18. Chapter 18
Chapter 18
A heavy, apprehensive silence passed between Imani and Esa as they made their way to the palace’s grand entrance following training. Wringing her hands in the folds of her skirt, Imani tried to rein in her trepidation at what lay ahead.
Sleep had evaded her, and she had barely even eaten for the past two days. Instead, she’d pored through everything in the trunk about the Niflheim Kingdom.
A family of shifters had ruled Niflheim for half a millennium. The current monarch, Magnus Illithiana, had become king forty years ago and had six sons—all shifters, as far as Imani could tell. None of it was helpful or interesting, but one fact stuck out to her: curiously, power had transferred to the king less than a year after Dialora had inherited the Crown, after Zolyn, the First Witch at the time, had murdered the last monarch of Essenheim.
In another book, Imani had learned that, since the first recorded monarchs, the fates of the king and queen were tied together in inexplicable ways. There was always one male and one female, one king and one queen. When one died, the other’s time would soon follow.
She found no explanation beyond these tidbits of unconfirmed theories. No other books or writings existed on the subject of Niflheim, which was unsurprising since they’d all be illegal. As far as she could tell, the neighboring land was filled with rain, darkness, ashes, and death.
Rumors, on the other hand, were more readily available. Everyone buzzed and gossiped during mealtimes about the Niflheim Kingdom. Most of it sounded horrifying and too violent to be true. In their desperation without the sun, the Niflheim king funded violence and genocide against its breeds for their types of magic while trafficking elven witches to further control the Fabric’s power. The worst magic ever created came through their slips, bringing monstrous breeds with it. It forced the Throne to create labor camps of massive demon armies. An unstable economy built on a police state perpetrated terrifying political crimes against citizens.
Imani had no idea what to believe. It was all quite outlandish.
The crowd jammed themselves onto the terrace overlooking the garden. Minutes went by. Still, the princes hadn’t arrived.
The sun beat down on the crowd, and birds squawked overhead. Everything inside Imani tensed. Her heart hammered against her chest like someone was watching her. Lifting her head, she flanked to her left, and that fear sank into her gut.
Ravens. Six of them were perched atop the stone pillars and archway, and all their heads were turned to peer at her with their beady, black eyes. Ara’s taunting words forced her to stay strong. “ You fear the crows, owls, and ravens, Imani, but you’re a fool. For a small bird makes a small catch, and the hour of our doom is set. ”
There was an eerie inevitability to her grandmother’s insane ravings at the end of her life that Imani was only starting to comprehend.
Esa grabbed her arm, tearing her attention away. “They’re here.”
The ravens took flight all at once, soaring up into the air. Imani immediately wished she hadn’t come, but a relentless instinct that she couldn’t escape, even if she wished it, made her plant her feet.
Voices stilled into an unsettling silence, the birds cawing above the only sound beyond an errant cough.
Traveling with more security forces than she’d seen in one place, Imani’s senses tingled as they neared. Unsurprisingly, the Crown considered them more dangerous than all their apprentice witches combined.
The caravan slowed in front of the majestic main entrance and gardens. Murmurs intensified.
They’d spared no expense making the palace immaculate, even after the ground quake. Servants were ordered about, with the Essenheim royals standing to greet them first.
Neither Niflheim prince was visible yet, but their presence crackled in the air when the carriages stopped. People were dead silent as a footman opened the door. Another bird cawed, and Imani almost rolled her eyes at the drama. But, in truth, she was equally ravenous to glimpse these mysterious shifter breeds.
Servants moved to the side, and a man stepped out. There could be no mistaking him. He held himself like a regal king, commanding all the attention around him. He didn’t need to prove himself or flaunt his power to earn respect. His jaw worked as he took in the crowd. One weapon sat on his hip—a black wand.
His magic signature encircled his head in tight, faint swirls of power, and while he didn’t have as much magic as she imagined an heir would possess, he had to be well-trained.
Tanyl and the queen strode forward, exchanging formal greetings and bows, conversation too faint for even Imani to hear.
When the Niflheim heir apparent smiled and laughed, the image of him in Imani’s mind cracked more. His eyes didn’t match his genial countenance. She’d hoped for a hulking brute with little training and no brains to step out of the coach. He was a hulking brute, but the easy smile he offered and the predatory way he inclined his head hinted at his true cunningness.
Imani chewed her bottom lip, trying to hide her unease.
While the royals exchanged pleasantries, another person slinked behind the carriage. No one else noticed him. He was a primarily faceless man in the shadows, recognizable only by the sinister curiosity emanating from his serpentine smile of arrogance and venom. But he tugged on her awareness, demanding her gaze.
Her shadows whimpered and writhed, needing, wanting, and projecting a visceral, raw flurry of yearning around her. They were frenzied. Her magic built, and it was as if an invisible force in her chest rapidly spread down her midsection like fire. An aching need twisted inside her core, tightening low and deep.
Brushes of silken magic spread around her, circling, murmuring a hello, a warning, or a promise. More alarming, it pulled on her signature. “Impolite” didn’t even begin to describe this intrusion; she was certain it came from this man.
A final, delicate stroke of power caressed down her signature. Then an unsettling sense of completeness instantly settled in her, and the shadows stilled.
It unnerved her to have her signature manipulated. But the ease of her subjugation at his soul draw scared her most of all.
