The Sinuous Bargain of a Cowardly Prince (book one, The Shadowed Throne Chronicles)

What started as a day of celebration quickly turned into a day of death.

Ramiel’s emerald green eyes are filled with emptiness and hopeless recognition. Ronan holds my arm tightly with his hand; I’d tried to jump toward the prince before, after the dragon slashed his back the first time, but Ronan insisted I stay put for my own safety. Somehow, I let him convince me. Then the mages had appeared out of nowhere and quickly wiped out the majority of the crowd, probably to eliminate witnesses to this treasonous coronation.

With a snarl, I tug my arm from the fairy, then slide over the stone dividing the audience from the main stage. I hastily make my way to Ramiel, who has all but turned into a statue. His gaze drifts to the king, who has been viciously slain by the mage that now wears his crown.

Ronan quickly joins me. The dragon’s corpse is joined by those who’d been guests of the feast—each noble’s chest has been shredded through with dark magic and stained with black blood.

Fear controls me now, erasing all common sense.

I grip Ramiel’s shoulder with a hand, and I do everything I can to fight the shakiness in my voice. “That.... that’s your brother, isn’t it?”

Ronan nods his head weakly, then drops his hand to mine. He gives it a squeeze. I notice he’s doing the same to Ramiel. My chest tightens—I can’t begin to imagine what might be going through his head right now.

The prince’s eyes flash between us, then drop to the ground. Tears drip to his chin.

“I... I don’t understand,” he says, his lip trembling.

“None of us do,” Ronan croaks.

“The king is dead,” Ramiel says quietly, in disbelief. He stares down at his armored hands, which are dirty with dragon blood.

“Let me get this off you,” I say through shaky breaths. He seems to protest at first, but when he realizes the armor is inhibiting his movements, he nods his silent consent. Ronan helps me remove the iron pieces from the prince, careful to avoid the deep cuts that have torn across his back. I gulp at the sight of the wound. He’s still losing blood at an alarming rate—it rushes from the jagged scrapes in his flesh, staining the white ground with sticky crimson.

Once all the armor is off, I lean down to his ear. “It will all be okay. I can heal you.” My words come out strained and trembly, but I mean them.

I’m actually not sure I have the magic capacity to relinquish any more of my magic, though I’d spend it all until I run dry if I have to.

“Thank you, Ether,” he says with heavy breaths. I think the loss of blood is finally catching up to him. The adrenaline had helped him slay the dragon, and now he is suffering the aftershock, along with the very real and traumatic events that are still happening around us.

“Of course,” I say, fighting back tears.

The ground tremors beneath us, and Ronan and I twist our heads around in sync.

Curses fly through my teeth and my hair stands on edge. My breathing quickens and my heartbeat increases at an alarming rate.

The mage with cracked skin and unruly, flame-like black hair has jumped from the top of the arena to the battlefield and is walking toward us.

I squeeze my eyes shut and return my focus to Ramiel, who is now getting up on his feet. Instead of coaxing him back down, Ronan and I rise along with him.

“My brother,” Xavelor’s voice crackles across the stadium like the tumbling of rocks on a riverbed, but the serenity is tainted by dark magic. It’s much, much stronger than that of any mage I’ve encountered.

Ramiel laughs, a fire flickering in his green eyes. “You nor that bastard were ever family to me.”

Xavelor chuckles—a low, degrading sound.

The wounded prince curses under his breath, gripping his shoulder tightly to withstand the pain. I can’t help the stressed tears that wet my cheeks. My hand flies to his arm and I hold it tightly. He ignores my presence and squints at his brother.

“True, because your mother was a whore,” the other prince growls.

I flip my head toward Xavelor again and glare. His body is silver, but not like Ronan’s. It’s fractured as though invaded by some disease that dries the skin. His eyes have no whites—they’re pure black, and dark, dead blood makes his veins bulge from his muscled arms.

“Did you return from the dead to blaspheme her?” Ramiel spits, his face reddening. “Because if you are—”

“No, in fact, I’m here on a different mission. As you can see,” Xavelor says with increased emphasis on Ramiel’s regained sight. He points to the crown on his head and a wicked smile stretches over his teeth. “I’m the new king of Arioch.”

Ramiel’s nostrils flare and his eyes widen, but we all know there is nothing we can do. If we want to get out of this alive, we must run. We are wasting time.

Pluto’s warning flashes in my mind. Can I leave the others behind? Can I run away and save myself?

I know right now at this moment, the answer is no. I can’t abandon him.

“You faked your death just so you could put on this show and steal the crown?” Ramiel asks, his face scrunching with disgust.

Xavelor’s voice echoes across the arena and whips around like unbridled lightning. “Ronan, tell them. Did I fake my own death?”

We turn to look at the fairy, whose eyes are wide and focused on the ground. He shakes his head.

“That’s right. I was offered a chance to have a better life. One where I could be in control for however long I want.” The dark prince cocks his head back at the sky, almost as though he’s waiting for something to fall. “I made a bargain with the mages.”

“You’re just a coward,” Ramiel shouts, his nostrils flaring.

Xavelor whips his head back down and flashes a smile, ignoring Ramiel’s insult.

“And of your mother, well, I have some interesting news. Would you like to hear, dear brother?” Xavelor’s tone is mocking as he speaks, maniacal almost. He approaches us at a leisurely pace and his eyes wander around him, admiring the chaos he’s brought upon the arena.

When Ramiel doesn’t respond, the other prince continues.

“You’re an abomination,” he hisses, though his insult doesn’t match the still-stretching smile on his face.

“You think I haven’t heard that?” Ramiel barks back, his teeth gnashing together.

