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

A/N: Please note that this chapter is written from Ronan’s POV.

I’m not ready to bear the truth, but I must.

Guilt fills me, consumes me. Has everything been a lie?

I focus on my breathing as I soar through the trees, heart panging like lead in my hollow chest, frustration threatening to seep from my dry eyes.

I’m not one to cry. Not even after I’d witnessed the late prince’s death; the lines crinkled around his dark brown eyes as he turned to look at me, that ridiculous smirk that always wooed the maidens slanting into his cheeks before he switched his footing and lost his life.

No, I will not cry now, even though the entire world I’ve known and believed in seems to have been a lie from the beginning, and the one person whose trust I’ve truly gained now probably views me as a lying, deceitful monster.

Instead, I let the wind dry my eyes and send my thoughts to play among the birds in the trees. They deserve a good distraction.

For what seems like hours, I fly without direction; I simply needed to remove myself from the situation. I didn’t want to hear Ether’s smooth words as she painted me out to be a villain, nor did I wish to stick around to see how Ramiel’s expression would change when I speak against her. But more than my concern for the prince’s opinion, I now have the entire bloated history between my people and Ether’s to sort out.

My wings are still recovering from Ether’s blunt strike when I revealed this form to her. Luckily, she hadn’t broken the bone; had she, it wouldn’t have healed this quickly.

A few flaps, and I’m above the canopy of green. Some leaves are turning yellow at their edges, inviting in the season of death.

The sky is darkening rapidly, the colors dimming from orange to royal purple. The darkness brings me to the one place I’d been sworn to never return to unless I had to revoke my loyalty to the royal family. Since serving Xavelor, I’d only ever returned once: that was after he’d found out my identity. This time will be for the same infraction, though years later.

My father’s estate is nestled in the land to the east, where our people reside. His house is the largest I’ve seen; our family is one of dukes and duchesses, sworn into the royal court since the War of Undying... Or so goes the legend. I’ve been thinking about discontinuing this legacy, after spending most of my unpleasant life with Xavelor.

My wings give out just a little too early, but I’m not surprised. I close my eyes as my wings flip back and pin to my shoulder blades, allowing me to fall to the ground without needless resistance. My crash into the soft earth is welcomed.

Like vultures circling prey, my father’s maidservants flock to me after immediately recognizing my silvery-gray skin and golden eyes. The features of a gargoyle, and also that of our noble fairy family. I wish I’d been born with slightly pink or blue or green skin like the rest. Instead, I look dead, sticking out like a sore thumb.

“R-Ronan! It’s been years! What are you—”

“Let me see him!” Nina pushes Patrice out of the way, her scrawny body swimming in her off-white servant dress. She begins to pull up my elbows and arms, and Patrice is quick to join her. Several newer, younger maids bustle around me, eyes alight with novelty and envy at my glistening, cursed skin.

I sigh as their grabby hands pat my arms, legs, hollowed cheeks, and pointed ears. It’s all in an effort to make sure that it’s really me, and also to pass on the rumor that they touched the heir to the Perri dukedom. Once they start greedily patting along my arms and legs again, I swat their hands away.

“Where is Vicktor?” I ask.

The maids look around at one another, their shrunken heads wrinkling along with their concerned eyebrows. It’s been a while since I’ve seen so many of my kind at once, and I’m suddenly repulsed by the look of them in numbers. Humans were blessed with better genetics, while elves were gifted the best. I imagine on the scale of attractiveness, we are below that even of ogres.

It takes me a moment to realize why they’re confused. It’s been a while since I’ve been here, but the memory of my childhood resurfaces, reminding me of my father’s incessant desire to be called “Lord.” He punishes anyone who uses or recognizes his name without his title.

I don’t have time for this.

“Lord Perri. Where is he?” I say through clamped teeth.

The maids’ faces light up, recognizing their master’s name. One of the younger ones—slightly less repugnant than the others—looks at me with orange-tinted eyes as she points a finger back to the estate.

“He ought to be in his study, working on legal documents. Or perhaps he’s concocting a new spell. It’s often one of the two these days,” she says in a gravelly voice.

“Thank you,” I say, resisting an eye roll. My father and his addiction to improving the magic the king despises so much will never cease to impress me—and not in a good way.

I brush past the mix of ugly servants, sauntering my way across stiff grass to the paved walkway that leads into the tall and wide, castle-like house. As I grow nearer to the door, the mumbling behind me gets quieter—they know to stay clear of the house when a member of the family enters.

Stupid house rules.

Two short, armor-covered guards stand squarely at the entrance. Their beady eyes squint at me as I approach, then widen when they realize who I am.

Each guard clinks a hollow staff against the ground and the doors scrape open, revealing a dim entryway filled with bowing maids prepared for my arrival.

So my father knows I’m here. How could he not with the bustle and attention brought on by my arrival?

I ignore the admiring gazes of the maids around me and slink past them, up the stairwell to my father’s study. I feel their eyes on me, even when I know they cannot see me. They’ll no doubt be waiting in their two lines until I leave.

