Chapter 3
The LIGHTNER
Seated on a stone bench under the shelter of a whispering aspen, Matthias threw a large stick across the length of the courtyard. Bones dashed after it, returning it to his master’s side with haste. They’d been at this for the last hour. Matthias praised him, brushing his fingers over the wolf’s white fur.
They could do this all day if they wanted to; it wasn’t like there were urgent matters for him to attend to. His father usually dealt with those, choosing to leave Matthias out of such dealings. Not that those said matters ever went unnoticed. If anyone in the Kingdom complained about resource allowances or inadequate services, Matthias would know about it. He made it his business, whether or not his father knew. Only this morning he’d caught a conversation between his father and a villager who was whining about the boundary line on his neighbour’s property. Two grumpy old men fighting about who owns what. Matthias rolled his eyes at the memory.
It was quiet in the courtyard—peaceful even, despite the constant clanging from the forge below. Out here, Matthias usually went undisturbed. He peered at the markings on the back of his hands. There were a few small patches of bareness left that could use a tattoo. It had been too long since he’d visited the woman who offered inking services for a decent price. She was the best in the trade, and Matthias had often frequented her studio over the years. Not only to fill his skin with ornate designs, but because the burning pain would dull his internal ache. The sound of the needle scratching against his flesh was a comfort to him. The pain, a longtime friend.
Bones growled and looked towards the entryway of the courtyard. Matthias followed his gaze as a woman sauntered through, her hips swaying with confidence.
“Well, if it isn’t my two favourite boys, playing a little game together,” she purred.
“What do you want, Jes?” Matthias picked up the stick again and threw it for Bones, who hesitantly trotted off to retrieve it.
Jes stepped beneath the foliage canopy and circled behind Matthias, dragging her slim white fingers and blood-red nails between his shoulder blades. She carefully avoided where his black wings protruded from his back, instead sliding up into the hair on the back of his head. Grabbing a fistful, she yanked it towards her roughly.
“I want to play too,” she whispered into his ear before licking it with the tip of her warm tongue.
Matthias jerked away from her touch. Standing, he turned to face her, his wings brushing against the ground. “Leave me alone Jes.”
“What’s wrong prince, you don’t want to play with me?” Jes smirked as she walked two fingers up his chest.
There was no doubt Jes was a beautiful woman. Her black hair and green eyes were striking against her pale skin, her body curvy in all the right places, but, in her case, beauty was only skin deep.
The mistress whore of a king . . . who often tried, and failed, to weasel her way into Matthias’s bed. Matthias preferred consistency—a woman he could build a relationship with was a very rare occurrence in Oscuro. Most women he met were after money or hierarchy.
Jes was one of these women, and had been around for many years, usually in the archery range competing against Thorns—or upon the lap of the king.
“I don’t like the games you play, Jes. You’re a liar and a cheat,” Matthias said as he took a few steps back from her.
Jes placed one hand on her hip and the other across her heart as she pouted. “I promise to play by the rules.”
Matthias ignored her facial expression, allowing his voice to drop an octave. “My rules say it’s game over.”
Bones emitted a low, threatening growl as she dared to draw near the prince once more. Her audacity stoked the fires of his irritation. Like venomous tendrils, her fingers slithered up his arm—clasping his face. A mockery of a caress, laden with insinuation.
“Well, do let me know if you ever tire of this little game,” Jes taunted, her smirk oozing with disdain, a calculated cruelty that she wielded with glee.
The stench of her need was a constant reminder of how undesirable she was to him. Whether she wanted him to spite his father or if it was because she found him attractive, the prince was never quite sure. Matthias had never given her any indication that he was interested in what she so desperately offered, but that never stopped her from offering all the same.
Matthias’ patience, already fraying, snapped like a brittle twig. With a swift, dismissive gesture, he swatted her presumptuous hand away. His purposeful gaze, cold and unyielding, locked onto hers, a challenge and a warning melded into a single piercing glare.
In response, he stooped to pick up the stick Bones had brought to his side. “I can assure you—his voice dripped with scorn—that such an eventuality will forever remain in the realm of your delusions.”
As he walked away, each step held a resolute assertion of his indifference. He sensed her lingering gaze like a heavy weight, her animosity a festering wound that he paid no heed to. The venom in her eyes, the resentment that clung to her like a shadow, meant nothing to him. Let her wallow in her hatred; it was of no consequence to him.
