Six of Ruin (Heirs of Irenwell #1)

I burst through the wooden door, snow gathered on the doormat, cold ate through the skin. Everything burned. My limbs were sluggish and weakened.

My hands were male.

And I knew this was just one of the visions that pulled me out of my peaceful slumber. This one was different, though, more real.

I – or he – stumbled inside the room, a regular cottage, with a bed and a table. The floor was full of weapons. The fire was lit.

A wave of warmth burned more than the biting snow. The air was hard to breathe in.

Those fucking bastards. Angry thoughts coursed through my mind, filled with tangible hatred. If I see them again, I will rip their fucking throats out with my teeth.

I – he – went for the dresser by the wall. He pulled out some gauzes and shredded his clothes off. Waves of pain crashed through him, and me. I felt his teeth grit, metallic taste in his mouth. The other drawer had a bottle of see-through liquid inside. The man lifted his head and, after a moment of reluctance, poured the liquor all over his face.

Impossibly strong burning gripped my limbs and my heart. The air disappeared; the pathways to my lungs turned impenetrable. I – he – let out a roar, painful and terrible.

But the pain subsided after a few seconds, leaving quiet, dormant burning behind. Some of the liquor ended in my – his – mouth. It was a strong alcoholic beverage, nothing that existed in the south. The man gripped the edges of the dresser with both his hands and lifted his gaze towards the mirror.

It was the first time I’ve seen him. For a moment, I was fixated. For the first time, I’ve managed to distinguish between him and me. The brief feeling of awe belonged solely to me.

Cuts, some deep, others shallow, covered most of his face, neck and chest. Blood poured out, washing down the dirt, revealing his pale skin. His hair was almost entirely covered in mud, but I noticed glimpses of black underneath the brown.

He looked at himself. And it felt like he was looking at me.

His eyes were golden, leaning to the yellower side, with flecks of orange around irises. Pain gave them a darker shade.

Feeling a bit voyeuristic, I glanced at his tensed arms and his torso. He was lean, but apparently, all muscle. Bruises and cuts covered his entire body. In the left corner of his abdomen, a blade stuck out.

As if the wound finally reached me, a dull, protruding pain made me let out another scream. The man’s face twisted, beams of sweat formed on his forehead and tears glistened in the corners of his eyes. He grabbed the blade and held the dresser with another hand.

And he pulled the blade out. A disgusting sound, accompanied with the intense sensation of stretching and pulling at the skin, made me feel dizzy.

Pain mixed into weakness. A wave flooded my mind and for a moment, it felt like we might lose consciousness. But we stood there, our eyes closed, the pain throbbing through our body.

The man dug through the drawer, looking for something. A needle and a thread. With shaky fingers, he threaded the lumen.

His eyes landed on the mirror again. My heart skipped a beat. His eyes penetrated through the mirror, seemingly noticing me behind the lens, staring, waiting.

A painful, humourless smile decorated his lips, “I doubt you’d want to stay for this.”

Sheer panic pulled me out of the vision. My heart hammered in my chest as I returned to the darkness of my room, my eyes open wide, the pain slowly leaving my body.

“Princess Irina!?” A violent knock on the door.

I wasn’t stabbed, I wasn’t beaten, I wasn’t cold.

“I’m alive, Gretchen.”

The maid moved the doorknob, but I locked before going to sleep. I pulled myself out of the bed. Air reached me from the open balcony, but it was warm. My cheeks flushed and cold sweat covered me. I unlocked the door.

Gretchen burst inside, “Are you alright, your Grace? You were screaming.”

I brushed it off, “A nightmare. I’m fine.”

Her worried gaze trailed across my body and the room, looking for signs of danger. The only danger seemed to be residing in my mind.

“Do you need anything?” Gretchen asked once she made sure no one was hiding under my covers and threatening to rape and kill me.

I shook my head, “I’m going to get myself a glass of milk.”

Gretchen chimed in, “I will get it for you, your Grace.”

“No need.” I refused and walked out of the door, needing a breath of fresh air.

The memory of the pain still lingered in my mind and I had to remind myself I was in Irenwell, I was safe. No weapon cut me tonight, no blade entered my abdomen.

But it seemed as if he talked to me. Like he knew I was watching. The sudden connection made me both afraid and strangely empathetic towards the stranger.

