10 Years Later

I stepped down from the carriage, holding my skirts high to keep them out of the fetid sludge covering the cobblestones, and followed Astreia down Market Street. Tents and tables lined the road, but very few were occupied. Banners and awnings hung limp in the cold damp, their colors muted and their edges frayed. Vendors silently stood by as patrons perused their wares, not bothering to make eye contact or haggle. Not even Astreia's presence stirred the usual excitement.

Market days with Astreia used to be the highlight of my week. Outside the castle walls, the other elves only saw the friend of a princess. With her at my side and fine dresses on my tall sturdy frame, they did not see—or did not acknowledge—my dark hair or phantom pale skin, and for a few hours, I pretended to be someone else. But I could not find such simple pleasures in this gloomy space any longer.

"It's worse this time, isn't it?" I whispered through a feigned smile while Astreia rifled through broaches on display.

The princess toyed with one of her many silver braids and nodded. "Much."

She paid for the items she picked out and put her hand on the small of my back, urging me past a row of barren vendor stalls. I frowned, stealing a lingering glance at the place where our favorite vendor, Hat Lady Sal, typically stood to show off her newest creations. The Goblin had been absent for the last two weeks.

Market Street wasn't the only place in the city looking grim. Shops situated on the corners of crossroads had boarded-up windows and no trespassing signs on the doors. Clusters of townsfolk huddled on the sidewalks, speaking in inaudible murmurs and glancing anxiously around the area. Something was heavy in the air. A choking tension that lifted the hairs on the back of my neck.

"Oh, pardon me," I said as an older elf stumbled into my path. His breath reeked of ale, and his watery eyes struggled to focus.

"Out of my way."

He lurched sideways and would have fallen if I had not steadied him. The moment my fingers curled around his wrist, I wished I'd let him fall. It happened in an instant. My vision faded to white, and all the city sounds muted. Chest tight, the white turned red, and a single sound slipped through: water dripping onto stone.

No. Not water. Blood.

"You, there. You're coming with us."

"Morana," Astreia hissed, tugging me backward as two Wardens flanked the drunken man and pulled him away from us.

"What have I done?" he shouted. "She touched me. Let me go! Let me go!"

Astreia and I clung to one another as we watched the Wardens throw the man into a black prison carriage. He had committed no crime that we had witnessed other than daring to come near us in an inebriated state. That was enough to earn time in the stocks, but not death.

And I knew with absolute certainty that he would be dead by morning. A single blow to the head. Shortly after I turned seventeen, I'd developed a sense of when others would die. Sometimes, it was a feeling that came over me in passing, but if I reached out and touched someone near the end of their life, I could tell in what manner they would die.

All I'd ever wanted as a child was a gift, but I guess I should have been more specific. This power danced too close to Death magic, which had been outlawed after the war. No one, not even Astreia, knew I possessed this ability.

One of the Wardens returned. He bowed deeply before Astreia and nodded in my direction before speaking. "We have received word from the palace. They wish for you to head back."

She scoffed. "We have hours before sunset and curfew."

I admired her backbone, but secretly, I wondered why she wanted to stay here. There was nothing to shop for, and those who hadn't gone inside when the Wardens arrived eyed us with displeasure from the shadows. We would be safer inside the castle.

The Warden put his hand on the hilt of his sword. Were we meant to take it as a threat? Perhaps he was nervous and found comfort in the solid weight of his weapon, but that seemed silly. The king only appointed the most powerful and skilled soldiers to his elite city guard. With or without the sword, he was deadly.

I shifted closer to Astreia. Neither of us were equipped to fight him, and I could not sense any impending doom about the man. That didn't bode well for our chances, and if pressed, he would not hesitate to subdue us. To the outside world, Astreia was a foreign princess—an individual of great worth—but to the king, she was a pawn. Useful only as long as she obeyed. She might not be locked in a tower anymore, but it did not mean she was not still a prisoner.

Astreia pulled her shoulders back and raised her chin. The starlight under her skin sparked and flickered, but in the gray daylight, it was but a dim glow. I held my breath, wondering what path her defiance would lead us down today, but she shocked me by nodding and dragging me back to our carriage. The Warden watched us with hooded eyes, not moving his hand from his weapon until the wheels made their first full rotation.

I sank into the plush velvet cushion and stared at the woman across from me. A woman I'd long thought of as a friend. A woman who flouted societal expectations and traditions wherever she could. Even in the small things.

For instance, today, rather than the full skirts favored by the Queen (and thus everyone else), she wore cigarette trousers in the same inky black as her skin. A gauzy, black overskirt added a touch of elegance that was only slightly marred by the leather overlay on her heavy boned corset, which emphasized the hourglass figure so many lusted over.

I found her bravery to be admirable and somewhat foolish, but as an individual with no social status and a dangerous secret, I could only see the pitfalls in such minor acts of defiance. If I was going to take risks, there would be something of great worth in it for me—like a blue-eyed prince. I had yet to figure out what was in it for the princess.

"Go on," she said, crossing her legs and drumming her silver painted nails on her knee.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"You're wondering why I didn't throw a massivefit back there."