A bell sounded through the Kingdom and Thorns from all over lifted their voices in a unified roar of victory. Matthias huffed.
A child had chosen Oscuro. His father would be pleased.
Another Thorn to add to his ever-growing army of minions who did his bidding, believing the message that his father preached time and time again. The king claimed that his rival—the King of Lucius—was preparing to go to war against Oscuro, to take away free will, and to diminish the call of darkness once and for all. This divide had been in place since Matthias was old enough to understand. It was all his father ever seemed to talk about. It consumed him. As a young boy, the prince believed every word his father said. Yet no war had ever arrived at their doorstep.
Now, at one hundred and nine years of age, Matthias wondered if it was all a ruse. Something his father had created in his mind to keep himself occupied.
And at this point in his life, Matthias was unfazed at what his father did or didn’t do. He was the King of Oscuro. As long as Matthias was left alone, he could do as he pleased. He knew firsthand what would happen if he ever questioned his father or made him angry. A phantom stab of pain tugged on his bottom lip, a reminder from the last time he’d incurred his father’s wrath.
Walking through the cold stone halls of the palace, Matthias made his way to the rooftop of one of the castle walls, Bones close at his heels. Inside, the palace was noisy and if Jes was going to bother him in the courtyard, he’d find some other place to go. He longed to escape the constant chatter from throngs of wealth-seeking, ladder-climbing, sycophantic Thorns who habitually filled his father’s castle chambers.
The door above the stairwell was already open when he reached the top. As he stepped outside, an unpleasant wind slapped him in the face, rudely reminding him why he hated living in this horrid castle. The wind was either too hot or too cold to be enjoyed. The smell was like a really good wine with a terrible after taste. And then there was the company his father kept. Everything felt wrong, like a glamour had been placed over the entire kingdom and should it slip . . . it would reveal the true identity of what rotted beneath.
He surveyed the land surrounding his stone home, and the bell’s morbid clang sounded again. Its low, dull toll carried a touch of sadness. The bell always rang twice when a Shadowkin chose a kingdom, just in case you missed it the first time.
The scenery stretched for miles further than the eye could see. Different regions painted themselves across the land of Oscuro, housing many villages full to the brim of Thorns. Life was ordinary for those who dwelt in the vast villages of the Kingdom of Oscuro. There were farms to attend to and businesses to run, but all the able bodies attended these tasks with a sense of dread. No one seemed to enjoy what they were doing, and Matthias could never quite work out if it was because his father didn’t invest time into his subjects’ lives or if it was because people here truly didn’t care.
Down below, a harsh clanging to the right of the castle assaulted his ears and echoed through his chest like a drum. Swords clanked and smoke billowed into the atmosphere. Thorns were always down in the dens, creating weapons night and day for a war that might never come. Matthias played his part, though, training in the den with the Thorns and sometimes attending meetings his father held. Keeping up appearances was his forte. To the king’s subjects, he may look like nothing more than a bored prince. Little did they know he held onto every word they spoke.
Sighing, Matthias turned and retreated inside the castle. He reached up and brushed his inked fingers across the frame above his head as he stepped through the doorway. At six feet tall, his physique was muscular, but slim—the body of a fighter.
At least, that’s what he considered himself to be.
It was fight night, and he needed to rest. He was up against Drago tonight, a man who bore many scars, yet spoke few words. The prince had fought Drago before but came out the lesser of the two, and tonight he was determined to be the victor. Street fights had become a part of his life when he was just a youth. A place where he could escape the confines of the palace walls and be free to feel something other than the pitiful glances from the king.
Yet, fighting was for the mature folk, and because Matthias was small in age and build, many men refused to fight him, afraid of what his father would do should they injure the crown prince.
After a few weeks of begging, bribing, and proving himself willing to try, Matthias earned acceptance into the ranks at thirteen years old.
Over the years, he’d honed his skills and, more often than not, fought against men twice his size and walked away as champion. Some Thorns found this offensive and took their anger out on him in dimly lit alley ways in town. Matthias was left with a few cracked ribs and missing wing feathers, but he chalked it up to a new learning experience and returned the following week, ready and willing to take on a new opponent. Gold coins were the prize and each time the victory was his, he’d hide the money away, waiting for the day he could leave the palace for good. To be free. To explore the oceans that surrounded his world. Longing for more than the life he currently lived.