The study is directly across from my room, where I’d spent ten stupendous years of my life before moving into the castle to attend to Xavelor full-time. It’d been my mother’s dream to turn me into a well-studied heir to the estate, but I’d been born the exact same year as the crown prince, which—for better or for worse—changed her plans.

Even after all these years, the walls are still devoid of paintings or decorations. Our family abhors portraits or any kind—anyone would, with our hideous lineage. Still, I find it strange not even a candle or painting fills the empty, sloppy brick walls.

Before I can knock on the dark wooden door, my father’s voice calls out, kinder than I remember: “Come in Ro, I’m just finishing up a batch of capsules.”

With a deep breath, I push the door.

Sparkling fairy dust zings around the room; it dances on the breeze from the open window at the east end, but shies away from leaving the small room—it doesn’t dare rush into the hallway to escape its fate.

My spectacled father whisks his short legs around the desk covered in iridescent red and blue dust, licking his lips to collect the magic spinning in the air. His silver face scrunches at the bitterness, then he plunks his hand into the accumulation of dust and swipes it off the table, catches it in his other hand, and carries it to a clamping machine sitting on a bench against an unused closet.

After sieving the dust through cloth, it drains into the metal opening. My father reaches forward with a blue and red-stained hand to crank the handle on the side. In a few seconds, a marbled capsule pops out from the bottom, completely compacted and lethal to anyone who consumes the whole thing. He’s experimenting with poison.

My father carries the capsule to a basket filled with others and drops it in, then brushes the remaining dust from his hands.

His eyes finally meet mine. His are golden like mine, his forehead is about the same size, and his slicked hair is a muted gray next to his shiny skin.

“What brings you here, son?” Though he looks ridiculous, covered head to toe with colorful dust, his eyes are serious, and his tone is calculated. Aside from this colorful and magical line of work, he’s always been extremely stoic—he has never once treated me like a proper son. My grandfather raised him the same way. I’m sure if I am to continue the family line, I’ll be forced to treat my son in a similar fashion.

For a moment I’m at a loss for words. The last time I told him a prince found out who I really was, he’d been furious. Xavelor was quite the smart man; he put the pieces together rather quickly after I’d hardly reacted to his brutal treatment of elves. He hadn’t seemed surprised that I was part of the family that worked leg and limb for his father and every king preceding him. Still, my father’s oath to the Faundor family line is to never reveal our true identities to the court, for that would put our people in jeopardy—the king’s disdain for magical creatures is only satiated by his power over us. Xavelor’s discovery of my identity, in my father’s eyes, was a threat to not only our family, but to every other fairy within the kingdom of Arioch. A death sentence, if you will.

But enough of that. My father must know of this new development. And I’ve questions only he, the oldest living Perri, can answer.

“Prince Ramiel has discovered who I am,” I say shortly, stiffening my jaw when his eyes darken.

He curses, then gnarls his lip between his teeth. He doesn’t look at me. “How in Arioch—”

“We encountered a living legend. A warrior from the time of King Elias,” I start, but my father’s face reddens. His anger no longer scares me, though I know if I continue, the maids will be frightened, so I itch the back of my head and sigh.

I’ve found it’s better to de-escalate a situation before it has a chance to worsen. In this case, changing the subject to something more severe will hopefully take his focus off the main issue, whilst still answering my questions about the War.

“The prince has been working closely with a young female elf,” I say, watching for a change in my father’s expression. “Since her arrival, he’s been bitten by a magic-starved klopse, lost his sight, and has now been subjugated to a truth even I am having difficulty facing.”

His jaw visibly tightens as he breathes in deeply. I can see the focus in his eyes change from disappointment to disgust, and soon all that’s left of his anger is prejudice.

“You’ve let an elf assist the prince?” His gravelly voice emphasizes his loathing for Ether’s people, and all at once I feel hideously guilty.

I’ve been raised to hate them. My parents and grandparents had conducted raids on their villages, as I’m sure the elven nobility also did on ours. Constantly at each others’ throats, we’ve never taken a moment to look at the true masterminds behind it all...

I didn’t need to stick around long enough to hear Qor say anything more. It had been clear from his impartial attitude toward me during his recounting of the war that neither elf nor fairy betrayed the other. This lie had been fabricated by someone else for the purpose of pitting us against one another.

It’s hard to stomach. There is so much to dislike about elves—namely, their... smell. But if I’m to understand that our hatred has been the product of a thousand-year-old lie, it pains me to think that things might have been... no, they would have been different.

“Answer me, Ronan.”

I gnaw on my lip, then sigh. “Do you know the truth of the War?”

He chuckles, then brushes his hands on his loose, discolored clothing. More dust spews up and leaves handprints on the light fabric covering his legs. He moves to sit on the old wood bench near the unused closet.

“You seek an answer that is deeper than what you’ve been raised to believe,” he says quietly. I move near him, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Then you should be able to answer,” I presume, looking through my brows at him.

