Vow of Eternal Night

Prologue

THE CHILDREN OF ORLFEN used to swap stories about what might happen if the Prince of Rostenburg ever returned.

They were fanciful, romantic stories – stories that transformed our village into a glittering city and elevated the hulking tombstone of a castle on the mountain into an imperial palace.

It was silly, I told them. There was still a prince somewhere, even if we’d never seen him.

We’d never seen the Emperor either, and he wasn’t missing – he was in Vienna.

I was not a popular child.

The adults told other stories, of taxes and armies and whispers of unrest in faraway lands.

But I was too young to understand. So on the day the prince returned, I was oblivious to the horrors our future held.

I was ten years old and hadn’t yet learnt what it is to grieve.

By the time I turned twelve, I was numb to it.

The prince returned on the night of Erntedankfest, when the hills were ablaze with the flaming rust of Rostenburg’s namesake.

It was my favourite time of year. There was so much to celebrate: another successful harvest, another winter well fed.

And all thanks to Father, who had overseen everything without needing to scrub dirt from his fingernails.

Most of the town had crowded into the square, but Yann and I had crept away with a bundle of krapfen he’d stolen from his father’s stall.

We hid in the darkened alcove of the closed bakery on the main street, giggling to ourselves and feeling ever so grown-up.

I was wiping my hands on my apron when Yann spotted something over my shoulder. His smile dropped.

‘Who is that?’

A stranger was walking towards the market square.

That in itself wasn’t abnormal – it was festival night, after all.

But we could tell he didn’t belong in the valley: his dark hair was impeccably styled, and his clothes were so fine they put my father’s best to shame.

I had no concept of how old he was beyond the nebulous threshold of adulthood, but he seemed to fit the window my aunt would call ‘marriageable age’.

For a brief moment I wished I was that age too.

If he had been standing in full sunlight I might have seen the crest on his ring or recognised the exact shade of crimson of his coat. But of course he would never stand in full sunlight. And as it was, I didn’t need the ring to identify him. A man that beautiful could only be a prince.

‘That’s the Prince of Rostenburg.’

It was the flawed logic of a child, correct only by coincidence, but Yann didn’t question it. I was the only one of our peers forced into lessons with a tutor, and he never questioned even my most outlandish tales.

‘Where’s his horse?’ Yann asked.

‘He probably left it by the bridge.’

‘Unless he came on the mountain path.’ It was meant as a joke, but as Yann said it, we both looked back to the route the stranger had taken. Unless he was terribly lost, he hadn’t come from the bridge.

Orlfen was nestled at the southernmost point of the Orlfen Valley, ringed with mountains on all sides but the north, where the River Lin carved through the fields and farmland that kept us all fed.

The only road linking Castle Rostenburg and Orlfen crossed the river at the bridge on the edge of town.

You could, in theory, reach Orlfen from the castle by crossing the glacier at the summit and trekking across the mountains, but even if the bridge collapsed, it would be faster, easier and safer to simply fix the bridge.

‘Perhaps he lost his way,’ I said, not wanting to admit the possibility that I’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. I stood and dusted off my skirts. ‘Let’s go back. We might be able to meet him.’

Yann looked down at his jam-smeared hands, then attempted to wipe them clean on his patched, flour-covered trousers. They came away less sticky but just as dirty as before. ‘I don’t think he’d want to meet us,’ he said, tucking his hands into his pockets and out of sight.

‘Father will introduce us,’ I said, although I knew not even Father was acquainted with our ruler.

As it turned out, we didn’t need Father’s help.

When we rounded the corner, the stranger was still lingering in the shadows on the edge of the square, watching the festivities in shrouded silence.

His eyes flicked our way as we came into view, and this time his face sparked with a dull flare of interest.

‘Which one of you wants to earn a pfennig?’

Something in that voice made me stop. There was a coldness to it, a poisonous drip I would later learn to identify.

