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

Ramiel opens his eyes and his eyebrows tense over them. Throughout his slumber, he’d been mumbling and restless. He’s awake now because my hand rests on his forehead.

Worry speeds up the beating of my heart as the prince’s eyebrows twitch beneath my fingers and his head adjusts on top of my legs.

His green eyes are open, slightly red, and puffy—a strange balance to the pink invading the whites.

I stroke my finger gently over his coarse brow and feel his damp skin grow sticky. His forehead is sweltering and covered with sweat.

“What did you dream about?” I ask.

The prince moans, blinks his eyes, then turns up to face me, but his eyes stare beyond me, into the midnight sky. I wonder what he sees, if anything.

He sighs, gulps, then laboriously breathes in through his nose. He exhales as he speaks. “I dreamt of my brother.”

I stop stroking his brows and my body freezes. Each time Xavelor has been brought up, I can sense some kind of dark emotion from Ramiel, but it’s difficult to place. It just feels... off. Perhaps it’s his magical core, but these days I’ve found it harder to differentiate my own demons from those of others.

“Do you wish to speak of it?”

“No, not really,” he says raspily. His head adjusts slightly, fitting right over the curve between my knees. At some point in the night, he’d crawled over to me and fallen asleep. He must be too tired now to realize the situation he’s in.

I smile and nod, then rest the back of my hand on his forehead. Ice rushes down to my fingertips, where it thaws against the heat of his skin. He sighs as his forehead cools, then he returns to sleep.

How I wish I could sleep now. To turn off the thoughts of worry and obsession and revenge, if just for a night.

Thankfully, the stars are my company, keeping these erratic thoughts at bay.

A week passes, and the feeling of anger sizzles in my stomach. Some days are worse than others. My core burns toward the mages and their evildoing, but I know there is nothing I can do, not against their many and vast resources. Instead, my focus is on the prince; I’ve settled for our training as a distraction.

I’m a better teacher when I’m attentive to my teaching. As a result, Ramiel is easily mastering magic. He’s now able to deflect my quick, direct magic strikes, and we recently started learning swordsmanship, too. There are moments where I realize he’s better with a weapon blind than he was when he could see, and I fill with pure and true pride. These are the times I feel the least amount of surging anger. In fact, I’ve gotten fully used to laughing—when I do, I expend every last ounce of guttural noise I can to overpower the lingering voices of mourning that haunt my memory. The unheard screams of children and mothers, and of the old and the weak as mages ripped the life from their lungs with their tainted dark magic.

I shake the barrage of thoughts from my head, sighing. The sky is a blend of dark and warm, spreading across the sky like a painter’s canvas lit on fire. Everything is fire and death to me lately. But the sky is beautiful, and it reminds me of Ramiel’s insistence to continue his training until the night makes it impossible for us to continue.

He’s rapidly improving. With a rapier, with a bow and arrow, and most recently, with a broadsword. Each weapon is crafted from my ice and his; crystalline and highly breakable but they are suitable for our purposes. Then, I use noise to attract him to a target area. His aim is improving, and, by the look on his face each time he hits the mark, so is his confidence.

Starting tomorrow, we will be taking a day of rest. We don’t have many of those, as the Feast of Undying is creeping closer, still. I’ve no doubt Ramiel will be ready for his fight with a beast, but I still can’t help but worry about the outcome; what will the king do once his son proves he is worthy of the throne?

I turn my head to view the two men curled close together near the chunks of rock. Ronan and Ramiel are fast asleep.

My heart burns. I long to mourn—I need closure. I know Pluto would want the same. We must mourn together. I have to know that he’s alive.

Once black invades the sky and the air cools, I stand from my crouch near the cold coals, brushing the dust from my legs.

Qor is breathing slowly, adjusted to our close proximity in the camp. He sleeps peacefully; he must’ve gotten used to doing so a while ago. He still wears his dark cloak, hiding his face from the night. I don’t think he’ll notice if I leave, either.

As I turn, something catches my elbow.

“You can’t leave,” Ronan says, his voice cold.

So he hadn’t been asleep.

I tug my arm from him. I don’t sense the same animosity I used to, nor do I feel hostile toward him, something has been off about his demeanor. Something unnatural. I raise an eyebrow at him.

“Why’s that?” I snap, taking a step back. Ramiel shifts behind the gray fairy, but he doesn’t wake.

