The Sinuous Bargain of a Cowardly Prince (book one, The Shadowed Throne Chronicles)
Chapter Seventeen - Ether

Ramiel’s chest scarcely heaves a noticeable breath. With his mouth slightly parted and his eyes closed, he looks dead.

It isn’t often that I recall how my parents left this world, but looking at the slow and calculated breaths of the prince, I can’t stop the memories from flooding in.

Love is rare for our kind, as we can thrive happily on our own as long as we have the energy of the forest. The idea of a romantic sort of love is entirely human. Even so, my parents loved each other. At least, from what I can remember, they did.

Fairies slew them in the night. After forcing fairy magic down their throats to kill them quickly, they carved the couple’s eyes from their skulls. My parents hadn’t been the only victims.

The fairies meant to orphan us.

And they’d been successful.

My teeth grind together as I usher away the thoughts of my parent’s soul-stricken faces, mouths agape and without the color of life.

Ramiel’s body stretches long across a marble table in a naturally lit room. Incense rises from a long, red-tinted stick, filling the air with a singed floral aromatic. It reminds me of a tall purple flower in the forest. The smell reminds me of home, calming me momentarily.

Ronan shifts his legs at the other end of the room, the swishing of his pants disrupting the silence.

We await the palace herbalists and doctors, who will treat the prince with their human remedies and concoctions, though I can tell Ramiel is still alive thanks to my intervention. Ronan must know this, too.

I feel the fairy’s gaze on me, and when I turn to look, he slants his eyebrows at a suspicious angle. He runs stained fingers through his short, uneven brown hair and clenches his square jaw. Muddy brown eyes swirl with disgust, his body hunched over so he can look at me through dark lashes. He’s created the perfect disguise for a fairy who doesn’t wish to be caught. He didn’t make himself noticeable enough for anyone—especially not women—to bat an eye.

For some reason, this thought pleases me.

“Why’d you call for me, and not his maid?” The fairy’s voice—filled with sizzling venom—cuts through my thoughts. I stiffen.

It’s true, I did call for his help. To be honest, he was the only one I could think of at the moment, and he is also the only one I know who is capable of using magic.

As if I would ever tell him that.

“I actually called for her first,” I lie. Then my mind goes blank. I haven’t thought of a truth to back up this lie, which could put me in a very dangerous position. The elven curse itches the back of my throat, and I know I’ve almost reached the point of no return.

Aha! I certainly thought of calling Bernadette before calling out for Ronan. That should be enough to stop the curse from unfolding!

I open my mouth, but it’s too late. My tongue stiffens and cracks, dry. My lips chap and rub against one another like sandpaper. Air screeches down my throat, but my muscles flare and enlarge making it very difficult to breathe.

It’s as though an invisible hand, infected by some terrible plague, has infected my ability to speak.

The fairy snickers, a hideous grin revealing off-white teeth. “Why, it looks like that isn’t the case now, is it?”

I blink fiercely at him, moving my lips and nose as if he’ll understand my silent communication. My neck strains upward, attempting to free itself from the invisible clutches of the curse, but to no avail. If I try any harder, I’ll be mute for longer than desirable.

Ronan leans back in his chair—I watch him from my peripheral.

“If your kind weren’t impulsive liars, you wouldn’t have to deal with that nonsense,” he remarks, his tone, posture, everything mocking me.

I raise a fist, but then the heavy oak door scrapes open and I quickly lower it. With a shaky breath in, I turn away from the fairy. Now isn’t the proper time to get mad.

Mages flood into the room and swarm around the table, their cloaks blacker than night and exuding evil. They reek of dark magic, but I can’t help but sense there’s something oddly familiar about their presence.

The strange beings circle around the table once, then lift stark white hands into the air, fingers spread like pointy stars. A low incantation spreads, and a muted glow of red buzzes around the prince’s body.

I crane my neck upward for a better view of their work. One mage flicks a hand out, fingernails rotting with black and gray. Its twiggy fingers hover over Ramiel’s arm, and as the group continues to mumble strange spells together, the wound begins to fester worse than it had during the affliction, then slows down and returns to its normal color.

A mage makes something of a gasp-like noise, and the chanting halts.

I stand from my chair, straining to see what happened. Did they make a mistake?

The mages mumble now, but it’s no incantation. They’re all whispering different words, discussing what happened.

I dare to step closer, wedge my nose into their business. Sᴇaʀ*ᴄh the Find_Nøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

My throat remains dry as it heaves slow breaths, but the sight of Ramiel makes me stop breathing completely. My hands move shakily to my mouth and angry tears well in my eyes. Soon, my entire body is trembling with shock. There is nothing to be thought of when the plain truth is laying motionless on the table.