Some place he could think, play his veslo and write his songs in silence.
He’d just reached the bottom of the stairs when a figure emerged from the shadows. The presence of the man sent a shiver up Matthias’s spine. His body instantly knew who lurked before him.
“What do you want, Snake?” Matthias spoke low.
Bones growled softly, as if asking the same question.
“What were you doing on the roof?” Snake glared at him with his beady, yellow eyes.
Matthias huffed and crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t believe I need to answer that question. What I do or don’t do is none of your business.”
“Your father was looking for you earlier, and his business is my business, so I would say you do answer to me. Should I say you were daydreaming on the roof again?” Snake smirked at him as he brushed his thin, blonde hair from his face with a black gloved hand.
“You can tell my father whatever the hell you like and then you can move out of my way before I make you beg for your life.” Matthias raised his brow at the male before him.
Snake had earned his name from fellow Thorns. He was tall and slim, but built with a good amount of muscle. With long blonde hair that reached past his shoulders, he was somewhat attractive, though always appearing when you least expect it and never to be trusted. He was his father’s favoured advisor—someone to do his dirty work. A sneaky, good-for-nothing creature that always lived in the shadow of a king. It wasn’t just his appearance that earned him the name, though.
When he was a boy living in The Grey, a snake had bitten him. It hadn’t killed him, but the poison had tainted the skin on his hand in a brackish green colour—he’d kept it covered with a glove ever since.
“Your father will be so disappointed to hear that instead of leading groups of hauntings through The Grey or putting Thorns in their place, you were instead lazing about the grounds with that animal of yours.” Snake grinned, but it wasn’t pleasant, his off-white teeth gleaming under the low light.
Matthias unfolded his arms and stepped towards the advisor. Grabbing him swiftly by the lapels of his jacket, he caught Snake off guard as he shoved him hard up against the stone wall. “My father is the disappointment. How about you tell him that and piss off?”
Snake hissed as Matthias released him and took a step back.
“Somebody is quite testy today,” the advisor muttered.
Looking his opponent up and down, Matthias decided he wasn’t worth one more breath.
With the conversation over, Matthias offered a rude gesture and moved down the hall. Let the advisor tell his father all about their little incident. He didn’t care in the slightest. The prince already knew how his father felt about him. For his entire life, there’d been a daily, one sided conversation about how pathetic Matthias was. How he was a failure of a prince, a stain on the royal pride. The king would rant about supporting the monarchy, overseeing territories, or representing the Kingdom—all duties that Matthias flat out refused to partake in.
He slammed his bedroom door behind him. Bones flopped down in front of the fireplace and dozed. Matthias sat down at his desk and thought of his cabin in the woods. He sighed as he pulled a small brown leather book from the wooden drawer.
His secret keeper, as he liked to call it, was filled with songs he wrote. He could sit here for hours, playing music on his veslo, but he was so annoyed by the interaction he’d had with the king’s advisor that he couldn’t concentrate. He itched to be free of the palace walls.
“Stay here, Bones,” he said, walking to the balcony from his room. He glanced down below and off either side, ensuring no one was around. Then he simply disappeared, reappearing moments later in a dark alleyway.
This gift of winnowing was given to him upon birth and was very rare. How he received it was unknown to him, and he wasn’t sure his father even knew he could do it. Being the son of an evil king had one perk, it seemed.
Matthias had first discovered it when he was playing hide and seek with Bones out in the woods as a young boy. It hadn’t even been intentional. He told the wolf to stay and then imagined himself running so fast from Bones to the other side of the forest and, within seconds, he was there. Not wanting to get into trouble for his newly found gift, the young prince had kept it to himself.
He’d hidden it ever since.
Shivering with the bite of the cool air, Matthias sauntered out into the pale sun, trying to warm himself with its weak rays. Town wasn’t much better than the palace, but here he knew he wouldn’t run into Snake, Jes or his father. Tucking his wings closer to his side, he moved through the streets with ease.
Music touched his ears and piqued his interest. A man wandered through the crowds with an accordion, playing a tune of sorrow and woe. It told Matthias a tale of love lost but forever forgotten. Thorns wandered about, entering stores or leaving others. The water fountain in the centre of the square trickled with very little water, as if the very statue itself was crying.
