A Spark in the Shadows (Light and Shadows #1)

C H A P T E R O N E

C H A P T E R O N E

Olwyn

“P -please, I swear I don’t know of any rebellio n? —”

The man’s voice trembles, the words breaking as he drops to his knees, hands clasped together in desperation. His ragged brown britches and dirt-marked shirt hang loosely on his frame, streaks of grime and sweat smudging his face.

The large man before him moves in a blur. The man’s cries are abruptly silenced when his mouth descends onto the merchant’s neck. The vampire lifts him effortlessly, gripping him like a ragdoll, and I must swallow my gasp as I hide behind a stall.

A vampire.

He finishes draining the man and drops him to the ground. Blood gushes out, a crimson torrent against the pale, windswept sand. The ground drinks it greedily, and a dark stain spreads outward, inching towards the cracked cobblestones that border the narrow city streets.

What in Corph’s name has happened? Why is there a vampire here?

I cover my mouth to muffle my breath, which feels like hot gusts of wind against my palm, and creep behind the canvas of two run-down tents, the fabric frayed and stained with smoke and years of neglect. I avoid nipping past the vampire as he dumps the man’s body on the ground, knowing I’ll likely be next if he catches me.

Vampires haven’t darkened our streets in months, not since the last chill of winter faded and the rains came, an d? —judging from the screams that pierce the silence around me, the smell of copper in the ai r? —some shit is happening right now. They’ve never resorted to killing the civilians.

The vampire turns as I peek through a hole in the fabric seeing inside the tent a small stretch of street beyond and revealing the armour the vampire wears—emblazoned with a white flame . My blood runs cold, a chill creeping up my spine as if death’s hand had brushed against me. Only King Draven’s elite warriors bear that mark—the white flame against the black leather—the warriors he sends into war. These are his men.

If this is the end—if King Draven’s vampires are here to wipe us out—I must get away from the market, now. My mind races. Vampires don’t need to feed on humans, but I’ve been told that never stops them from killing just for sport.

The human palace—it looms in the distance like a granite sentinel, its towering walls promising sanctuary or perhaps a tomb if the vampires have already made it there. It’s a long shot, but the only place that might hold against these creatures. I take a shaky breath and steel myself. Staying here is certain death. I just need to move fast, stay low, and pray I’m not seen.

Dying in the market is a sobering thought. I wonder what my mother will think if she finds out her only child has perished in such a place, after stealing food, of all things. I might never see her again, never hear her scold me for risking my life like this. If only I’d stayed in my chambers.

But the vampires control all the imports of food into Avantra, and don’t they just love to keep their cattle underfed? Try to diminish our strength as much as possible, to keep us weak.

It all stems from a history written in blood—centuries-old conflicts where human rebellions nearly toppled entire vampire strongholds. Long before the vampiric lords carved out their kingdoms, humans had discovered ways to fight back, using witchsilver and ancient magics capable of turning the tide.

To prevent future uprisings, the vampires learned that control over resources was control overpower itself. Keep the humans hungry, and they’ll be too preoccupied with survival to dream of revolution. Starve them just enough, and they won’t have the strength to rally against their immortal overlords. That doesn’t stop the vampires fighting amongst themselves of course.

I freeze as the vampire sniffs the air, his dark eyes snapping to the tent, and to my exact position crouching behind the material.

With a quick lunge, I hurl myself sideways, rolling just in time as the vampire’s sword slices through the tent like paper. The blade misses my neck by inches, and I scramble to my feet, heart pounding.

“Come here!” the vampire snarls, lunging for me.

Without a second thought, I snatch a small iron pot from the ground and hurl it with all the strength I can muster. It sails through the air and smashes into the vampire’s face, the force jerking his head to the side with a sickening thud. He snarls in surprise, eyes narrowing as the impact slows him only momentarily.

I don’t wait to see the full effect. I’m already sprinting, throwing myself over a low wall and plunging deeper into the maze of city streets as fast as my legs can carry me, my heart hammering in my chest.

Vampires are quick, much too quick. But I know every alley and twist of this city, and I’m not going to let some bloodsucking animal catch me tonight. I hear him crashing behind me, and I sprint faster, the narrow streets working to my advantage. The streets are so close-knit, but when I reach the palace courtyard, I need to be smart.

I can hear him growling not too far behind. But I run and skip between buildings, glad I had chosen to wear my ragged brown breeches, and not one of the flowy dresses my mother often forces upon me.

“Stop!” The vampire's voice rips through the streets behind me, and I dodge carts, barrels, citizens running for their own lives. They see me and their eyes widen, scrambling out of my way as they flee from the vampire.