My father shakes his head. “Surely not. Like our oath to the Faundor lineage, we must never speak of the War as it truly occurred.”

I open my mouth to protest, but he raises a red and blue and silver hand. His face is tired and heavy, carrying the weight of emotions I never expected to see him bear. It has been ten or so years since I last visited, so his mask is sure to have cracked a little when times got tough.

“Trust me, Ro. When you learn of the truth, and I mean the full truth, you will not want to speak of it. It is truly vile.” He brings his hands together and clasps them above his dirty legs. “Speak of it, and even our own will call you mad and condemn you.”

Something flashes in his eyes, but it’s gone too quick for me to register what it might be. My best guess is sadness. The elves had taken my mother and sisters when I was younger, slaying them for their own prescribed agenda.

It’s crazy now how I’m trying to understand this hatred from an impersonal perspective. Does that not disrespect my family? My sisters, my kind mother? Hasn’t my hatred been... justified?

“Why did you tell me—us—to hate them, the elves?” My voice grinds out, unfiltered. The surprise on my father’s face shows as he widens his eyes.

“They’ve done enough to make us hate them, don’t you think?”

“But they’re... our people used to be such close allies.”

“Aye,” my father says, nodding, “which is why such hatred has been able to persist for so many years. We teach our side of the war and sprinkle in the lie, to justify our disdain.”

“But why?”

“Don’t live in the past, my son,” he snaps, his pupils suddenly shrinking to black specks. “The elves cannot undo the damage they’ve caused. Nor can we undo what has been done.”

“So how should I act now that you’ve confirmed this bogus history?” I huff my frustration through my nose as my voice grows louder. “Do I throw blasphemies in her direction even though she hasn’t directly harmed me?”

My father’s voice matches my volume, his eyebrows creeping over his large silver forehead. “Have you associated with this elf? Your concern for her must mean you’ve lightened your distaste for her kind. My son, this is why you must continue to hate them. Your job as the future duke will be to promote the lie for the peace of the kingdom. With the Faundor family in control, we have this house, this blessed lineage of our own, this priceless comfort. Isn’t our loyalty worth at least that much?”

“You can shove that loyalty up your ass,” I growl. “Your wife, my mother, was killed by elves, all because of your precious loyalty.”

My father stands, raising a hand to punish me. But I’m not just a boy who will cower and wait for the blow. When he swings, I catch his wrist and bring my other hand around to clock him in the chin with my knuckles. He clearly doesn’t anticipate my counterattack, because he staggers back, grunting for air. Then, through short breaths, he curses. “Get out of my sight. I don’t care if they kill you. I’ll produce another heir. One that will understand. You’ve always been replaceable.”

That’s rich.

He snarls at me, gnashing his teeth as he turns his back to me. “How wretched you are. Leave my sight at once. You’re no son of mine.”

“Gladly,” I bark, turning on my heel. The door slams behind me, and I linger in its echo for a moment. Rage fills me with intolerable heat, and for once it feels truly righteous. I’d been mad before, at the things the elves have done to my people. At the way Ether blinks her eyes sappily for the naive prince. But I know what I feel now is justified. My own family has promoted this lie for centuries, lengthening this endless feud for humanity’s gain.

It needs to stop.

I start down the hall, not bothering to keep my heavy steps quiet. I’ll be a wretched fairy. I’ll wreak havoc on all who force me into a human shell, playing the part of the innocent aid. I won’t do what they want me to do. Screw that.

I march down the stairs and stomp past the maids that are still—of course—lined up at the entrance. They look uncomfortable as I trudge past, not giving any of them as much as a sidelong glance. But then, just as I near the door, the final maid catches my eye. Young with black rope-like hair, she seems to have just started working at the mansion. I pause next to her and she twitches when I give her my full attention.

She’s innocent. They all are. My hatred should only be directed at the one who continues to lead them all astray. My father and his cronies. Myself. We who are silver-skinned and black-hearted.

I smile at her and I know it’s ugly, but to her, I can tell it’s everything because her gray eyes sparkle as though she’s seen something beautiful and fleeting. Another skewed perception of what should be admired.

Then I abruptly continue walking through the doors, stretch my wings, feel them crack and bend, then gently push off the ground with the front of my feet. Once I’m in the sky, the heat at my center reduces to a simmer. It’s completely dark now, except for the light from the cosmos that litter the sky with dead kings and a haze of stalking morning sunlight.

Small steps. I need to take small steps. Detaching myself from my family can only bring ruin upon us all, but somehow I feel like Ramiel will change everything, so my defiance seems like it will be worth it. He has already proven that not all royalty behaves like his brother or his father. His kindness ought to be protected. This is one thing I’m sure Ether would agree with me on.

Ether.

I clench my teeth. The horrendously beautiful creature would never come to the same realization about the War on her own. She hadn’t realized I was a fairy without my blatantly telling her, even after I sent her signs and signals. Would she have seen the falsehoods of her own people in Qor’s story? Or is she still hateful and ignorant?

There’s only one way to find out...