In theory, all kinds of elves likely possessed compulsion magic since all elves needed to feed off someone’s life force. But she didn’t know about other elves besides the Norn and her and Malis’s mysterious breed.
“Is he some member of the Niflheim court?” Imani asked Esa through a clenched jaw.
Esa tore her eyes from the Niflheim heir apparent. “Oh, him? He’s the youngest Niflheim prince. Sixth born. Or maybe seventh? I can never remember.”
Show yourself , she said silently in her head, already knowing what breed she’d see when he did but needing to see it, anyway.
The man moved from the shadows to greet the queen. Immediately, she could see the two princes were related. Both had the same black hair, golden skin, and graceful demeanors. They even stood the same.
Although she’d expected it, Imani blatantly stared at him. An elf was still a rare sight indeed.
His stoic profile swept over the crowd with chilling indifference. The opposite of his charming brother, he didn’t bother with the feigned smiles.
She had no idea how he remained inconspicuous and aloof for the entire exchange with Queen Dialora. He was a powerful witch. Strong enough that she almost missed the illusion he had used to hide his appearance. A layer of spells surrounded him—a glamour—and she had to assume it was what made him unobtrusive to everyone here. Yet she had sensed him right away.
He was tall like an elf but broad-shouldered like his shifter brother, and handsome. More striking than any man Imani had ever seen.
The prince raked his hand through his tousled, beautiful hair, and a few inky strands fell across his forehead. But, while silky and full, he kept it parted to the side and brushed it back off his face. Well-tamed and perfectly controlled, except for the few waves rebelling—wildness fighting for freedom. Another swift movement of his hand put them back.
The habit told her this supposed savage took care of his appearance. Interesting.
Several soldiers dismounted around the Niflheim princes, surrounding them.
“What must it be like to be a prince constantly relegated to the shadows?” Imani murmured to Esa as people exited around them.
“A bunch of fools rule this kingdom. I’d sooner give King Magnus access to our witches over Prince Kiran.”
Blinking in surprise, Imani instantly found him vastly more remarkable than his brother. If Esa considered him more dangerous than one of the most powerful men in the world, Imani took notice.
Until now, people had only referred to the youngest prince as the Snake Prince, the Mad Prince, or some variation. She’d brushed him off like others did. Hearing his name for the first time, she seared it into her mind.
Esa moved inside, but Imani remained rooted to the balcony.
Kiran trailed behind his brother, utterly unassuming, his face still a blank mask. Overshadowed by his brother’s presence, he all but disappeared, walking in measured steps with his hands clasped casually behind him. His existence exuded power and dominance, demanding attention as much as the Niflheim heir apparent. So, why was he hiding?
The imperceptible way his eyes shifted and his movements conveyed a subtle but calculated approach. This prince acted with purpose. Doing nothing by accident, he stood exactly where he wanted to be—in the shadows.
Prince of Snakes, indeed.
The Niflheim heir apparent removed a black obsidian circlet and ran his hand over his hair, exactly like Kiran had earlier. The circlet was a symbol, useless compared to the crown Dialora wore. But as the heir walked inside, Imani thought about the Throne. What power did it give the Niflheim monarch? From the rumors about King Magnus, it must be formidable.
Off to the side, Prince Kiran lingered. With a wrinkle on his forehead, he raised his head at the birds while the servants and soldiers bustled around him. Unlike the blank stares from the mindless soldiers around him, Imani sensed a storm of thoughts in his head. He was thinking constantly.
No one paid him any mind at all.
Low in the sky, several crows circled above the royal caravan, scouting and scenting their next meal, likely a rodent in the gardens. The birds flew mere yards from the crowd, and the strange prince spared more than a glance for the beastly animals—more than he did for the queen and Tanyl. Perhaps his kingdom was so void of light that birds were rare?
The crowd thinned further, exposing Imani’s presence. She wanted to move, but she couldn’t tear her eyes away, needing to understand him. Although she’d fed from Tanyl earlier, she found this prince intriguing.
His eyes snapped to her for the first time, widening a minuscule amount. A terrifying jolt shot through her entire body at the connection. She’d surprised him. That much was obvious. Maybe this unmated male hadn’t expected an unmated female elf.
The bastard didn’t look away like most people would when caught staring. Instead, he studied her more with an unreadable ghost of a smile creeping over his face.
Unwilling to break contact, Imani clenched her jaw and held his gaze. As the female, Imani was the only one able to get into his head, but both their soul draws swirled around each other. Tugging. Pulling. Playing.
Everything about him was perfect except for his disturbing, unnatural eyes. Like his brother’s, one shone bright mossy green, reminding her of rolling hills, of trees, and life. The other was pure, unyielding black. Not only was the iris discolored, but his entire eye was black with no white. Dead. He had to be half-blind. And there was something dangerous in the depths. A genuinely dark magic emanated from it—a magic she didn’t understand.
What caused such horrendous disfigurement? Kiran had given her no reason to yet, but something deep inside her said she should fear this man.
He finally let a small smile free, but it did not last long. In the next second, he broke contact and strolled inside.
The wild gleam of amusement in his eye and the dance of a smirk on his lips unsettled Imani. She had no idea why he’d had such a strong effect on her.
Whatever kind of elf he was, it was wicked.