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

The blond elf presses his flat foot against the bark of a robust tree, his turquoise eyes running along the tall trunk. Then he glances at us, a tilted smile pulling his cheek into a mound.

“Can humans climb?” he asks, his voice tinny and mocking, as though he already knows the answer.

Ronan clears his throat. “Yes, we can.”

Pluto’s eyes darken into a shade of deep teal, flicks of silver cutting across his irises like ice. His jaw tenses and his white eyebrows pull together. “But not like elves can, surely.” His gaze wanders, then settles on me. Though blue, his eyes are aflame with something warm and challenging. “Do you wish to walk? I’d say it’s about three days by foot to Nwatalith.”

Three days is a long time, but it might just be worth it. The peace treaty situation will be solved, I’ll catch a prize-winning Tallup for my master, and my father will be pleased.

Will a fish be enough to earn her forgiveness?

I sigh, earning a confused look from the exotic creature still poised to leap up the length of the great oak. My hand lifts to dismiss his concern.

“Three days is fine. May we bring our horses?”

“You may,” Pluto says, his tone thoughtful. He raises a scarred hand to his lips, rubs it there for a moment, then raises his finger to the sky. He nods. “The weather is appropriate for travelers. Any hotter, and the magic here might turn against you. I’m sure you know that already, though.”

I shake my head as Ronan nods his. My lip twitches. I still have so much to learn.

“But, Ramiel,” Ronan says, his voice sharp, “the horses need to rest. Would you like me to pay the innkeeper to care for them while we’re away?”

He’s right. Claude probably wouldn’t make it very far before giving in to exhaustion—he isn’t the youngest of our stallions. My arms fold across my chest and I nod once. “Thank you. We shall await your return.”

Ronan laughs—a short sound like parchment being sliced with a dull knife. “Go on without me. I have ways to find you.”

By this, he must mean he often had to search on behalf of Xavelor. He’s quite more skilled than I, in magic knowledge, in war... He must trust this elf, if he’s willing to leave me alone with him.

My teeth come together, and I breathe in deeply. “See you later, then.”

Pluto leads the way, his body hardly having to dodge low-hanging branches. I find myself ducking or jumping over the mossy brown limbs every few yards, scarcely tripping over a few.

“So, you know Ether,” I begin, but then I realize I don’t know where I wanted to take the conversation, so I let the sentence hang in the air. Small talk has never been my forté.

The elf continues moving along the spongy path, his feet silent against the loose twigs and rocks littering the way. To any listener, it would sound as though only one roamed the enchanted wood.

“I don’t mind telling you a bit about her,” he finally says, though his voice is so soft I can hardly hear.

I remain silent, hoping to coax him to continue.

“What are you curious about, Prince?” He never once looks over his shoulder to speak to me directly, so his voice is rather muffled.

“What’s your relationship to her?” My question tumbles out before I can think, but thankfully it’s valid. A part of me hopes he’s her kin.

“We’re lovers.”

Before I know it, my foot hits a large stone and then I’m hopping forward a few paces in desperation to regain my balance, but I can’t keep it up for very long. Adrenaline and clumsiness battle each other in my arms as my body tips forward, and it’s too late to prepare for my landing.

A pounding pain surfaces in my right temple.

But I don’t focus on the dullness that thuds in my head—instead, Pluto’s answer spins around in the air like it’s taken a crude physical form, riding off the humid vapor rippling over the ground’s surface.

Elves can’t lie, I remind myself. The pretty little elf I’d kidnapped has a lover, and I’ve forcefully torn her from him for my own aims. And now I’m asking said lover to help me find a gift for her. I deserve this humiliation.

A screeching noise bursts all around me, too high a frequency to enjoy, and almost deafening. My hands press over my ears, but the aftershock of the sound rings in my head anyway. Then, my body slowly lifts from the ground, hovers about a foot up, then rights itself and I’m standing again.

Pluto’s a yard away and holding a strange wooden device between thin lips. His eyes shift to a startling shade of green. Not quite emerald, not deep like jade—they’re electric.