His lips curled in a way that made a mockery of smiles, and when he produced a coin from his purse, I noticed his nails had been allowed to grow too long and too sharp.

I waited for Yann to take the money. I didn’t need it, and I didn’t think I wanted it.

But he was a prince, wasn’t he? I curtseyed as my mother had taught me. ‘What can we help you with?’

‘You’ll do.’ He tossed me the penny and returned his gaze to the market square without watching to see me fumble my catch. ‘I have business with the mayor. Which one is he?’

I shoved the coin deep into the pocket of my apron. ‘My father,’ I said proudly.

‘How convenient,’ the stranger said, still not looking at me. He sounded bored.

‘I can introduce you, if it please you. He’s over there, by the fountain.

’ Mother was with him, leaning heavily on the stone, already worn out despite having spent half the day in bed.

She’d told me to enjoy the festivities without her, but I’d dragged her out.

I forced her to come. Perhaps if I’d left her behind, she would have seen the next one.

The stranger’s eyes narrowed, then he turned to me and bowed low, beckoning me towards the square. ‘Lead on.’

My pride curdled into regret. Something felt wrong. But what could he do in front of all of Orlfen? Swallowing, I squared my shoulders and led the wolf to the deer.

I regretted my decision more with every step, but the prince was entirely at ease, indifferent to the whispers following us as he strode through the crowd, growing louder still when he rested a cold hand upon the back of my neck.

Father lunged forward the moment he saw me, grabbing my arm and dragging me behind him. The stranger snatched his hand away and held it up in mock submission, as though his touch had been nothing more than a careless accident.

‘Can I help you?’ Father asked.

‘Your daughter offered to introduce me,’ the stranger said. ‘I mean her no harm.’

Father combed his eyes over the stranger, taking in his finery piece by piece. The knot of suspicion between his brows loosened, making way for unease. ‘Who are you?’

The stranger put an elegant hand on his chest and bowed.

‘I am Fürst Raleigh Linford von Rostenburg, the tenth Prince of Rostenburg and Count of Triz.’ He spoke like a prince too: polished, perfect.

It was a voice you knew you had to obey, though he seemed to take great care in making it sound effortless.

‘I’d say it’s a pleasure, but really I am returning to my lands after some time abroad and’— his lip twitched—‘I have found them vandalised.’

Father stiffened, then bowed low. ‘Welcome home, Your Serene Highness. I am Juri Wagner—’

‘I know who you are,’ Prince Raleigh interrupted. ‘What did you do to the dam?’

‘The … What?’

The prince tilted his head to one side, studying my father closely. ‘The dam,’ he repeated. ‘There used to be a dam in the mountains south of Orlfen. Why did you destroy it?’

‘There hasn’t been a dam here for hundreds of years,’ Father said. ‘Sir,’ he added quickly.

The prince did not respond. He spun slowly, surveying the rest of the townsfolk, as though one of them might reveal an alternative truth.

Father wasn’t lying. The mountains wore scars from a dam that had collapsed centuries ago, but we’d never understood why our ancestors had ever built one.

Rain was sparce on this side of the mountains and we relied on the glacial river for everything: drinking, cleaning, irrigation for the farms downstream.

To build a dam would cut off our very life source. It would be suicide.

The prince turned back to my father, steepling his fingers, his nails pushing against each other.

They were too long to belong to hands accustomed to labour.

Too long to belong to anything that didn’t kill to survive.

‘Then build a new one,’ he said, his words calm and measured.

His smile vanished. ‘I cannot access my lands when there’s a river in the way. ’

I wondered if Father was cold. I’d never seen him shiver like that before. ‘My prince, with all due respect, that’s impossible. We use—’

The prince raised a hand and my father fell silent. He stared at Father for one long, considered moment, then stepped closer, so they were practically nose to nose. ‘Who are you to refuse me?’

‘I am only looking out for our people,’ Father said, holding his gaze. ‘I live to serve.’

