If I were truly an escort from Seirdra’s Veil, the goddess herself would’ve undoubtedly had an aneurysm over the layer of filth clinging to me like a second skin. But, lucky for us both, I was the furthest from a woman willing to sell her body for coin.
And even thoughhe’dspent twenty-five thousand bits to purchase me, I would bleed him dry before ever granting him the privilege of touching me.
“You thought you could blend in with the radiant beauty of femininity when you have the body of a young boy?” I spat, running atrembling hand through my tangled waves. “Gods above, Rohen, you’re a fucking idiot.”
I was talking to myself. I’d officially lost my mind.
Scoffing, I ducked into an alcove on the backside of a bar, working to catch my breath after sprinting from one street to the next. “Just a psychotic woman on the run from a sociopathic man. How fitting.”
Why wouldn’t it be this way? I’d been running my entire life, trying to free myself from the shackles of ownership. The gods and goddesses had never deemed me worthy enough to be granted an existence of simplicity and all the nuances of being ordinary. Ever since I was young, I’d been an outsider looking in, watching through a fogged and fractured window as others basked in the sun, laughed with a joyfulness I’d never known, and existed in the vast expanse of autonomy.
It was a privilege most had taken for granted, and one I craved more than the sustenance that fueled me, more than the lineage in my veins.
My lungs burned with the brisk air as I devoured a mouthful of oxygen, resting my head against the cobblestone wall. Closing my eyes briefly, I allowed the incessant patter of rain to lull me back into a steady state. A state that no one had successfully disturbed, save for Malrik and this prick of a pirate.
As my lids fluttered open, my gaze danced over a vibrant gold sheen—the palace. Landing in their haven amidst my panic-induced state, I’d walked right into a new threat of capture: treason. Everyone knew that if the soldiers caught you without a proper invitation or papers, they’d drag you back to the royals, giving the Others—the gods who’d cast the Damned out—the opportunity to determine your wretched fate.
Without either safety net, I’d run directly from one danger and into another. Away from the captain and into Serevalen, the soulless Capital.
Fuck.
Rising from the cliffs like a sentinel of the sea, the castle was both breathtaking and foreboding, caught between the realm of dreams and nightmares. Its impossibly slender spires, laced with veins of pale silver, seemed almost weightless against the storm-stricken sky. Weathered by centuries of salt and wind to the pointthey’d become near-opalescent, the walls shifted with the changing light of day and shadowed with the abyssal night. With arched bridges of paper-thin stone, pathways linked the steeples, marking the various areas of the palace that only those deemed worthy would ever see.
At the castle’s heart rested a singular black column. Rising above all the rest, its edges were jagged as if the stone crafted to protect our lands had rejected the corruption that festered within. The great windows, set high in the towers, glimmered beneath the moonlight like the surface of a dark sea, acting as a beacon of caution for anyone who wished to venture inside.
Perched near the gold entrances sat statues of The Vellari, also known as the Tide Eaters.Each featureless face and faint smile etched into their marbled presence issued a clear warning: tales of an ability not only to calm the waves and still the wind, but to rob the air right from your lungs. They were equally stunning and deadly, a direct symbol of the rulership within.
To those who didn’t know better, every detail was alluring. But for those who did, the palace was a breathing and unspoken vow directly from King Marellan, indicative of the depths he would allow one to sink to if they even pondered the idea of disloyalty.
Hinges squealed, pulling my attention from the epitome of regality to the side door leading from the bar into the alleyway. Slipping further into the shadows, I peered around the edge of the building. A group of five men crossed the threshold and stumbled drunkenly, laughter following as they playfully nudged one another.
Four of them wore the attire of the king’s soldiers: lightweight metal plates with luminescent inlays. Beneath their armor, fitted and flowing tunics made of silk-like material were dyed with the colors of the Capital—azure, iridescent silver, gold, and royal purple. On their breastplates rested the mark of their commitment, the emblem of the kingdom: a serpentine creature coiled into the shape of a crown with its fangs bared in silent authority.
But it wasn’t any of them who fully ensnared me. It was the malewho stood out against them, clad in attire utterly different from their own.
He wore a fitted midnight-blue waistcoat corset embroidered with onyx thread, its snugness accentuating his lithe frame. Over it, a tailored coat with subtle armor draped over his broad shoulders, its collar framing his sharp jawline. With a gilded sword at his hip and black leather gloves warming his hands, I couldn’t help but contemplatewhyhe was willingly enjoying his time with any of the king’s men.
His eyes glistened with a seafoam blue, illuminated by the jovial nature he carried. The slope of his nose and his cupid’s bow seemed to be crafted by the gods. Stubble dusted his cheeks and chin, its darker shade clashing against his honeyed locks, which, by courtesy of the storm, settled heavily on his forehead and the sides of his face. His near-black brows pulled up in amusement, a joyous chuckle rocking his unmistakably muscular chest.
He was stunning.
“You and red wine do not mix well, Brix.” The words came out as an enchanting combination of dominance and playfulness as he glanced over his shoulder at one of the men.
Slurring every syllable, the newly-named man practically tripped over his feet. “You dunno what yer talkin’ about, Kael.”
Kael grinned, stepping forward to catch his drunken friend before the ground greeted him first, two twinned divots burrowing into his cheeks. “You’re right; my apologies. I forgot that, as one of my royal guards, you are immune to the effects of intoxication.”
Royal guards?
“Our esteemed majesty, so forthright in admitting his false claims.” Bowing jokingly, the next guard peered up beneath raven brows, his emerald eyes clashing with his olive skin and shadowed curls. “Your graciousness is insurmountable.”
“Alright, Percival, no need for the dramatics.” Kael waved him off, shaking his head before glancing at the fire-red-haired male, Brix, leaning against him. “Besides, it’s about time we called it for the night. I’m sure the three of you would prefer not to carry him back to the palace, no?”
Royal guards. Palace.
He wasn’t just some random man named Kael joking around with soldiers for the hell of it. He was royalty—the king’s son, the fucking prince of Serevalen.
As if sensing my thoughts, his chin snapped in my direction. Using the wall as leverage, I shoved myself behind the corner of the building, praying to everything that he hadn’t spotted me. Silence clung to the air for what felt like hours, one of his men clearing their throat to break it.