Absentmindedly, I walked to the terrace before the gardens of the castle. A labyrinth spread wide and long, full of rose bushes. Beyond the labyrinth, wooden houses came into view, settled under the castle. I leaned my hands against the stony fence. The sky was littered with stars, except for the Star of Orath lonesome in the distant north.

I’ve heard stories that the Star of Orath was the brightest northern star. It pointed the way to sailors and pirates and all kinds of intelligent creatures. I’ve heard stories that the north was beautiful, but it didn’t feel that way.

It felt cold, colder than anything I’ve ever felt.

In an outburst of emotion, I touched my mother’s necklace hanging around my neck, a silver thing with a circular, emerald pendant, apparently made by the Fae Folk. She was so much different than me; she was selfless and kind and everybody loved her.

I closed my eyes, feeling the fresh air on my skin. The night was warm and pleasant, unlike the cold night in the north.

My mother would find it in her heart to help others even if it didn’t suit her. Sure, people talked about her – my eyes fell to the Fae pendant – especially because she hung out with Fae Folk so much. But her selflessness was a trait the entire world noticed.

Star of Orath burned brightly, reminding me of the stranger somewhere in the north. A stranger whose pain I’ve shared. And not just pain, but this terrible, dark secret.

My mother would have helped him any way she could.

Perhaps her spirit reached down from heavens and changed the particles of air, because I did the unthinkable.

Squeezing my eyelids, I dug through the ignored places far back in my mind, where the magic churned and begged to be released. I wasn’t any good at it, nor was I trying to be, but I figured if the stranger felt me in his mind, I might be able to send something to him, too.

And I chose the warm air. He was hurt and cold and there wasn’t much I could do.

Faint power stirred within me. The gentle caress of Irenwell air sunk in my skin.

Every fibre of my being came alive as magic burst through. All I could picture were the stranger’s eyes, so full of pain and sadness. And I hoped the warm air managed to reach him.

The moment magic passed; my head spun. I held the fence tightly, pain climbing up from my gut to my throat. Lack of air made my eyes widen and my mouth open. Deep, heavy, terrible feeling grazed at my soul.

And then it passed, leaving me breathing heavily, holding the fence. Goddess, what in the three hells was that? A slimy sensation oozed through my veins, but I all I could do was breathe and hope it would disappear.

I’ve never consciously used magic. And considering the knowledge of everything awful mages had done solely using their magic, what I did now was an extremely low level.

Yet, it had caused this. Tears burned in my eyes, once again reminding me it simply wasn’t worth it. The burden was too heavy.

The sooner I got rid of magic, the better. I wasn’t keen on helping strangers in the north or having huge roles in making history. Handsome squires and the beautiful Irenwell climate were quite enough for me.

A voice startled me, “Princess Irina?”

Danilo of Danth stood on the terrace, not far from me, dressed in nothing but black linen shirt and pants. His long hair was tied at the nape of his neck and his eyes lacked the usual focus, he’s probably been sleepwalking like me. Without the leather gear and a sword, he looked more elegant. Royals walked differently than the plebs, they carried themselves with confidence.

“Sir Danilo,” I was almost too tired to flirt, “Of all the people that could have walked out of that door, I’m glad it’s you.” Almost too tired.

He was reluctant to come closer, “You shouldn’t talk to me without a chaperone.”

“Oh, come on.” I brushed it off. “We are going to be travel buddies, you should get used to seeing me alone.”

His piercing blue eyes, silver under the light of the moon, landed on me, “Is it decided?”

“Well, not necessarily decided.” I let out a chuckle. “But yes, I’ll be joining you.”

Immediately, he began protesting, “Forgotten lands of Orathia are too dangerous, the trip is too dangerous-”

“So chivalrous.” I smiled coyly. “I’ve heard Bastians are true gentlemen, among other things.”

Danilo’s eyes escaped to my nightgown, way too revealing for anything he might have seen in the north. I arched my eyebrow. The poor guy cleared his throat and averted his gaze.

Any other night and I perhaps would have spared the knight, but tonight, I craved diversion. And what better way to distract myself than making others feel uncomfortable?

“Princess...” Danilo’s blue eyes shimmered, “Why do you want to go to Orathia?”