“Shit, shit, shit.” I curse when I round the corner. People scream and run in every direction, but the gates are closed, no doubt to stop them from entering the palace. Panic twists in my chest as I skid to a halt, eyes scanning the chaotic scene. Are the king and queen keeping their own people out? The question gnaws at me, a momentary spike of doubt that feels like a dagger to the gut. Or is the situation outside the palace walls so dire that even civilians are being denied sanctuary?

I send a silent prayer up to the gods as I make a sharp right, desperation surging through my veins. A sharp cry leaves my mouth as I smack my shoulder hard against the corner of a brick wall, pain flaring through the joint. But there’s no time to pause, no time to think. I grit my teeth and keep moving, weaving through the crowd and searching for any way to break through the chaos.

The adrenaline running through me won’t allow me to stop, not while the vampire is so close. I vault onto a trader’s cart abandoned by the courtyard wall, its wheels creaking under my weight, splinters tearing at my palms as I climb the stacked boxes to climb onto the wall edge.

The vampire comes skidding around the corner, his leather boots leaving faint marks on the wet cobblestone path.

“There you are, you little rat!” he growls, baring his sharp fangs.

I try to scramble away, rolling over the wall’s edge. My body twists awkwardly in midair, and I slam into the courtyard below with a jarring thud. Pain explodes through my side as the breath is knocked out of me, and for a moment, the world spins. I struggle to pull in air, my vision swimming.

Can’t breathe.

I struggle to catch my breath as I push myself up, my hand warming against the cool stone. I dart towards the grand palace doors.

But the doors are already open… and all I can smell is blood in the air.

Pain sings from my shoulders, spreading like wildfire down my spine, making my feet stall stupidly as if rooted to the ground. A yank of my hair has my eyes watering as the vampire's other hand clamps around my throat, cutting off my air supply.

The night air is thick, suffused with the sickly-sweet scent of blood, clinging to my nostrils like a second skin, mingling with the acrid tang of sweat and the stale, musty odour of the city streets—streets that reek of rotting wood, wet earth, and the faint, lingering traces of spice from the market stalls now overturned in chaos. It’s suffocating, almost as much as the vampire’s grip on my throat. My senses blur and swim, my vision edges with darkness, but I latch onto the pain like a lifeline—a cruel, jagged thread that keeps me conscious, keeps me tethered to the here and now. Each throb of agony is a reminder that I’m still alive, still fighting, even as my breaths grow ragged and desperate.

“Got you, ya little bitch,” he growls triumphantly.

“T-took you… long enough,” I choke out as I try to grin, despite losing my bloody air.

He releases me with a sneer, but my legs betray me, wobbling like jelly, muscles quivering as if they’ve forgotten how to hold my weight, and he backhands me across the face. My neck hurts as my head snaps to the side, and all I see is white-hot stars as I try to clear my vision. I taste blood in my mouth and feel a stinging sensation on my cheek where he struck me.

Raising a trembling hand, I wipe away the drop of crimson that has formed on my lip.

He chuckles at the withering glare I send his way, his pupils dilating as it fixates on the blood on my hand. His grip on my arm tightens as he pulls me forcefully against his chest. The musky scent of his breath, thick with the metallic tang of blood, makes me cringe and turn away in disgust. I can feel his heart beating through his chest, a rapid thumping that matches the wildness in his eyes.

“You smell delicious,” he sneers, his lips curling as he twirls a lock of my silver hair through his free hand. “Perhaps I should take a bite now?”

I lock eyes with him, determined to stand my ground despite the terror creeping up my spine. My throat tightens as I bite back a scream for help, refusing to let him see my fear.

“Do it,” I challenge him with false bravado. “I'm sure your king will be elated when he finds out you have drained the princess of Avantra.”

For a split second, I see doubt flicker in his eyes, his grip on my arm loosening just a fraction. But then his lips curl into a sly smile, and a shiver of unease runs down my spine. “There is no princess of Avantra.”

I smile and feel the sting of my split lip as it pulls. But there is a glint of fear in his eyes as he leans in closer.

“You lie,” he hisses, leaning forward so his bloody teeth grit in my face.

I laugh in his.

“Try it,” I mock him. “Only one way to find out.” As I speak, I feel the adrenaline coursing through my veins, readying myself.

This is it. This is where I die. The thought sends a shiver of cold terror through me, but I force myself to stay focused. I can’t let him see my fear. I can’t let him win.

I brace myself for uncertainty and fear to flicker across his face if he does believe me, but what I see instead chills me to the bone. A sly smile creeps onto his lips as his eyes dart towards the palace doors behind me.