"Maybe." She widened her eyes. "All right, yes. Not that I'm complaining. The last time you acted out, they confined you to your chambers for days, and they forced me to work as a maid. With Joreen."

Astreia cackled and clapped her hand over her mouth to smother the sound when I glared at her. Her shimmering shoulders shook, and occasional snorts escaped. I waited until she calmed before continuing.

"You think it's so funny, but you've never had to work with the little Vixen. She's surly and obstinate and sly..."

"All part and parcel of being a Vixen, love."

I rolled my eyes. Joreen used that as an excuse whenever it suited her. She'd been the only one with enough spirit to display her temper that day long ago when we were assigned to our new stations in the world. Age had bolstered her defiance.

"I'm only saying I'd prefer to avoid that. Scrubbing water closets, I can handle, but listening to Joreen, I cannot."

Astreia grinned and peered out the carriage window. Slowly, her smile wilted. Her brows followed, leaving her with an unusually stern expression.

"So why didn't you?"

She didn't look at me when she answered. "Listen."

I did and heard nothing but the clopping of hooves and wheels creaking over the stone road. Sliding to the end of the bench seat, I pushed back the curtain over my window and peered out. We were near the bridge connecting the city to the eyot where the palace was built.

This area was known as the Posh District. A mix of residential and business, everything was tailored to the upper class—mostly nobles, though a few favored merchants lived here. By nature, the streets were typically quieter than Market Street, with its vendors hawking wares and masses of people going about their day, but there should at least be the gentle murmur of conversations between residents or the click of shoes on the sidewalks.

There was none of that because there was no one out and about. In the upper window of a tan stucco townhome, I glimpsed a pale face watching us. When our eyes met, she disappeared, letting the curtain fall back into place.

"It has to be true, then. There's one here."

Recalling the rumors we'd heard shortly after the king mandated the sunset curfew, I shivered. It seemed so silly then. A Reaper in Edresh. If any had survived the war, they wouldn't dare step into Edresh. Even though they served Death, they were not immune to his power.

"There could be, but why would he be here after all this time? Reapers don't–" She sucked in a sharp breath and pressed her hand against her abdomen.

I didn't press her. No one could persuade Astreia to do anything if she had already made up her mind. But gods, I was curious because I understood why she stopped herself. This very conversation bordered on treason. The king had done his very best to wipe away all knowledge of Araphel.

Astreia's birthplace was Estrellum, which bordered the kingdoms of Edresh and Araphel, and historically, they had often allied themselves with the latter. Estrellum was a place of ruin now. They had taken her from her home at thirteen. Plenty of time for her to learn about her neighbors. If the king suspected she shared that knowledge with anyone, her life would not be worth living.

We slowed. Then stopped. The look that passed between us was one of shared agreement to cease the discussion. Once we stepped outside, the king's eyes and ears were always watching and listening.

The door swung open. Garis, Astreia's personal manservant, waited by the fold-down steps, his hand outstretched to assist her out of the carriage. They left me to fend for myself, and I cursed the heavy skirts of my dress as I struggled to fit them through the door.

"There's a warm bath waiting for you, Princess," Garis said, pushing me aside and leading Astreia to the door.

Her lips twitched, and mine echoed the slight movement. Garis, a Hobgoblin of middling power, struggled with the friendship between Astreia and me. Like most of his nature, he found comfort in the rigid traditions of the master/servant relationship, but he also had an ambitious streak that pushed him into a very one-sided competition with me.

We walked down the palace's main corridor that extended from the servant's quarters to the keep. Ten years had passed since the first time I traveled this path, but nothing had changed but the reflections in the mirrors on the wall.

We walked through the grand foyer, bypassing the stairs leading to Astreia's old room in the tower. After her betrothal to Prince Tievel was made official, they had moved her to quarters more befitting of a future queen. Large and luxurious and perfectly situated, so someone could easily monitor her comings and goings.

"Princess," I called out; I didn't dare refer to her by name in front of Garis. He would tattle to Beatrice, and I wasn't above receiving a few lashes from the stern Brownie.

Astreia rolled her lips to smother a smile and dipped her chin. "Yes, Morana?"

"I believe I'll stop by the library and select a book for our evening reading."

The silver gleam in her eyes brightened, and her skin flushed, making her sparkle in the dimly lit corridor. She knew precisely which book I was going to grab. A few of the maids had been gossiping about a scandalous novel, and since the royal library wouldn't carry it, I asked them to hide a copy near the fireplace.

Garis gazed at Astreia with adoration. "May I ask what book brings you such joy, Your Highness?"

She threw her hand over her mouth when I snorted. Between breathless giggles, she replied, "A book of prayer, Garis."

Adoration turned to reverence. "Our great kingdom could use your prayers."

"Well, I best be on my way," I said, taking two steps back before spinning to the right to take the open-air path to the library. My stomach ached with restrained laughter.

Approaching evening weakened the rays of sunlight that sneaked through the clouds. Not that it made a different in the temperature as the light held no warmth. Days like this were becoming more common in Edresh. Once renowned for its long days of sunshine, now we went weeks shrouded in gray. A breeze whipped through the columns, and I gagged at the sour stench.

