CH. 4 The Parade of Monsters
I didn't mean to spy. Really.
I was just walking — innocently, beautifully, witchily — when I heard strange noises behind a thicket. Giggling. Grunting. Gasps. It sounded like someone choking on a frog. Naturally, I assumed someone was dying.
So I peeked.
Two humans were writhing together on the grass, all tangled limbs and heavy breathing.
I squinted.
Is this... bam bam?
It didn't look half as interesting as my customers made it sound. Aunt Agitha used to say people lose their minds doing it — but this looked more like two pigs trying to win a wrestling match.
I leaned forward, whispering, "Maybe they're doing it wrong."
A man's voice cut through the air, cold and sharp as a knife.
"Doing it wrong again, brother?"
The woman froze. The man — handsome, golden, and very naked — turned, startled.
"Sorien," he hissed. "You shouldn't be here."
"Neither should you," Sorien said, stepping into the moonlight. The way his sword glinted told me this was not going to end with polite conversation.
He tilted his head. "Tell me, Farro, do you even remember who you're supposed to be? While our father lies dying, you're out here spilling your seed on common ground. You shame us all."
Farro scowled. "You don't command me."
Sorien's smile was beautiful and horrifying. "Not yet."
Steel flashed.
The scream that followed sent a flock of crows bursting from the trees.
Farro collapsed, clutching himself. His lover shrieked and scrambled away, covering her eyes.
I slapped both hands over my mouth to stifle a gasp.
Blood. So much blood.
And on the grass —
Another figure emerged from the shadows — tall, cloaked in black velvet, moving like smoke. He didn't even flinch at the scene. From beneath his cloak, he drew a small jar filled with emerald-green fluid.
Calmly, he picked up the severed flesh, slid it into the jar, and sealed it tight.
Huh. Efficient.
Farro's howl broke into a ragged growl. "You mad bastard! You'll pay for this, Sorien!"
Sorien crouched beside him, calm even as blood stained the grass between them. His voice was low, almost weary. "You talk too much, brother. And think too little."
His gaze shifted to the cloaked man nearby.
"Hegar."
The man bowed his head. "Yes, my Prince."
"Keep it safe."
Hegar nodded and slipped the sealed jar into his cloak.
Sorien rose, cleaning his blade with measured care. "Listen well, Farro. The Seven Challenges are coming. I want you to stand among us — not broken, not caged. As my equal."
Farro spat blood, his eyes wild. "You can't win without me, is that it?"
Sorien's mouth curved, but there was no humor in it. "I could win a thousand times without you. But victory means nothing if it's not earned."
He turned toward his horse, his voice sharpening — not cruel, but deliberate. "Join the Challenges, Farro. Prove yourself, and you'll have what's yours again. If you even show up."
I pressed myself flat against the tree, heart pounding. The scent of blood was thick in the air — copper and arrogance.
"Hik hik hik," I whispered nervously. "What a lovely family."
The cloaked man turned his head — straight toward me.
I froze.
Did he see me?
When he began walking my way, my witch instincts screamed. I spun around, trying to make myself smaller, praying he'd pass.
But his voice, low and raspy, stopped me cold.
"Witch."
The voice freezes my blood. I look up — straight into a pair of eyes black as tar. The cloaked man stands inches away, close enough that I can smell herbs and ash on his breath. His face is like mine when I'm not cursed — warts, long nose, crooked grin, utterly magnificent. My heart skips.
Oh my. What a fickle heart I have. Hik hik hik.
"Why did you leave your area?" he asks. His voice is rough and deep — the kind that wraps around your bones.
I blink, forgetting to breathe. "Oh. I wanted to see the parade."
"Where's your Supreme?"
My brain whirs. He's a witch with a prince, which means his loyalties are... confusing. Dangerous. I decide to play dumb.
He narrows his eyes. "You didn't ask for permission, did you?"
"Umm. Yeah. Sort of."
"Come." He turns away, cloak swirling behind him. "You can stick with me until the parade ends."
I trail after him, grinning like an idiot. He's the first male witch I've ever met, and he's glorious. Maybe he'll let me stay with him afterward. I am, after all, of marrying age — and even if he's twice my age, love knows no wrinkles.
"Are you married?" I ask sweetly.
He arches an eyebrow but says nothing.
"Separated? With children, perhaps?"
"My Prince," he interrupts suddenly, stopping in his tracks and bowing.
My forehead smacks his back. "Ow!" I squeal, rubbing my head — and freeze when I see who stands before us.
It's him — the prince with the horse.
"Who's that with you?" Prince Sorien asks, his voice lazy but laced with venom. His sneer could curdle milk.
"She's lost," my handsome witch — Hegar, apparently — replies. "Wants to see the parade."
"Nothing worth seeing," Sorien mutters, swinging onto his horse. "Just peasants pretending to be alive."
I keep my head low, hood shadowing my face.
"You're too kind, Hegar," Sorien says dryly. "Sometimes I wonder if you're really a witch."
Hegar whistles, summoning a brown mare. He lifts me effortlessly onto the saddle, mounts behind me, and my stomach does an embarrassing flip. I am very aware of how close we are.
We follow Sorien through the thinning trees until the forest spills open into chaos — color, laughter, blinding light. The Lunar Parade.
Children chase each other through the streets, ribbons fluttering, lanterns glowing gold. The noise is overwhelming. I miss my hut. And my spiders.
"Take it all in, witch," Hegar murmurs against my ear. His breath is hot, sending shivers down my neck. "Your curiosity might kill you."
When the crowd sees Sorien, they drop to their knees, foreheads touching the dirt. Sorien barely glances at them, riding forward with a look of utter boredom.
"Keep your head down," Hegar warns.
We pass through rows of bowing peasants until a massive canopy appears, draped in silver and gold. At its center sits a man laughing — Prince Gavin. The middle brother. The face alone screams vanity.
"Sorien!" Gavin calls, raising his cup. "What took you so long? Have you seen Farro? Probably still fooling around somewhere!" He chuckles, winking at a maid who blushes to the roots of her hair.
Sorien ignores him, dismounting and taking a grape from a golden platter as if he owns the place. He eats it slowly, expression unreadable.
I glance around. No King. No Queen. Only their spoiled sons playing gods among mortals.
Hegar leads his horse to a makeshift stable behind the canopy. He dismounts without offering me a hand — how rude — so I hop down myself.
"You can watch the parade from here," he says. "It may take an hour before it starts. Gavin will insist on waiting for Farro."
Given that Farro is currently missing a vital organ, I doubt he'll show.
I nod. "Okay."
"Don't do anything foolish," he warns before vanishing into the crowd.
I lower my hood and blend among the people. My eyes dart from stall to stall, soaking it all in. The noise. The smells. The sheer ugliness of joy.
"Care for a durian?" calls a wrinkled woman behind a small fruit stand.
I pause. The fruit is spiky and smells like rotting meat. Delightful. I step closer.
"Oh my, what a beauty you are!" the woman gasps.
I nearly gag. "What is this?"
"It's called a durian. Here, taste." She hands me a small piece with dirt-caked fingers.
I sniff, detecting no witch blood, then pop it into my mouth. "Mmm. This is actually quite good."
The woman grins, pressing a whole fruit into my hands. One of its spines pricks my finger. Before I can react, she catches the drop of blood — and licks it.
I stare in horror as her face twists, bones cracking, skin warping into something monstrous. When I blink, she's normal again.
"Tasty, tasty," she says in a voice not her own.
The hair on my neck rises. I drop the fruit and run.