He reaches to his mouth and removes the small wooden tube, then slides it into his ragged shirt. When he sees my expression, his lips twitch up a little.

“Relax, friend,” he snickers, his voice nasally. “She’s like my sister. Or maybe, more accurately, my daughter?” Something about his explanation makes his smile grow wider, and then he’s crouching, fist held to his mouth to hold in his laughter.

I squint my eyes at him, partly from the pain swelling in my head and also because he... lied... to me. “Are you telling the truth?”

His smirk never disappears as he stands, then moves toward me, a hand outstretched. “What do they teach you in school, Your Highness?” I reach up to take his hand, so thin and slender, yet the strength in it pulls me straight to my feet with almost no effort at all.

“That elves cannot lie,” I say dryly.

Pluto presses his lips together, his eyes back to their light blue color. Then, his jaw clenches tight and I can tell that he’s trying hard not to cackle into my face. Then, he gulps something thick down his throat and a kinder smile spreads over his lips. “Oh. That.”

His flippant personality is really starting to get on my nerves. Is he just toying with me?

Had Ronan misjudged his kindness?

“So it’s a lie then, that your kind is confined to telling the truth.” I’m aware that my voice is cold, unquestioning, but Pluto still doesn’t lose his smirk.

He shrugs his shoulders. “Is it really a lie when I wasn’t sincerely trying to mask the truth?”

“You really are bound to the truth, then.”

The elf sighs, now, his eyes glowing blue, still. He turns and continues walking into the brush. “Bound to it? No. Cursed, sure. But we find our ways around it.”

Cursed. The word is unfamiliar to me, yet frightening at the same time. The result of the War of Undying led to many casualties but zero deaths on the side of magical creatures. For humans, however, many were lost, but we still came out on top in the end. Instead of taking the creatures’ lives, mages whispered dark curses into their offspring, so their future generations would bear the burden of their loss.

But Pluto and Ether seem pretty... “human,” discarding the fact that their ability to use magic is far more impressive and limitless than a mage could ever dream.

“There are many loopholes within the magical restraints put on us by your people,” Pluto continues, his tone unwavering.

I follow him through a path with no overhanging branches, and at that moment, I inhale deeply. The air somehow feels lighter, fresher, and more alive here, like I’ve just consumed a healthy platter of fruit.

He looks back at me briefly, the sunlight hitting his hair in a way that makes it a brighter, glowing yellow. “I’m surprised my silly joke caused a royal such as yourself to fall so miserably. And you call yourself a warrior?”

“I’m not Xavelor,” I say, my voice hard. “And before you make assumptions about my integrity, I’ve never once called myself by his name or pretended to be his person.”

Pluto stops walking. It’s a sudden, unnatural movement. His body is stiff in the center of the path.

“So there’s a second prince,” he marvels, turning his sloped nose to the blue sky. “It must’ve been hard to compare yourself to his legacy. You’re quite the honorable fellow, aren’t you?” There’s no tone of mockery or satire in his words, but I can’t help but feel a little annoyed by them.

“Ah, you haven’t made it very far. That’s good,” Ronan calls from behind, before I can reply.

Thank the gods of Arioch for him. Any moment longer and I may have said something I would regret.

“You’re a fast walker,” Pluto observes, not looking back once to greet him.

Ronan doesn’t respond as he picks up his pace to walk beside me. “Claude and Melanie are in good hands, Ramiel. We are due to retrieve them in three days’ time.”

“Speaking of,” I say, tilting my head in Pluto’s direction. “Where shall we sleep while on our journey? Certainly not the forest floor.”

Just imagining the creatures that might visit us in the night makes my skin crawl. The magical forest was still a mystery to many, as humans rarely ventured inside. An area unprotected by the kingdom, it is known for missing persons and murder.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to join me in the canopy,” Pluto says, nodding to the thick leaves overhead.

Something inside me convulses. Sleeping in a tree? Surely he must be plotting against me.