“If you leave, I must come with you,” he says rigidly.

“And leave Ramiel behind? I don’t think so,” I growl.

Ronan makes a face. “He’s not my priority right now.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” I hiss, squinting my eyes at him. I don’t know what I’m looking for. Perhaps some hint that he’s playing around? When I find none, my heart turns cold. “Since when have your loyalties changed?”

“This isn’t about loyalty,” he groans. “It’s about duty.”

I snort, then place my hands on my hips. “Well you can shove that duty up your—”

Before I can raise my voice further, Ronan’s finger goes to my lips, and my nose wrinkles at his uninvited touch.

A smile pulls on his thin lips, revealing a line of weirdly straight teeth, and his eyes glint with something dark and roguish. As soon as the smile appears, though, it falls and his eyebrows slant inward.

“Where do you plan to go?” he asks, his eyes glimmering down at me like pools of cursed lava. His finger finally drops from my mouth, and I notice he wipes it on his pant leg.

I’m not expecting this question, and I don’t have an answer at the ready.

My heart throbs in my throat and tears of frustration stream down my cheeks. I am not weak, though my thoughts torture me, and my strength is fading. Images of the woman from Nwatalith and her stone-cold babe flash through my memory and my skin prickles with guilt.

Ronan doesn’t need to know where I need to go. Why does he care?

I huff, blink away my tears, and turn, but he catches my elbow again, this time forcefully turning me back toward him.

“What?” I snarl, yanking his hand from my arm. “Do you have something to say? If not, I have somewhere I need to—”

“Stop caring so deeply for Ramiel,” he says flatly.

"What?"

“It’s better for him if he doesn’t feel so attracted to you.”

Electricity flows down my arm and I let my hand fly. It collides instantaneously with his cheek and he falls to the ground with a hard thud.

I blink at him, hard. What kind of nonsense is he spewing? My teeth grind together, trying to figure out what he’s thinking in his little fairy brain.

“How dare you tell me—” I say partway, watching as Ronan’s expression turns from one of pain to one of worry, which is even more concerning. My whole body is on fire.

“We both know he’s undeniably in love with you, Ether,” he coughs, rubbing his cheek with his hand. “But if you don’t return his affections, he can move on and focus on what’s important. And I also won’t feel obligated to constantly make sure you’re okay.”

“I don’t agree with you. Only the prince knows if he will be happy. We ought to let him decide that for himself.” I cross my arms, then back up.

My heart is heavy, and I clench my jaw to bear the weight. Deep down, I know I’ve chosen to avoid the potential future Ramiel and I could have; every outcome with us together would result in pain for many, and that’s not something I’m willing to risk. Ramiel must know this, too, for he hasn’t made any efforts to move our relationship in any sort of romantic direction.

Ronan coughs, then waves his hand, dismissing me from his sprawl on the hard ground. I wrinkle my nose at him.

What a pointless conversation.

“Go, then,” he grants. “But you ought to be careful. I promised Ramiel I’d make sure you’re not getting bitten by any klopses or eating any other fairy’s pills.” I groan at his parental tone. “Oh, and when you return, you must not touch the prince.”

I pause before turning to the trees, my lips denting scornfully into my cheek. “Don’t touch him? That’s how I guide him!”

“You heard me,” he says, still massaging his cheek with a silver hand. “You must stay away from him. These days are especially crucial to his success. I worry for him. He must have a clear mind while learning to fight. You make that difficult, being his teacher and all.”

I know what Ronan says is true, but that doesn’t make it okay for him to control both of our emotions. I won’t be manipulated.

My fists clench at my sides and I take a quick look at the prince, who is still sleeping soundly. Then, with a quick scowl at the gray beast, I turn and bound into the trees, gliding over the silent canopy of yellowing leaves.

I close my eyes and let the frustration flow off me. I won’t let the fairy’s words get to me. If he really thinks someone like him can protect me, he’s delusional, and I’m sure he knows it. He didn’t try to stop me, did he? Then why was he so adamant about grabbing my arm with his grubby little hands and provoking me?

I breathe in, then exhale as I move across the trees, away from Hearthstrom. The farther I get, the less I think about the anger I feel toward the manipulating fairy and the more I feel the swell of pent-up sadness that’s been begging for its escape.

“Pluto,” I whisper.