A foreign energy flares in my core, suddenly present as if it was awoken by what I’ve just seen.

“That’s our cue to leave,” Ronan grunts, sitting up from his chair.

“No,” I mouth.

"Move. Now," he snarls.

How can he not see that what’s happening is wrong? If Ramiel’s personal servant won’t even stand by him, who will? The thought enrages me.

If the prince dies, what will happen to my people?

I start toward the mages. Which one should I pin to the ground first? I have my dagger on me. If I kill one, maybe they’ll take the prince’s life more seriously.

Ronan reaches out, roughly grabs my wrist, and with great force pulls me out of the room. The movement is a blur of black and white and—

The door slams behind us. Everything is fuzzy as the fairy leads me away from the corpse. He tugs me along into another room and closes the door behind us.

“He’s not dead,” Ronan growls as he drops my arms. He goes to sit in a woven chair, sinking into it as though ready for a nap. He even yawns.

I motion to my face with widespread fingers, mimicking the terrible damage done to Ramiel’s features. My fingers draw shapes over my forehead, eyes, and cheeks to resemble the scars that gashed across his face like some invisible beast had mauled him.

The fairy sighs. “Unfortunately, that’s normal. When humans are directly exposed to dark magic, they—”

I attempt to growl at him, and it’s painful, but I think it does the trick. His eyes darken and his jaw tightens.

He throws his hands up. “I don’t know what you want me to say. He’s human. That’s just what happens, and we’re going to have to live with it.” He looks directly at me with an expectant look, then scrunches his nose. “Oh I see. You’re sad because you won’t be able to train an attractive face. Is that it?”

No. That’s not it.

It isn’t something that I can easily explain. Something inside of me feels lost knowing that Ramiel’s body is at the mercy of those dreaded magic-hungry cadavers.

If he dies, I will be blamed. The elves will be blamed. Not the mages.

Would Ronan understand that?

I swallow deep, and my throat begins to loosen. If I speak now, my words must be slow and truthful.

“You’re... wrong,” I start, the hoarseness bringing my feminine voice into a low alto. I reach a hand to my throat and gently massage the skin around the one long set of bones in the middle. I don’t lie often, so I’m unsure if this will help, but I have things I need to say.

Ronan lifts a brow. “Do continue. If you can.”

My jaw stiffens. I know speaking to him is futile, but both of us have a common interest in keeping the prince safe.

“Ramiel has... given me... purpose,” I breath, my voice raspy. My mouth is beginning to feel less dry. “I want to... see him... succeed.” My lips tremble. “I thought... he was... dead...”

Ronan’s blank stare is aggravating, but I know fairies are not ones to show much emotion beyond anger. Perhaps he’s mulling over my words. Maybe he has a brain in that human-shaped head of his.

“You’re exaggerating,” he sighs, scratching his chin. “The only person who can give you purpose is yourself. Are you in love with the guy or something?”

“No,” I croak. It’s the truth, but I feel guilty admitting it. Maybe if I were human, the answer would be different.

“That’s what I thought,” the fairy laughs. “We don’t really get into that sort of territory, do we?”

I can tell he’s not purposefully trying to aggravate me, but I still feel like he has no place to say this. Referring to me and him as “we” feels worse than dropping a barbed rock in my stomach.

“What about... you?” I snarl as I sit in a chair across from him. We’re far enough apart that I can’t see the color of his eyes. A comfortable distance. “Why haven’t you... bothered to tell him... who you really are?”

He snickers. “I’m Ronan Creed, Lord of Edenbrooke.” An itchy grin twists his lips into a nasty, sarcastic shape. “I always have been. Always will be. My identity in the forest is long gone.”

“You can’t change... what you really are,” I spit, pointing at his hands that are stained blue and green and red from mixing potions. The kinds of elixirs made from toxic plants that no elf, ogre, nor human would go near—they’re fairy-trademarked.

“Why does it bother you so much?” he groans, setting a hand on one knee. “I thought I was very clear before about my service to Ramiel. If he dies, so do I. Is my identity really the issue here?” He turns away, muttering an insult under his breath.

I huff, and the inflammation dies down quicker. Fire flares in my chest. “Before, I couldn’t tell you were a fairy,” I admit, crossing my arms over my chest. “It’s obvious now. If Ramiel can truly sense energies as he did with that weak klopse, there’s no doubt about he’ll realize something is off about you.” I lean forward, sticking my head out so I can see any semblance of an emotional change in his eyes. He still just looks mad. “Why don’t you give in already? You’re tired. Drained of magic. Hiding your identity, I imagine, takes up a great deal of energy, does it not?”