“Luckily for you, we can prove it right now. His Majesty is waiting inside.”

Panic rises, a hot, churning wave in my chest, threatening to break free and drag me under, but I force it down, forcing myself to stay in control.

I must think.

I must survive.

I swallow the bile rising in my throat, but I casually shrug my shoulders, trying to hide the unease building inside me. “Well then, let's not keep the king waiting.”

He laughs, pulling me forward. I stumble trying to keep up with his large strides, but he drags me along, uncaring if I fall. The palace is a shambles, its former grandeur reduced to a broken shell. Torn fabric hangs like ghostly shrouds from the smashed windows, fluttering in the breeze like the wings of trapped birds, and guards lay slain upon the floor, their throats ripped out…

But only guards. Where are the servants?

I can hear commotion coming from the throne room, where my parents must be. My throat thickens with fear at what I’m about to see… if they’re still alive.

When we enter, I see them, kneeling and broken, a mix of relief and despair floods through me. They’re alive, but at what cost? The sight of King Petr, my father, trembling like a leaf, and my mothe r? , Queen Alexi s? , eyes wide with terror, makes my stomach twist. I must stay strong for them.

But their figures are shrouded by a murky, all-encompassing shadow that seems to be closing in on them. The dim light from the flickering torches barely cuts through the darkness, making it seem like they are trapped in a never-ending night. There are a few vampires standing behind them, each looking bloody and triumphant.

And before them all… before them, standing tall and imposing, is the man that has haunted me in my nightmares for most of my life. The vampire who betrayed his own king to claim the throne for himself.

The vampire King Altair Draven, who can wield darkness.

He turns and…

Oh .

I was expecting a formidable, death god-like creature, with monstrous features. Instead, death is… beautiful. But the beauty does nothing to ease the terror crawling up my spine. My heart races, a wild drumbeat against my ribs, but I force myself to stand straight, to meet his gaze without flinching.

His dark hair cascades in loose waves, hiding his pointed ear s? —a trait he cannot hide that marks him as a vampire, closely related to the dark fae. A black earring hangs from one lob e? as his inky strands curl gently at the ends, grazing just past a strong, rugged jawline. Muscled arms and shoulders hidden underneath finely tailored leathers. The air around him crackles with an unseen energy, tendrils of shadow curling at his feet, reaching, yearning like lost souls trying to find their way back to the light.

He looks young. He can’t be that much older than me, at twenty-six cycles.

But those eyes.

Eye s? —which I swear widen slightly as he sees me for the first tim e? —one of the blackest nights, and one as blue as the pictures of the sea I have seen… and both are pinned on me, his chest expanding as he inhales deeply.

His expression is intense and not at all welcoming. And it’s heightened by the only imperfection marring his face, a sca r? —long since heale d? —trailing from his hairline and through his eyebrow, past his blue eye and ending on his cheek. Whatever it was would have almost blinded him, but it really doesn’t take away from how gorgeous he is, even if it makes him look more dangerous.

But I know beautiful things can still be weapons, like a polished blade hidden in velvet. My heart pounds in my chest like a war drum, my breath shallow, yet I force myself to meet his gaze, to stare into the black abyss of his eye.

A tall guard on the dais coughs, and the king blinks a few times.

I hear my mother's voice, low and trembling, from her kneeling position in front of her throne. Her black hair is dishevelled, and her face is smudged with kohl from crying. My father kneels next to her in silence, visibly shaking and looking like he may piss himself at any moment. The tall guard standing behind her, in the king’s armour, stares at me, and it makes me fidget where I stand. He stares at me like he has never seen a woman before.

The brute holding me lets go and takes a step back, a smug grin spreading across his face as he surveys the situation. “I have a gift for you, Your Majesty. Caught this one scurrying around the marketplace. Claims she's the princess.”

I force myself to ignore my mother’s pleading, the desperation in her voice clawing at my resolve. “She’s no one!” she cries out, and my father’s grip tightens on her arm as she scrambles forward. “She’s mad! Just the city cra z? —”

I glance over my shoulder at the guard. “I am not making a claim, I am stating a fact. Or are you as unintelligent as your appearance suggests?” My jaw clenches as I turn and lock eyes with the king, and my pulse races, but I don’t bow, don’t lower my gaze. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing me cower like my parents. But it is unsettling to insult someone holding me prisoner, not knowing how they will react.

The king’s gaze remains fixed on me, and for a heartbeat, I catch a flicker of surprise in his expression.

Behind me, the guard shifts restlessly.