I fill with a mix of emotions—sadness, fear, heartbreak, confusion, shock. I’m not sure what to think of this strange reunion, but I set myself on high alert to watch and protect Ramiel. That’s all I am capable of thinking about.

The dark prince chuckles. “Did that fairy never tell you? Of your heritage? Of your roots?”

Ramiel’s green eyes flit to the Ronan, whose face grows impossibly paler.

“Oh, that’s a pity,” Xavelor says mockingly. “I’ll tell you then. Call it a gift of sorts. From a brother to a brother. No better time to bond than the present, wouldn’t you say?”

Ramiel prickles at his sibling’s words, and understandably so. Each syllable slurs through the dark prince’s lips like curses—unpleasant to the ear and disturbing to the mind. I twitch as goosebumps rise on my arms and the electricity in the air makes my body run cold.

“I’m sure by now you’ve heard of Queen Nadia, the queen of elves,” Xavelor continues. His black eyes stare blankly at us and he cocks his head to the side. The crown moves slightly over his choppy obsidian hair. His smile grows steeper, still, turning into a “v.”

“What of her?” Ramiel asks.

"What of her?" Xavelor repeats incredulously. “She was your mother, you filthy half-breed!”

I flash Ronan a look, and he avoids eye contact. So he’s known all along, yet hasn’t said a word. Had he thought keeping this a secret would’ve benefitted Ramiel in some way?

But things make sense now, what with Ramiel being able to withstand the burden of magic and whatnot. This makes it much easier to digest. I just... wish we would’ve known sooner.

Ramiel, on the other hand, has dropped his arm from his shoulder, and he brushes me off, too. I can see a thousand different thoughts flash across his eyes as he tries to process it all. I’m not even sure I understand what’s happening, exactly.

“How long have you known?” Ramiel asks, his tone flat.

“Long enough.”

Ramiel begins to convulse, and a hand goes over his mouth. The green in his eyes pales as he turns and vomits.

Xavelor tilts his head in my direction and locks his eyes on me. My blood runs thick and cold in my arms, almost as though possessed by the dirty magic swirling in the body of the dead prince.

“And who might this be?” he asks, increasing the space between us.

Ramiel slides his arm in front of me. “Don’t look at her.”

His brother’s focus briefly flickers to him, then back to me. “Why, it’s quite clear that she’s not human, now, isn’t it?” The abyss resides in his eyes, threatening to suck me in—they’re filled with one emotion: disgust. So pure that if I continue to stare long enough, I’m sure it will swallow me whole. “Following in the footsteps of our adulterous father, are you?”

Ramiel’s clammy hand finds mine, his fingers struggling to hold on.

“Did you not take the pill?” he says sharply under his breath, his eyebrows angled with concern.

“I told her not to,” Ronan says unnervingly.

Ramiel sucks in a breath, eyes still focused on me and swirling with hysteria. “How quickly can you heal me? I need to beat his ass. There’s no way I’m letting him control this kingdom.” He winces as he speaks.

“Um, I can try to do it quickly. But I... I don’t think there’s enough time. He’s coming.” My words file out in a scattered jumble.

In a matter of seconds, we are surrounded by black-cloaked mages, looming around us like pillars of obsidian and in rows that extend beyond the edges of the arena. I’ve never seen so many in one place. Is now... my chance to enact my revenge? I can knock out so many at once... Or would that put me face to face with certain death?

“Out of the three of you, I’d prefer only one of you dead. Can you guess which one?” Xavelor levitates above the crowd of mages and stays there in the air. His cloak whips and cracks around him like lightning.

He concentrates on me, his expression all hard lines and hatred.

From that point onward, I see only blurs of motion.

A ball of blue untamed and electric energy manifests and hurls in my direction, but all I see is a flash.

My head whips toward Ramiel, who is mouthing something but I can’t hear anything.

Ronan jumps in front of me before the blast of magic hits.

My body crashes to the ground.

Everything goes black.

When I come to, Ronan is limp next to me and an unsettling opaque fog swirls around us, limiting my visibility. My heart sinks to my stomach and a grave feeling looms over me. I lean down to him, grip his shoulder and give him a tense shake.

“Ronan!” I scream through immediate tears. My voice shakes as I shout his name, and my whole body is rigid with an indescribable sense of loss. He can’t be dead. He just saved my life!

He twitches slightly, gasps for air, then sits up. The space around us is littered with dust and flames. Remnants of the Feast’s audience peak from the dark billows of smoke. I’m surprised we survived such an intense burst of magic, especially with the bodies around us no longer in one piece.

“Thank Arioch you’re okay,” I breathe. As soon as my heart begins to settle, it leaps to my throat and thuds there, making it difficult to speak. So I don’t. My breathing increases, short and choppy. My heart thuds at first in my head, then in my hands and soon I feel its pulse everywhere.

“Where’s Ramiel?” Ronan asks, his tone matching the numbness that itches my throat.

I scramble to my feet and look around frantically, squinting through the thick smoke. Ronan seems to be looking too, but neither of us can make out where our prince may have gone. Has Xavelor kidnapped him? Surely not. But he’s nowhere to be seen.

Then, I think I see... just a blur of something as the smoke rolls around us. A hand? I take a step forward and open my mouth to call for the prince—

Ronan’s hands violently reach for my face, jerking my head in his direction. When I try to resist, he forces me to stay there. I stare into his eyes, confused and angry that he’s interrupting my search. My mouth opens in protest.

Tears drop from his eyes, which are now red.

The fairy shakes his head, his lip trembling as he holds me in place.

“Don’t look. He’s... he’s gone.”

End of Book One