I let out a sigh, “My mother would want me to go. She was that kind of a person.”

He did not need to know I had other reasons for going.

Danilo nodded, “My parents would want me to help in any way I can, too.”

I read between the lines, “Your parents...”

“They’re both gone.” Danilo confirmed with a humourless smile. “Mother passed away due to sickness and father died in battle.”

“I’m so sorry.” I mumbled, feeling the wave of compassion.

“King Bernard is my only family.” Danilo said and turned to the starry skies to hide the sudden sombre that twisted his eyes and lips. “And I am his only family.”

I frowned, “Doesn’t King Bernard have a bastard son?”

Danilo’s brows furrowed with dissatisfaction. Considering the circumstance, one could understand why Danilo might not be very fond of this bastard son.

“He does.” Danilo nodded. “But he could never consider a bastard his family.”

“Of course.” I mumbled, then added. “So... is that why you’re going to Orathia? To prove to your uncle you’re worthy of the throne?”

Danilo glanced at me sideways, “I’m going because it’s my duty. If there’s Irenwell debt, there’s also Bastian debt. And someone has to deliver.”

I leaned against the stone fence, “Why are you so certain the Oracles are right?” I knew better than to believe every single prophet or Oracle. They all eventually feared of turning insignificant and began churning out fantasies to remain relevant.

He kept quiet for a moment, “There’s been disturbances at the east coast.”

“Bastian east coast?” The east coast of the entire Middle Continent was rocky and dry, but the Irenwell part was covered with cliffs higher than Mount Aero and completely unapproachable.

Bastian east coast, on the other hand, wasn’t so inhospitable. Some villages even communicated with the Eastern Continent.

Danilo nodded, “A village has been wiped out. Survivors said that a strong force awoke them during night and by sheer luck, they managed to escape. They said the pressure turned intolerable, their heads pounded, wanting to explode.”

“How many survived?” I whispered.

“Twenty-something, out of a thousand.” Danilo’s voice lowered. “Survivors couldn’t even tell what happened to their neighbours. All they saw, as they ran from the village, were gushes of red smoke lifting through the air.”

“Bleak.” I mumbled.

Even though the news perhaps directly affected me, it just seemed too far away to care. There were things in my proximity to worry about, like my brother potentially ruining our Kingdom and ridding me of my royal title. I’d never forgive him.

“Would you go even if you weren’t the heir of Bastia?” I broke the silence, finding this conversation a rare opportunity to get to know him.

Danilo looked at me, “Of course. If there’s a chance my sword could help humankind, I would go.”

I came closer and brushed my hair from one side of my neck. The nightgown was almost see-through. Danilo’s eyes lingered far too long on my skin.

“Your integrity is admirable.” I said.

His body radiated heat hard to resist. Men of Irenwell did not possess the raw power this man had. His knuckles turned white as I sauntered ahead.

And he was the heir to the throne.

“You know...” I let a small smile graze my lips, “Ties between Bastia and Irenwell truly need to be tightened, especially in times of trouble and woe.”

Danilo coughed, trying to avert his gaze from my see-through gown, “Princess, those are the matters that should be discussed between your brother and me, once I am certain I will inherit the throne. Kind Bernard hasn’t given up on siring another heir yet.”

“Of course.” I smiled gently.

For a few moments, we both stared at the sky. My brother was aware of the fact I needed to marry, and so was I. And if Danilo truly remained the only heir to the Bastian throne, marriage between the two of us would be a good political move.

And truthfully, I wouldn’t mind.

I’ve always assumed I wouldn’t marry out of love. Love was a privilege only the poor could afford. My blood was too important to be passed down onto just anyone’s offspring.

I was afraid I would have to marry some soft-cocked, birdbrained, spineless loser just because he was an heir to some meaningless throne.

Sir Danilo of Danth was a whole other story. He was an opportunity, a catch. And the way his blue eyes turned silver under the light of the moon made me think I might be able to love him.

Hi jaw clenched and he seemed to roll the words on his tongue, “Princess Irina, the trip to Orathia is far too dangerous. I do not think you should be joining us.”

He truly was beautiful, almost like an artist chiselled him out of stone.

I tucked a loose strand of hair behind his ear, “I’m sure you’ll take good care of me.”

And I sauntered away, never turning around.