Cold hands grasped his arm, and Matthias swung around to see who touched him.
“Please, Your Highness. Those men stole my bag, it has all my belongings in it. I need your help,” the sad-looking woman cried.
Glancing towards where the woman pointed, Matthias pulled his arm free of her clutches. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you. Take the matter up with the king.”
Stepping away from her, the prince moved off towards the shadows. Never once had he feared for his life outside the walls of the castle. Most Thorns paid him no mind. Sometimes, they greeted him with a small nod, but mostly they cowered under his gaze and kept out of his way. Whispers told him he was known amongst the commoners as an exceptional fighter, and he presumed no one dared to test that theory.
The atmosphere grew loud, and Matthias reached for the blade at his hip. Just the touch of the smooth walnut handle against his fingers brought him comfort. The town turned into a blur of muted colour and drunken brawls as the sun began to set.
Sighing, Matthias knew it was time to leave. It would be dinner soon.
He never ate too much before a fight, but that dose of adrenaline earlier with Snake had brought on a small appetite. Finding privacy in a dark alleyway, Matthias winnowed back to his balcony.
Seated already at the long wooden table topped with baked meats, a few varieties of charred vegetables, and a large selection of wine was the king. He didn’t bother looking up as Matthias entered the room. Black wings brushed the ground as the prince seated himself down a few chairs from the king. Matthias liked it that way. His father wasn’t someone whom he cared to join in conversation with very often.
A subtle glance towards his father showed him buried in his plate of food, his black hair framing his face as it skimmed his shoulders, the crown on top of his head slightly crooked and too big. Matthias was certain his father used to be a fine-looking man in his younger years.
But centuries of hatred will make you ugly.
Turning to his plate, which was clumsily placed in front of him by a scared-looking woman, Matthias forced himself to eat, each mouthful tasting like a mix of sweetness and dirt. After finishing as much as he could stomach, he pushed the plate from him. A few courtiers and noble folk were also seated at the table. Jes sat next to the king, and Snake sat next to her.
The advisor threw him a sideways glance, just as ugly as the smirk that danced upon his lips—as if he knew something the prince didn’t.
Matthias cursed under his breath and reached for the blade he carried at his hip, concealed for times like this. Amidst the clamour and the flurry of hands reaching for more wine, coupled with the lively dancers captivating the evening’s audience, his mind was disconnecting. The urge to toy with his blade, to settle his restless mind, grew stronger.
“Attention, Your Highness!” a guard called across the room.
The voice pulled the attention of everyone at the table. The male was tall and muscular, with short blue hair. His wings, black as night, were neatly tucked at his side, and he held a metal helmet in his arms. “Your Highness, we have a special gift that we think you will like very much.” The Thorn grinned.
Commotion sounded in the hall and a female Thorn stepped into the room, dragging a barely conscious female with lilac coloured wings and—
Gold and white Lightner leathers.
The wide-eyed king shot to his feet.
“Caught her snooping around near the Gate of District Seven,” the blue-haired guard added.
Not a soul dared to breathe as they anticipated what the king might do.
After what felt like forever, he approached the prisoner, who seemed to have realised where she currently was, as she tried to free herself from the grips of her captors. Matthias watched as his father roughly took the woman’s chin in his hand—gripping it as he tore the gag from her mouth.
Her dark brown hair was matted with sweat and dirt, and a large, bloody graze stretched from her temple to the bottom of her jaw on the right side of her face. Yet, through the grime, Matthias beheld a woman far more beautiful than any he’d seen before.
It was impossible to tell her age. She looked around twenty-five, but then again—so did he.
“Well, well, well. This is a delightful surprise. What is a Lightner doing here in my kingdom? Come to pay a little visit or to spy on the dark side?” the king sneered.
The woman didn’t speak.
“I asked you a question . . .”
The Lightner kept her eyes on the king and her mouth shut.
Matthias grimaced as the king backhanded her across the face, splitting her wound open once again. Threads of blood fell like red ribbons to the floor.
Remaining silent, she spat at the feet of the king.
He grabbed her by the throat and half pulled her to her feet. “You will answer when I speak to you, Lightner.”
The woman was brave—Matthias would give her that.
Because refusing to answer a king once definitely showed courage . . . a second time was asking for trouble.
“Perhaps a little…incentive–will help her find her tongue?” Snake sneered.
