“I will fly ahead,” Arax says. “If there are archers, I will draw their fire.”
I roll my eyes at his noble theatrics, letting my wings shift and stretch, their splay loosening knots I hadn’t even noticed.
“And let you have all the fun?” I scoff. “The only pain I’ve had lately is the endless nagging from the king and queen. An arrow through the flesh might be just what I need to make these dull days more interesting.”
Arax frowns, his voice tight. “Prince Daedalus, I must…”
But before he can finish, I push off the deck, shooting into the air like a stormwyrm bursting from the sea. The wind slams into my wings, and they spread wide, casting a long shadow over the tiny specks of life below.
Old gods, it feels good to be in the air. To rise so high above the noise, where it can’t sting my ears or flood my mind with things I don’t want to hear. Sometimes, I think even the voice I can never escape, the voice of my master, the one that haunts me day and night, can’t reach me up here.
But before I can savor my moment of peace, Arax makes sure to remind me he’s never far behind. His wings beat the wind, a sound that somehow carries his disapproving grumble. I swoop away, pinning my wings back as I dart toward Castle Maledannan.
As I fly over villages, the scent of the humans rises, as pungent as any earthy broth or charred meat. The little people glance up at me, and I can see it in their eyes. The fear. Not just because I’m Fae, or their crown prince, but because I am something beyond what they can understand that fills them with dread. Like the snap of a twig in the dead of night, or the shadow that passes by your window when you’re huddled beneath the covers.
How Arax thinks these fragile creatures could ever threaten the Fae, I’ll never know. Then the weight of my purpose here sinks in, and the lump in my throat unsettles me. I swallow it down before it can spread.
With the castle close, the last thing to pass beneath me is a stretch of forest, its canopy so thick I can see nothing that lies beneath. But as I watch my shadow darken the leaves, I feel a piercing ache rip through me with such ferocity it steals my breath.
At first, I fear I was foolish not to listen to Arax. It has the sharp sear of an arrow tearing through skin. But there is no wound, no blood, and this pain comes from somewhere deeper than flesh. From a place I believed only darkness lingered.
But this sensation is anything but dark. It blinds me just as brightly as this damned sun.
I slow to a stop, my wings beating the air hard as I hover above the forest. I strain my eyes, but there are no gaps between the thick branches and densely packed leaves, no way for me to see what lies below. But I can feel it. Down there. The cause of this agony.
Arax halts beside me.
“My prince. What is it? Is there danger?”
My first instinct is yes. Why else would something like me, something that causes fear, be suddenly…nervous?
“It’s nothing,” I say, more to myself than Arax. I turn, my wings snapping, propelling me toward the castle at speed, and Arax follows.
We touch down in the courtyard with resounding thuds, and I feel the tremble of the moss-covered stone underfoot.
The Fae standing guard before the giant doors wear glinting silver armor, so pristine that I doubt it has ever known battle, and the pretty green silk draped over one shoulder doesn’t help me think any better of them.
House Maledannan’s banners fly from their spires, the deep green fabric emblazoned with a white lotus flower flanked by two sleek silver serpents, their tails entwined.
These sigils are meant to symbolize new life and infinite wisdom, yet they've always sparked suspicion in me, a hint of something darker lurking beneath the surface. After all, the Maledannan once sought to rule the Sundered Kingdoms, and it was the Mordorin who had to remind them, not so gently, who truly held power in these lands. Fortunately, that reminder didn’t cost their house too many lives.
But the Mordorin have never forgotten. While the Maledannan may be Fae of nature and healing, that doesn’t mean they don’t secretly long for the glory of the crown. After all, why rule over humans alone when they could rule over Fae as well?
I stalk towards the doors, rolling my shoulders as my wings retract and vanish, my runes pulsing. The Maledannan guards immediately bow their heads and lower their polearms when they see me coming. The doors open with a long, low groan like old waking giants and then close behind Arax and I with the same laborious slowness.
Within the walls of House Maledannan, the gray stone is dappled by soft light, shaded by the vines that creep over the windows, some even managing to work their way through cracks and spaces between the old brick, crawling along the walls and curling from the rafters.
Arax and I walk the long green rug down the central corridor, guards with their heads bowed lining the way like statues. The silence here is eerie, with only our heavy boots and the clink of Arax’s armor. No rain. Not like in Baev’kalath, but no voices either.
It’s as if this whole place is trapped in silence.
Soon the corridor widens into a round room, framed with two winding staircases on either side of another set of gigantic doors. The Fae standing guard there pull these doors open as soon as they sight us, and when Arax and I step into the throne room, we’re presented with the ruling family of one of the six great houses of the Sundered Kingdoms. Descendants of the Vornahl. The Fae of the old world.
Lord Eryndor and his wife Elyss, a male and female so vastly different in appearance, like night and day, yet so perfectly suited they can only be mates.
Eryndor startles with his alabaster skin and fine silver hair, braided into thin plaits that fall flat down his back. Elyss, in stark contrast, boasts a cascade of black curls and a complexion of the richest, warmest brown, her brightness held in striking sky-blue eyes that seem almost otherworldly.
Both wear crowns intricately woven from wood and leaf, their natural elegance elevated by diamonds and emeralds. Their signature green threads through everything. Flowing robes that sweep the floor, the cushioned thrones they sit upon, and the billowing silks that adorn the walls. Vines ensnare every surface, a living tapestry that weaves through the castle, making it as much a part of nature as the rulers themselves.
