Your Dark Fate

Prologue

Shielded by sheets of rain and lost to the darkness of night, a hooded figure slid down the roof of the castle and landed with a gentle thud on the stone of a circular parapet wall.

He darted along the narrow ledge, curving around the tower toward the window he sought.

Years of keeping to the shadows and seeking out hiding spots to spy on others had proven useful to him as an adult. Being presumed dead had its advantages.

A balcony came into view, the same balcony where the king fifty years before had walked off and fallen to his death due to a sorcerer’s magical influence. A law had been put in place as a result: all magic-wielders were to be executed.

Rain beat a staccato rhythm on the windowpanes as the man spotted a dim light cutting through the black.

Powerful influence over an unsuspecting servant had ensured the latch would be undone.

He pressed his gloved hand against the smooth glass, and the window swung open, effectively announcing his arrival.

Lightning flashed at his back as he stepped through the opening.

The King of Marran jumped from his chair at the intruder’s arrival, the book he’d been reading crashing to the floor. Alarm pulled his eyebrows upward toward his graying hairline. King Mervyn stumbled back, tripping over the chair leg, and clutched a hand in the loose shirt at his chest.

“Guards!” he shouted, but no one came. No flurry of movement sounded outside the room.

“Your guards decided to step away for a moment, I’m afraid.

” The intruder’s low, menacing voice echoed the storm outside.

He kept his hood down, rainwater running off his cloak in streams and soaking the plush patterned rug under his feet.

Thunder rumbled as he took two steps forward, and the king untangled himself from the chair.

“Stay back!” King Mervyn reached to the table on the other side of the chair and grabbed a lit candlestick, holding it high, his steel gray eyes feverish in the dim light.

A single amused chuckle came from the intruder’s throat. The King of Marran hadn’t even bothered to be armed. He truly was a fool. The intruder’s right hand dropped to his belt, and he brandished something sharp and shiny, gleaming in the light of the flame.

The candle shook as a tremor overtook the king’s body. He took another step backward but met a wall, and his deeply lined face drained of all color. “Who are you? What do you want?”

The intruder pulled back his hood.

Disbelief mingled with fear in King Mervyn’s eyes as they roved the face of the man before him. In a shuddering breath, he whispered, “It’s not possible.”

“That I’m alive? That you are at my mercy?” The intruder stepped about the room, twirling the weapon in his hand.

“You tried to have me killed.” The all-too-familiar fury rose in the man’s throat, but he shoved it down.

The mouse was caught in his trap. He had no need for rage here, now.

“You want to know how I survived? The very thing you wanted me dead for. Magic. That forbidden sorcery passed down through my blood saved me in the end.”

The king’s throat bobbed, his wide eyes locked on the man before him. Light from the candle caught on a thin line of sweat beading across his brow.

“And as for the second question,” the intruder continued, angling his head to the side.

“What do I want from you?” His voice dropped to a deadly decibel, rough as stone and sharp as a knife.

“I want you to suffer. I want you to watch your kingdom crumble, helpless to do anything about it. I want you to know the same misery you inflicted on me.”

In a flash, the man closed the distance between himself and the king, gripping King Mervyn by the hair and jerking his head back to display his neck. The king didn’t put up a fight, powerless to resist with the magic that controlled his mind—a victim of the sorcerer’s influence.

“How poetic that a sorcerer is again the downfall of a king.” The intruder didn’t hide his sneer as he nearly whispered the words. “You may kill all the magic-wielders you can find, but it can’t save you. It only takes one.”

He brandished a long silver needle and pierced a vein in the king’s neck. “What do I want, you ask?” The man leaned forward, his thumb pressing the plunger to dispense the poison as his lips curled beside the king’s ear. “I want you to go to hell.”

The king’s eyes bulged as the poison mingled with his blood.

The intruder withdrew the needle and wiped away the drop of blood that remained on the king’s neck before he collapsed to the ground.

The dose wouldn’t kill him, but the man didn’t want it to.

It would incapacitate the king enough for him to witness the fall of his kingdom until the time came for his end.

Without a glance back, the man turned to the window, leaping through and disappearing into the storm.