His father glanced at his advisor. “What are you suggesting?”
Matthias watched as Snake dragged his gaze over the woman’s body. Nothing good would come from anything Snake might suggest.
“Well, why don’t we put it to the people, see what kind of entertainment they’d like for the evening?” Snake replied.
The king huffed. “What about you, boy? What should we do with this thing?”
It took a few seconds for Matthias to realise his father was looking at him.
“Why bother with her presence longer than we have to? A night or two in a cell with no food or water would probably make her talk.” Matthias shrugged.
There was no way of knowing whether or not that was true, but it was certainly better than being tortured or . . . worse.
The king shoved his face closer to the Lightner and took a deep breath, smelling her hair. The woman didn’t flinch. “Perhaps he’s right. Maybe I will keep you like a caged animal. Let’s see if that makes you more agreeable. Take her to the cells,” the king said as he placed the gag back into her mouth.
Matthias noted the fear flicker in her eyes for a fraction of a time before the steel gaze returned. The guards reached for her arms, roughly pulling her to her feet, but before she was dragged from the room with mouth gagged and wings bound—the king spoke again. “Oh, and find her something more . . . appropriate to wear. I loathe those colours.”
Matthias wondered what his father would do with her. He shook his head, reminding himself that he shouldn’t care. He was just biding his time until he could be rid of this place once and for all. Until he could live a life of solitude away from this hole.
The event had ruined his appetite, so he rose from the table and exited the room. Fight night would soon begin, and it was time to prepare for the onslaught of Drago.
He would eat later, once the palace was asleep.
In the dim, underground basement that served as a fighting ring, anticipation charged the air. A rowdy crowd of Thorns gathered, their murmurs creating an eerie symphony that hung heavy in the room. The flickering torches cast dancing shadows on the concrete walls, giving an otherworldly feel to the scene.
Matthias stood with a calculating glint in his eyes, every muscle coiled with readiness. He considered his fighting style to be swift, a testament to his cunning agility. Covered only by loose black pants, the prince’s upper body glistened under the glow of the room as beads of sweat formed on his skin. He couldn’t quite determine whether it was truly warm in the basement or if his body simply knew what was coming.
Across from him stood Drago, a hulking figure who exuded power. His blows hit like thunder, but his steps were deliberate, a stark contrast to Matthias’ nimbleness. He’d been waiting for this rematch for a few weeks now. Last time Drago had walked away with the Victor’s Crown, but tonight Matthias was determined to make it his once again.
Raising his fists before him, the prince took the ready position, fear and excitement filling his veins. The crowd’s collective breath held as the signal was given.
The clash was instant, a collision of strategies as different as night and day. Matthias danced like the shadows cast upon the walls. His speed a shield against the brutal blows of his opponent, his lithe form a testament to many years of fight nights in Oscuro. On the other hand, Drago’s brawn was his weapon. Every blow he delivered resounded like a drumbeat, creating shockwaves that rippled through the air.
The prince winced in pain as Drago’s knuckles cracked into his jaw, blood coating his tongue and the taste of metal lining the back of his throat. Matthias knew he was going to feel this for the days to come, but these punches felt different to the ones his father delivered.
Drago hit out of respect . . . the king hit out of hatred.
The dance of combat unfolded in the confined space. Matthias grinned as he weaved, avoiding as many of Drago’s blows as possible. The prince’s tactics became apparent as the fight wore on. His swiftness allowed him to exploit openings in Drago’s defence, landing precise strikes that chipped away at the man’s endurance.
In one fluid motion, Matthias struck a final landing blow, pain bursting across his skin beneath the cloth wrapped around his knuckles.
The impact was proof of precision and strategy over sheer power. Matthias’ strike found its mark—a vulnerable spot left exposed by Drago’s slower movements.
Drago staggered, his massive form swaying like a tree on the brink of collapse. The force of the blow carried him backwards, and he collapsed onto the uneven ground with a thud. The crowd of Thorns, once frenzied with cheers, fell into stunned silence.
Matthias stood there, chest heaving, sweat-slicked and victorious, with blood dripping from the wound on his lip. He blinked in the light of the torches, ears ringing, feeling a blend of exhaustion and triumph.
As the dust settled and the crowd’s astonishment transformed into applause, Matthias emerged as the champion in the heart of Oscuros’ night.