“Why you little—” the guard’s voice starts to rise in anger.

“What happened to your face?” The king's words are like shards of ice, cutting through the tense atmosphere.

“What happened to yours?” I ask with a smile, hearing my mother suck in a gasp.

I feel every eye on me, the judgment, the shock, and the anticipation. The guards’ shifting stops, leaving only the low crackle of the torch flames to fill the oppressive quiet.

But the king’s lips curve into a thin, unsettling smile. He tilts his head, eyes glinting with a dark, almost playful amusement.

“I’ll ask one more time. What happened?” His voice is deep and smooth, too calm, too composed—a tone that makes my breath hitch, as if he’s already decided my fate, and I’m merely awaiting judgement.

But that’s not the only thing that takes my breath away. It’s the flash of his two sharp canines as he speaks.

My stomach rolls.

And why has the temperature in the room plummeted suddenly?

I look up and his gaze startles me.

The viciousness in it.

No. This is it. I can feel the inevitability of it like a vice tightening around my lungs—he’ll kill me, and there will be nothing left but a stain on the cold stone floor. His gaze pins me like an insect under glass, and I fight the urge to shrink away, to hide from the rage radiating from his dark, fathomless eyes.

His guard takes two steps in front of me. “She was—”

“I was asking her .”

My throat tightens as I struggle to speak under his scrutiny, my eyes darting nervously between the two men.

Well, if I’m going to die, I might as well do it being myself.

“Your guard is slow on his feet,” I say boldly. “But luckily for him, he's quicker with his hands.” I tilt my chin up, wearing my injuries like a badge of honour. I refuse to let them embarrass or intimidate me.

“Olwyn,” my mother hisses, and the tall guard's lips part.

I can feel her disapproving gaze on me, but I will not back down. I won’t cower like them before this creature. If he is going to kill me, he can do it whilst I stand.

But the brute behind me laughs, as if proud of himself. As if he hasn’t realised I just insulted him, not praised him.

The tallest guard standing behind my mother, frowns, a glare aimed at his comrade. He runs a hand through his honey brown hair, shaking his head.

The king's head tilts, reminiscent of a feline's movemen t? —sharp and intimidating.

In the blink of an eye, crimson splashes across my vision. The guard who had marked my face is now a ruin of flesh and bone, his limbs severed and flung apart like a child’s broken toys, his head rolling to a stop near my feet. His mouth hangs open in a silent scream, eyes wide and glassy with the shock of death. I want to scream, to wail at the senseless brutality of it, but my throat seizes up, trapping my voice like a bird in a cage. A metallic scent fills my nostrils as droplets of his blood cling to my skin.

I’m going to be sick, but I bite down on the inside of my cheek to keep from retching.

My mother's cry echoes through the room, while my father doubles over in disgust and horror at the gruesome sight. The sound of retching mixes with the overwhelming stench of death and decay that now permeates the air.

The king’s face is a mask of indifference, carved from cold marble, devoid of any trace of remorse or humanity. His eyes are now black pools, empty of mercy, reflecting only the cold, hard glint of power and control. Shadows ripple around him like living things, retreating from the bloodied corpse with an almost sentient reluctance, as if they crave to finish what they’ve begun.

“I told you not to harm any civilians,” the king says.

As if the guard can hear him now.

“Nikolas,” he directs at one of the guards. “Go and check on my men. Punish anyone ignoring my orders.” One of the guard nods and leaves.

There is no trace of remorse or humanity in King Draven’s expression. As a vampire, he is not a creature of emotions, but of power and control.

But his shadows curl back, away from the body they have just torn apart, and slither back into place around him. One shadow drifts close to me, a thin, dark tendril that snakes forward, reaching out like a curious finger to brush my skin. I jerk away, my heart pounding in my chest, the chill of its presence lingering on my arm like a bruise, and I swear I hear a low, whispering hiss of disappointment.

I glance back at my parents, their faces twisted in terror and disbelief. My mother's hands are clasped tightly to her chest, her blue eyes wide with fear. My father's face is pale and drawn, his grip on my mother's hand shaking. I am not surprised by his silence—he always prefers a drink to confrontation, leaving my mother to bear the weight of ruling. When faced with larger men, he becomes a coward, retreating into the shadows of his own cowardice rather than standing firm. So I don’t expect any heroic acts or words from him.

The sound of the king’s steps draws my attention, as his black boots walk through the blood, to stand directly in front of me.