“I’d prefer a leaky tavern to anywhere outdoors.”

Ronan chuckles softly. I appreciate his support.

The elf sighs and then cuffs a tree trunk with his hand. “Walk with me a few more hours, and we’ll reach the Skye Pub. Many a traveler stops in, but I can’t guarantee any rooms will be available at such short notice.”

“You’re surprisingly patient,” Ronan quips, and Pluto twitches. “How long did it take you to reach the body of the elder elf? Maybe twenty minutes by the boughs?”

The elf scrunches his nose, his eyes angled. “Ten, tops.” He glances at me, then back to my servant. “I’m fine with walking. Your prince isn’t as fast as you are, anyhow.”

I remain silent as Ronan glares at Pluto and the elf snarls back.

The walk to the tavern is taciturn.

“We do have a few rooms available,” a stout woman says at the entrance to a ramshackle wood building. Her ears are about the size of a balled fist and her lips and eyes are of larger proportions than I’m used to. I look away so as to not be rude. “Are we thinkin’ one for each of yiz?”

“No, just one. For those two,” Pluto sneers, jabbing his thumb in our direction.

Before I’m able to protest, Ronan places a hand on my shoulder. “Thank you for your kindness.” He bows, setting a hand on my back to force me to copy him. A prince bowing to an unkempt pub worker... My father shall never hear of this.

The lady at the door lets out a deep chortle. “Alright, come on in. First beer’s on the house.”

“Oh, I don’t—”

Pluto interrupts hastily. “That’s very kind of you, Your Ladyship. We’ll take your house specialty.”

I throw a glare at Pluto, who wears a smug expression, avoiding eye contact.

We take our seats at a scuffed wooden table, too big for just the three of us, but by the looks of it, not many customers are here.

The woman reappears, her face dripping with sweat as she clunks three large beer mugs on the table, then arranges them in front of each of us. She grins wide as she waits, eyes flitting between the elf and my servant, excited for them to take a sip.

Pluto lips the foamy gold liquid to his lips, slurps up a big gulp, then lets out a satisfied gasp. “Delicious, Your Ladyship. Are these home-brewed hops?”

“Yessir. The finest in Myrlbourne. You better believe it.”

Ronan swishes the foam in the glass mug, then drains the entire mug without taking a breath. His gasp is much larger, much more satisfied than Pluto’s. My servant avoids the elf’s glower, smiling sweetly at the woman. “Quite delicious. You’ve outdone yourself this time, Your Ladyship.”

Now she looks at me, her eyes serious and wide.

I don’t know how to tell her I’m deathly allergic to liquor. My two accomplices seem to be behaving carefully around her, so it looks like I have very little choice.

My hand grips the smooth glass handle of the mug and I raise the heavy thing to my face, the liquid sloshing around lazily but never going over the edge. Should I pretend to let it slip? The thought is tempting, but I know the woman will just fetch me another pint.

The glass meets my lips and the sparkling liquid seeps through slightly, tingling against my tongue. Its sweet barley taste is nearly sickening, but I manage to gulp down the small amount.

I set the glass down and release a fake gasp. “Very delightful, er, Your Ladyship.”

Her expression goes flat. Then she turns away without another word.

Ronan laughs softly. “She’s a dwarf, my liege. Hot-headed, with a habit for hospitality. But they are a rare find, so what’s left of them is treated like royalty.”

“You dare insult their people?” Pluto growls.

“I’m speaking facts,” Ronan says, smiling. “You’d know if I was insulting you.”

The two quibble a little longer, finding something to argue about in the others’ responses. After a while, I stop listening.

I think I fall asleep on the table, but I wake up in a creaky bed under thin, stained covers.

The morning sun shines through a curtainless window, casting its light on the wood walls of the small room.

Ronan lies on the ground next to me, curled into a little ball. His eyebrows are pulled together over closed eyelids, pensive.

An ache spins down my spine as I realize we still have a little further to go. A chuckle finds its way out of my mouth.

To think I’m doing all of this for a fish.