Ronan laughs at this, and I lean back.

“Shut your mouth, elf. I know you couldn’t care less about my well-being,” he snaps, but his voice shakes a little at the end. I’ve successfully knocked him from his high horse, now I just need to stick him where it hurts.

“He’s going to find out sooner or later,” I hiss, my voice still a little deeper than I would like, but the ferocity is still there. “Are you afraid he’ll shy away from your natural, unsightly appearance?”

Ronan grips his knee with rigid fingers and turns his head away. His thick jaw moves subtly, like he’s grinding his teeth together or moving his tongue.

“Not afraid,” he says, ”aware. Besides, if he finds out about my past, you know what he’s bound to bring up first.”

Of course. The War of Undying. The war between humans and magical beings. The war that was won by the humans because of the infraction between the fairy and elf alliance.

If the fairy king hadn’t abandoned his post, our queen wouldn’t have been kidnapped by the human king, Marlov. As soon as she became a captive, the war was lost, and our people were put under oppressive law by the humans.

I’d learned it all from our village chief when I was young. It’s a history that can’t be easily forgotten, even after a millenium.

“That war was lost because of your people,” I mutter, a sour taste covering my tongue.

“No, it was because of your people,” he says.

I widen my eyes at him. “Our queen was kidnapped and killed thanks to your king breaching the alliance between our people.”

“Is that what they told you?” he snickers, focusing on the wall next to him. “That your queen was abandoned? Let me lay the truth on thick for you, elf."

“We know who is stronger here,” I warn him. The flames flicker in my chest, ready to unleash.

The foreign energy swirls in my chest, tempting me to use it. I don’t know where it comes from, if not from the sight of Ramiel’s face. Perhaps the energy from the Tallup was just now awakening?

Ronan’s expression darkens. “Our king was left alone on the battlefield and died a pitiful death at the hands of an elder elf.” He squints his eyes at me.

The energy is louder now, heavier. It’s whispering my name.

I’m too enamored by its beckoning to really focus on what he says, but I’m sure he’s lying anyway. Only one of us can be telling the truth here, and it’s the person who also can’t tell a lie.

"Don’t use it." His voice is grave. Of course he can feel this energy as well. It’s pretty difficult to ignore. But I puzzle at his order. The magic is already in me, so why not use it?

“Do you finally see who has the upper hand?” I ask as I close my eyes, focusing on the dillating swath of energy hovering around my central core. He must be intimidated. A part of me wonders how he’d react if I shot a few spells at him.

“It’s dark energy.”

I breathe in. “So what?”

Ronan chuckles. “I guess you’ll see what happens if you use it.”

I breathe out. “What do you suppose I do with it, then, when it’s already in my body? It’s not like I can dispose of it.”

Ronan stands, his eyebrows heavy. “You’ve never experienced dark magic before. To teach Ramiel how to properly use magic, you shouldn’t be tainted by the dark.”

“You’re not saying you want me to... transfer the energy to you, are you?”

Ronan steps toward me, a look of seriousness in his eyes. We both know that transferring magic energy between species is strange and unusual, as it is done exactly the same way I transferred the klopse’s magical core to Ramiel...

I stand and move around the other side, raising my hands. “You can’t be... You’re joking, aren’t you?”

He sighs, shaking his head. “I really wish I was.”

My hands drop. Our people hate each other. The only reason he would ever offer to do something this severe would be if it were for Ramiel’s sake.

When I see it like that, I can’t really argue. After all, he’s my ticket to freedom and he can prevent the king from harming my people. I’m in too deep to back out now, and having an uncontrollable, ever-growing vortex of energy tearing at my magical core isn’t exactly in Ramiel’s best interest or my own.

My heart drags in my chest, disappointed that I’m giving up such raw, powerful energy. But I know it’s for the best. I also don’t want to risk my skin morphing into something so... monstrous.

I sulk around the chair and stand a few feet from the fairy, who is just a head or two taller than me. As he closes the distance, I hold my breath.

His head angles down, but his eyes remain open and serious. His hand lifts to my jaw, gripping it rough.

Our lips touch for just the right amount of time.

The energy flees my body and enters his. I feel lighter than ever. The burden has been lifted. Now that it’s gone, it really did feel like a dark invasion, and I’m glad it’s vanished.

Ronan turns and pukes on the stone flooring.

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