The river did not always smell pleasant, particularly in the past, when the waters stayed warm beneath the steady sun. But it was an earthy, wet odor full of fish and forest. This was foul—like corpses in raw sewage—and I couldn't help but think it was as if the city's heart of rot and death had been exposed.

I stepped inside the library and dragged in a lungful of air. It wasn't fresh, not with leather-bound books and a roaring fire going in the fireplace, but it didn't churn my stomach. I sniffed again. There was another smell in here that I knew but couldn't quite place.

Shaking it off, I peered around the large common area and was relieved to find it empty, though I doubted anyone visited this close to the evening meal. That and there were few palace inhabitants that sought to enrich their minds through the written word. I snickered as I perused a stack of books on a table, searching for the romance novel. From what I'd heard about the book, our minds would be the last thing enriched.

"Now, where is it?" I muttered, dropping the stack and looking behind a statue on the fireplace mantle.

"Looking for this?"

Tievel's voice drifted from an armchair by the fireplace. I swallowed the shriek that sprang to my lips and steadied my racing heart while I searched for the telltale shimmer of an invisibility glamor.

As soon as I found it, the prince sighed, and the shimmer turned to mist that twisted until it settled into the corporeal form of the high prince of Edresh—and a delightful form it was.

Though, it might be more delightful if he didn't know he was so handsome. Even I, with my silly infatuation, could admit the cruel arrogance clinging to his full, sloping lips detracted from his beauty—but only just and only because I recognized it for what it was. Those who didn't know better or ignored it would think the wicked slant of his mouth was a natural compliment to his harsh, angular features and glacial blue eyes.

Tievel fixed those unsettling eyes on me now, the smirk growing wider as he raised a slim red book in the air. Flipping open to a page, he licked his lips and read, "Ronthol moved at an agonizing pace. His eyes darkened with every inch of flesh he unveiled, but still, he did not move faster, choosing to savor this moment. They both knew the truth of it. This was their first time and their last. And if it was to be their only, then he would make sure she carried this memory into every new lover's bed–"

"Tievel," I hissed, reaching for the book.

He shook a finger at me and kept reading. "Pushing her back onto the mattress, he lowered his head and took–"

"Stop, please!" I demanded, flushing and covering my ears. The words themselves were not the problem, but I could not bear to hear them from him. "Tievel, please."

He snapped the book shut and rose from the chair in a fluid motion while running a hand through his color-changing hair. At this moment, it was a red that autumn leaves envied. Finger on my chin, he pressed up, forcing me to meet his gaze. "Only because you begged, and I quite like it when you beg."

I glared at him and snatched the novel. Desire and irritation were my ever-present companions when I was around the prince, and it always baffled me that one person could cause such opposing emotions within me at the same time.

He tapped my nose, and I caught a whiff of Faeish Kanna, the weed he was so fond of smoking. That had been what I smelled when I entered the library. "Have you been avoiding me because of what happened?"

"N-no."

Yes. Absolutely. After years of flirtation, we had crossed the line. Ever since my first week in the palace as Astreia's companion, when he confessed that he caused the breeze that tangled my skirts and tripped me so he could have a reason to speak to me, our friendship had been tumultuous and largely frowned upon. If it wasn't for my assignment to the princess, it wouldn't have been allowed at all, and I often wondered if it was the forbidden element that made Tievel so interested in me.

All playfulness gone, he growled, "This is ridiculous."

"What is?" Book clutched against my breasts, I inched backward, but he halted me by grabbing onto both arms.

"I am a prince and the future king. I get what I want, and what I want is you."

His next step brought the toes of his black boots against the toes of my sturdy brown shoes. There was nothing but a thread of light separating us, and already my traitorous body leaned forward, compelled by the memory of his mouth on mine, needing to know if he tasted as sweet as I remembered.

In the distance, a bell tolled, pulling both of our attention to the windows where drab daylight still shone. The evening bells didn't ring until the last sliver of sunlight dropped below the horizon. They were a warning to be in your homes and out of the darkness.

"Those are the high tower bells," Tievel said, his arms going around me and squeezing tightly. "They only ring when we're under attack."

I clutched his shirt so hard my knuckles turned white. Twelve years was not enough to wipe away the memories of war. Of black smoke and burned buildings. Of blood and feces drying in houses where corpses had been left to rot. Whatever evil thing had descended upon Edresh in the past few years, it could not be as terrible as another war.

"Morana!"

The library door flew open and slammed against the wall, knocking chips of plaster loose. Astreia barreled inside, her cheeks bright silver. She halted the moment she saw me in Tievel's arms. A curtain fell over her eyes, hiding her from me, and when she spoke again, her tone was monotone.

"The King... he's injured."

Tievel jolted. "How? Who?"

There were only three kinds of elves that could harm a High Elf. Another High Elf. There were none alive more powerful than the king. Deathsingers. Edresh wiped them out of existence during the war. And–

"A Reaper."