This I knew to be a lie. Father was the only leader most of us had ever known. Orlfen thrived under his guidance, while the rest of Rostenburg suffered under the neglect of a long absent ruler. His loyalty was to Orlfen, not the line of princes who left it to rot.

‘Splendid,’ Prince Raleigh said. ‘Kneel for me.’

Father tensed. ‘Excuse me?’

‘Kneel.’ The prince’s expression was impossible to read. ‘Or would you prefer not to? I’m sure there are any number of loyal men here who would be more than happy to take on the title of Mayor. The choice is yours, of course.’

To this day, I’m glad I never saw my father’s face in that moment. The tremble in his shoulders said enough. He sank to one knee and bowed his head. Prince Raleigh bent at the waist and scooped his chin in one hand, forcing my father to look up at him.

‘I own this town,’ he said. ‘And everything in it. The crops. The houses. The livestock.’ His eyes skimmed the crowd as if daring someone to step forward and contest him.

‘When I build a dam to access my land, I expect it to be maintained. You’re the mayor.

’ He tightened his grip, nails digging into Father’s cheek. ‘You are responsible.’

‘It was before our time …’

The prince released him, pushing him back with a flourish. I noticed the way our neighbours averted their eyes, and his humiliation seared through me as if it were my own.

‘Why can’t you use the bridge?’ I cried.

There is a kind of silence deeper than silence.

When the wind stills and the insects stop chirping and the whole world feels like it’s balancing on the finest of threads.

That was the silence my words summoned, though I was too young to understand it.

My mother tore me away, a frantic apology falling from her lips, but I jutted out my chin and wriggled out of her arms.

The prince seemed to juggle two decisions in his mind. To this day, I don’t know whether or not to be relieved that he spared me. Surviving was hardly a mercy.

He crouched low so that he could speak to me on my level. It was the sort of patronising thing adults did when they were trying to be respectful, but I had the feeling he knew exactly what he was doing. ‘What good is a bridge to me?’

We should have realised what he was then. If we had, we might have acted early enough to save the lives of so many.

Prince Raleigh straightened up without waiting for a response.

He moved towards Mother, who stepped backwards so quickly I thought she would stumble on the cobbles.

The prince caught her wrist and dipped his head low as if he meant to kiss her hand.

When his lips were skimming distance from her flesh, they locked eyes.

‘You don’t have to live like this,’ the prince said.

Father wedged himself between them. Mother staggered back, but the prince remained where he was, unbothered by my father’s fury mere inches from his face.

‘That’s my wife.’

‘Condolences.’

I’d never realised until that moment that a smile could be a form of cruelty.

The prince stepped away. ‘Rebuild the dam,’ he said. ‘I will not ask again.’

‘You’ll cut off our water supply.’

‘Be thankful I don’t cut off worse.’ He took another step. Then he turned back, eyes on my mother again. ‘I’ll see you again very soon.’

I’ll never forget how hard she squeezed my hand.

It was the last time she ever would.

No one breathed until he had weaved his way out of the square and disappeared into the darkened streets beyond. The festive atmosphere had well and truly evaporated. Even we children knew nothing would ever be the same again.

Mother died two days later, her veins drained of blood, her throat pierced by two perfect puncture marks.

We burnt her body, though no adult would tell me why. For once it was Yann who had the answer for me, but he would only whisper it once he knew we were alone, away from the flames of the pyre.

‘She can’t come back if there’s no body.’

Father had the dam rebuilt, and as the lake in the mountains grew, the valley began to wither. The stories we told of the prince were no longer fairytales, and they were only ever whispered.

Over a decade passed before I saw the prince again. He visited Orlfen frequently, but never in daylight. No one ever saw him, though we knew when he had visited a home. We’d all grown used to the smell of burning bodies; no one dared risk burying the dead he left behind.

But one day I would meet him again.

One day, I would marry him.