Tears begin bubbling around my eyelashes. Just saying his name invokes deep sorrow, and I imagine Nwatalith’s destruction all over again. My heart yearns to see my only caretaker, the one who is my father and brother and friend.

“Pluto.” Please be alive. Tears drift over my cheeks and my sobs echo across the empty canopy. My eyes squeeze tighter as I continue along the trees, repeating his name.

“Pluto.”

“Pluto.”

“Pluto...”

I slow my strides, waiting a few seconds before moving to the next tree. I continue to whisper his name, until eventually, my absentminded wandering is stopped by a warm, bone-thin body that meets me at the peak of an oak. I’m swarmed with his smell of pine and soil, and my tears stain his dirt-covered shirt.

He has been searching for me, too.

I bury my head into his soiled clothing and we willfully collapse through the canopy onto a strong branch below.

We weep.

An hour or two passes. We’ve each drained ourselves of tears, though we continue to wail and sob far into the night. Hearing Pluto cry makes me want to cry more; this is only the second time I’ve heard him weep. The first time had been when he arrived in Nwatalith as an orphan; he’d never known his parents. But even then, his cries were silent... not like this.

Our cries will serve as the funeral for every Nwatalithian elf, whose bodies will eventually decay back into the earth our Queen had stewarded. From dust we come, to dust we go.

I rest my head on his shoulder, and he strokes the stray strands of black that swirl about my long ears. He hushes me as I continue to sniffle and moan, patting my back with his other hand.

The light green leaves are a curtain around us, though I’m sure the whole forest hears our cries. Perhaps this vulnerable moment would lead us to our deaths. At this moment, would either of us care?

“Mages, they...” I croak, my voice tapering off into a distant echo.

“Yes, I know,” he says quietly.

“Is there anything we can...?” I trail off again, hoping that he brings up the idea of slaughtering all of mage kind, though his expression tells me he’s lost hope that we can do anything. His eyes are dark; it’s hard to tell the color.

“No, there isn’t. Not with our resources. As I told you before, the forest is dying. There isn’t much magic to absorb.”

“Surely we can use dark—”

Pluto grips my shoulder and presses my back so I’m squished in close to him. “Do not speak of such things. That magic is evil. We don’t know how it might harm us.”

"Willit harm us? I know someone who uses it...”

My face cringes at my casual mention of the manipulative fairy, but I also want to know if Pluto knows anything more about its effects on our people.

“Ah, you speak of Ronan,” Pluto says, and his jaw tightens. “I sensed he had it. He’s practically crammed to the brim with the stuff.”

“Ramiel has some as well, though recently it’s been growing weaker,” I say quietly. My finger finds a rip in Pluto’s ragged shirt, then reaches through it to press his pale skin. Behind the thin layer of flesh, his heart beats strong. Though our topic is heavy, his presence comforts me. My heart is steady knowing that he’s alive and that neither of us is in any immediate danger.

“Ether, I have reason to believe the king has some hand in the mages’ actions,” Pluto says, his voice stiffening. When he sees my alerted expression, he continues stroking the back of my head and tilts his back, looking up through the leaves into the shimmery sky. “I hate to say it because I like the prince, but as soon as he is trained, you must run. Far away. To the edges of Arioch. Hell, to another kingdom if you have to. Let’s go to Laptor together. Or Midra, where humans are sparse and magic is distributed evenly among the people. What do you say?”

He looks back at me with genuine caramel intent flecking his dark irises. He wants to protect me. He has no village to call his own anymore—I am his village.

I know that running away with Pluto is the obvious choice and the safest, but something inside me plants stubborn roots, telling me I should stay with Ramiel, for fear that something terrible might happen to him if I don’t. He was there with me in Nwatalith, and I’ve been there with him in his most vulnerable moments, too. We’re more than just a master and her student, an elf and a naive prince...

Both Pluto and Ronan are telling me to steer clear of Ramiel, but that only makes me want to move nearer to him. Pluto, whom I trust dearly, and Ronan, whose aura has seemed to change for the better, but his intentions seem askew.

“I... I’ll need to think about it,” I whisper when I feel I’ve taken too long to respond. My heart aches when Pluto stops stroking my head.

He leans back to look at me, his eyes darkening to a cold violet color, and he reaches forward to wipe the wetness forming around my eyes. “Oh, Ether,” he says, his lip shuddering. “You love him.”

No.

I blink and tears stream down my cheeks. “No. I can’t. I won’t.”