I inhale sharply, my breath catching in my throat, bracing myself for the stench of rot and decay I expect to cling to him like a shroud. But instead, there is a faint scent—patchouli on a soft breeze, delicate and unexpected, tinged with something darker, like a whisper of midnight air. It twists around my senses, masking the danger beneath.

My body freezes, every muscle locking in place as his hand reaches out. His fingers are cool as they grip my chin, surprisingly gentle, the touch of a predator toying with its prey. He tilts my face towards his.

His black eye flashes the faintest shade of blue—a flicker so quick, so subtle, that I almost convince myself I imagined it. But no… it isn’t fully black. I see it now, within its depths—shadows, swirling like smoke trapped in glass, moving with a life of their own. My breath catches, a sharp intake that chills my lungs.

“You’re the princess?’ His whisper cuts through the thick silence, a blade of sound that slices through my thoughts. The disbelief in his voice is faint, almost masked by a darker, more dangerous undertone, as if he’s tasting the words, savouring them. “This is the one the prophecy speaks about?”

My heart falls into my stomach.

He knows.

He has found out.

My mother throws herself to the floor.

“I swear Your Majesty, she is no one. She has no powers—”

“Silence!” he snaps, the king's gaze fixed on me, his expression unreadable.

My eyes narrow as his own travel over my face, my hair, my eyes. I can feel his piercing stare burning into my skin and I can't help but shrink back a little.

“I finally found you,” he says so quietly.

His hands move in a blur, too fast for my eyes to track, and then— crack !—a blinding, white-hot agony shoots through my arm. I scream, the sound raw and desperate, as my shoulder is wrenched back into place with a brutality that steals my breath. Pain flares, burning through the fog of shock, and I clutch at my shoulder, feeling the jagged edges of torn muscles beneath my skin. But his voice cuts through the agony.

“Hiding her from me is enough to warrant your deaths, but planning a rebellion on top?” The king tuts, releasing me and turning gracefully.

A rebellion? My mind races with confusion, remembering the man’s words in the marketplace. The two vampire kings have held control over the human lands for decades, often fighting over stretches of land when they have a disagreement. Have my parents been plotting against them? Sick of the poor state in which we must live in? If they have, this is the first I have heard about it.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” he mocks them and his guards chuckle. Their laughter echoes through the throne room, making it feel more like a dungeon than a place of royalty.

My mother mutters. “P-please, Your Majesty—”

“What are we going to do to rectify this situation?” He asks.

There is nothing I can do but helplessly watch my parents plead for their lives. The shadows peel themselves away from the walls, rippling and fluttering like dark moths drawn irresistibly to his side. They move with a strange, almost sentient grace, curling around his feet, twining up his legs, as if they’re alive, as if they hunger for his command. Another ribbon of darkness slithers toward me, cautious, like a wary beast, and I cringe away again, my skin crawling.

But when I see him take a step towards my parents my heart pounds in my chest and I take a step of my own, not even registering the blood staining my boots as I try to steady myself.

The king's head turns slightly, hearing the movement, his eyes fixed on me with amusement. The large guard with curly honey-brown hair watches me with curious eyes, his head tilting slightly as if trying to figure me out.

“I don't know what rebellion you speak of,” I say, “But they only kept my magic a secret to protect me. I-I can’t even use it.”

Magic, I scoff internally. The very thing that sets me apart and makes me valuable to the king and his court. It's ironic that I can't even tap into the power supposedly running through my veins.

But it doesn't matter.

The king’s eyes narrow, his gaze boring into me as if he’s searching for something—fear, perhaps, or weakness. When he speaks again, his voice is deceptively soft, like silk brushing over a blade. “Is that what you think?” His gaze doesn’t waver, and I feel as though he’s peeling back my skin with his eyes, searching for something hidden deep inside me.

For a moment the king catches the eye of the large guard who looks between us with a suspicious look on his face.

“I believe,” he says slowly, each word a carefully measured note of menace, “I have found a way for you to repay me.” His eyes, cold and calculating, flick over me like a hawk sizing up its prey before turning back to my parents, who tremble like leaves in a storm.

“Anything, Your Majesty.” My mother's soft whimper echoes through the throne room as she speaks.

The king's deep voice rumbles with satisfaction. “Good. Then I will leave you and your city in peace. No more blood will be shed at my command. And there will be no further talk of rebellion.”

My father is a slow man, but he seems to realise something far quicker than I. His face turns ashen, his eyes wide with horror as the king’s words sink in. I feel the room closing in on me, the air becoming so thick I feel I might choke on it. The king’s smile is slow, deliberate, as he turns to face me fully, his voice as smooth and dangerous as a coiled serpent.

“Because I’ll be taking her. ”