Chapter 3 #2
I don’t remember his name, but I remember the frisson suffusing the village elders’ voices as they spoke of him.
Prince of Death. The Slayer in the Shadows.
If Deitra is the Hollowlands’ shield, then her brother is the sword.
While their people all but worship the princess for her bravery and tenacity, her brother is whispered to be a pariah. A curse.
The tales terrified Evie, but I was captivated. To be an Elite, to be royalty. . . and yet so feared that your own people reject you. I wondered what it would be like to have that much power. I wondered if he felt more free than I did, or less.
“Rise,” the prince says to the hag. She rises from her curtsey and climbs back onto her chair, but the crowd lingers. We’re all stunned to see a member of the fae High Court in Avedor, but especially him.
A woman hisses, “Our queen wants him executed on sight.”
“Alert the guards, and he’ll slaughter us all,” the orc beside her answers with fearful awe.
The fae prince regards the crowd with a derisive curl of his lips as if their frightened murmuring amuses him. “Be on your way. Or do you enjoy looking death in the eyes?”
Everyone scatters, and he settles his gaze on me.
A shiver curls down my spine. He could’ve stepped right out of a story about the fair high fae, with sharp symmetry like chiseled marble, and otherworldly coldness that darkens his eyes.
It’s said that his kind can induce trance-like adoration in mortals with their looks alone, and gazing at him, I believe it.
So why did I not realize he’s high fae before he revealed his ears?
“And you were saying this doesn’t concern me,” the prince says, trailing a possessive finger down the statuette.
I shake off my shock. “I’ve done nothing wrong.” Who he is doesn’t change that. “There weren’t any fae graves to disturb, just some human skeletons.”
His eyes narrow at me. “Fae disintegrate within hours after death. You wouldn’t have found bodies.”
I want to throttle him, regardless of his rumored power. Evie is dying, and I need that bezoar.
“Did I forget to mention how stolen fae charms are cursed?” He smirks, and I know where he’s going with this. “Having one in your possession risks Danu plotting your most untimely death. I, for one, never gamble against a deity.”
“Neither do I,” the hag croaks. “You may keep your wares, child.”
“I have more jewels.” I place a ruby on the table, so tiny that a huff of air would roll it off. It’s still worth more marks than two dozen pounds of venison. The sapphire I set next to it gleams with the deep blues of the ocean, but she doesn’t even look at it.
“Jewels are mere baubles compared to the nectar of magic, the whispers of history.” Her nails impatiently rap against the table, signaling for us to leave.
The fae strides off as I shove everything into my rucksack. I spare one last glance at the hag, and I stomp after him. Something compelled him to mess with me, and I’m livid at it. His morbid curiosity? Fate? Bad luck? Whatever it was, it will pay.
I grab the fae prince’s shoulder and whip him around. His eyes widen. My fist draws back for a punch before the thought enters my mind.
He effortlessly blocks my strike with his palm. Damn. I wanted to bruise his jaw or break his nose. Anything to mar his stupidly sculpted face.
I flinch as his fingers wrap around mine. His grip is frighteningly strong. We stare at each other, and I realize I’ve just tried to assault the fae who terrifies the entire market. For a heartbeat, I’m afraid.
I swallow. “You have no idea how badly I needed that bezoar.”
“Not badly enough to buy one in Mythos.” He glares at my fist as though he might crush it for touching him. Then the violence suddenly fades.
When he lets go, I wrench my hand away. My shoulder stings with a sharp pain as the clotted dagger wound threatens to open.
“I don’t have marks, but do you know what I do have?
Gems worth a hundredfold more than a damn bezoar, but what does it matter if that hag wants none of it?
Thanks to you, my sister will be dead within hours.
” I keep my voice low, barely containing my rage.
“She’s poisoned?” he asks, unnervingly calm.
I nod.
His brows furrow. “Oh.”
“You don’t get to oh me! She’s going to die and—” My throat chokes, but I force steel into it. “I need your ring. The one with bone in it.”
He crosses his arms, the epitome of regal indifference. “And why would I give it to you?”
This is why I despise the nobility, especially royalty. They would never lift a finger to help a peasant, even in life-or-death circumstances. I’m a fool to think he’ll help me, but I have to try.
“The hag wants it. I’ll trade whatever you want for it.” My voice hitches, turning my offer into a plea. “Even myself.” None of my dreams are worth living if Evie’s gone.
Wary shoppers weave around us. In a shithole like this, survival is knowing not to stick your nose where it doesn’t belong.
That’s a lesson both of us should’ve heeded.
He shouldn’t have ruined my trade to satisfy his own moral compass, and I should know better than to chase after him.
But I can’t let him leave. I need his ring so badly I’m queasy with desperation.
Vital seconds pass, and he doesn’t respond. He just stares at me.