Pluto pulls me back to his chest and wraps his long arms around me. “No, and you mustn’t. For the sake of our people, we can’t take any more risks.”

My heart thuds against his, two arrhythmic beats fighting with one another. His words hover over them like a song.

“What do you mean, more risks?”

Pluto sucks in a deep breath. My head rises along with his torso. “Laughing,” he says scarcely louder than a whisper. “The punishment came during a night festival, where elders and children were oblivious to the mages’ eyes.”

I swallow my shock, rub my eyes against his shirt, and relax against the hard curves of his elven frame.

An entire village. For laughing.

My insides churn.

“And you... you didn’t do anything?” I squeak, not wanting to blame him for his inaction. I just want to understand.

Pluto sniffs, then gulps. “There’s a lot you don’t know about, Ether,” he says, keeping his voice low. “Things I’ve known and things I am just now learning.” His body shifts and I lift my head to look at him. Tears stream from his eyes, now struggling between pink and gold. He lifts a cold, leathery hand to my cheek. “For your sake, please train Ramiel until you are no longer required to train him. Then, come and follow me. Staying near him will only put you in more danger. I... I can’t bear to see you get hurt.”

I know this. I know it, yet convulsions send shudders through my body and more tears impossibly stream from my eyes. I don’t want to stay away from Ramiel. Every fiber of my being is rejecting the thought.

Pluto rocks me back and forth, leaning his back against the tree and then tilting it forward to calm me as though I’m a small child. He hushes me, patting my head slowly. “You understand, that’s good.”

I harden my heart in the following weeks. I start by not touching Ramiel. He doesn’t seem to notice when Ronan takes over guiding him. I merely speak to the prince, removing myself physically from his awareness. I’m sure he can see my core, and that’s probably enough comfort for him, I think.

He’s greatly improved with a blade; he can block non-magic items by listening to their frequencies as they glide through the air. Manipulating air flow is no easy task, though he’s mastered it at this point. Somehow, he’s capable of doing things even elves have great difficulty doing. I’ve learned to not question it, since Qor also seems to passively accept this as normal.

I still congratulate Ramiel on his successes. It becomes easier to hide your feelings when the other person also hides theirs—assuming Ronan had told me the truth about Ramiel’s affection for me. I’m still unsure the prince has the capacity to think about such things while training for the biggest moment in his life.

The more I watch the prince, though, the more I see how he is built for this. Perhaps it’s the Faundor bloodline or his motivation, but each movement starts off a bit shaky, then quickly fills with confidence, as though he’s fought battles his entire life.

And my eyes will occasionally fall on his lips, where we’ve shared several intimate moments in the past. I wonder what he’d felt when our mouths had briefly touched?

Sometimes I’d catch my fingers lifting to my own lips, brushing against them and imagining the touch of his soft, thin lips in their place...

Pluto had been right—I do love Ramiel. But if I’m to accept that I love him, I’m not sure I want it to be the romantic kind. I’d prefer more of a respectful love, a dutiful love. A friendship, a mentorship, a bond. So I actively force my gaze from his lips, and I try not to get lost in his green eyes.

Somehow, I make it through several grueling weeks of training and now there’s just one week until the Feast of Undying. The fire in front of me dances like a free spirit, and I want nothing more than to change places with it and die with the night.

Instead, the decision to either tell Ramiel I’m leaving or to just disappear once the Feast is over haunts me. I know he’ll need the space to build up his independence as the official heir to Arioch’s throne, but I also selfishly want to be a part of his successes. I want to be a part of his life, even if it’s as a maid that serves him.

As I think about what I should do, I stare into the flickering fire. The soft glow dances on each of our four faces, highlighting noses and cheeks with warm yellow light.

“One week.” Ronan breaks the silence next to me. I scoot a little to my left, sensing that we are sitting a little too close for comfort. I can sense his eye roll, though I don’t look in his direction. “We must leave in two days if we are to reach the stadium in time for the Feast.”

I nod, raising my hands to the fire. Its heat wraps around my fingers like gloves. The weather has been cooling down considerably in more recent days. The leaves have turned orange and are dropping from trees like felled soldiers. I can hardly move anywhere without the fragile things crackling underfoot.

Ramiel spins a short knife in the dust to Ronan’s right. A smile plays on his warped lips.

I have one more week before I’ll never see that smile again.