in the Fate bonds shimmered through him, and a heavy pulling sensation he’d never even realized was there eased away. It was almost enough to distract him from the very soft, furry ears brushing his chin.
“Don’t fucking touch him.” The words were slurred and rough with pain, but laden with a promise of violence.
Cal turned in time to see the other man he was bound to struggle to his feet, leaning heavily against the table to stay upright.
The man took an unsteady step forward and nearly collapsed again. “Give him back.”
Cal ignored Julius’ protests and slowly closed the distance to his other bonded.
The man in his arms was barely coherent, but he was aware enough to keep his feet and seemed possessed of the same frantic need to be reunited with his partner.
Once they were close enough, Cal released his hold and watched as the two clung to each other, like they’d never expected to survive this room.
He had a feeling they hadn’t been meant to.
He turned to Julius. “Get a healer. And you,” he said, pointing at one of the new guards. “Bring me whoever is in charge here.”