I drum my fingers on the wooden tabletop, worn smooth with age. My wings flutter slightly behind me in agitation. It is difficult to hide my impatience as I sit across from Oradon. His eyes are closed in concentration, and a deep line furrows his brow. Sighing heavily, I sit back in my chair, waiting for him to divine my future.
“Patience, my prince,” he murmurs without bothering to open his eyes. “It takes time to weave the proper intent into a spell of this kind.”
I know he is right, but I am desperate for answers, and I’ve never been very good at waiting.
My father—the king—demands that I take a bondmate. I’m twenty-five years old and, according to him, already past the proper age to take a wife by now. I glance at my reflection in the mirror over Oradon’s shoulder.
My short-cropped black hair is wind-blown from my flight earlier. The sharp, pointed tips of my ears are nearly hidden among a few errant strands. My glowing green eyes reflect with a gleam, belying the darkness that hides behind them—the raw, primal thing that lies just beneath the surface that I struggle to hold back. It is ever-present, always waiting for me to let down my guard.
“Starlight,” Oradon says, snapping me back from my dark thoughts.
“Starlight?” I tilt my head to the side, regarding him in confusion. “What does that mean?”
He shrugs. “I do not know, my prince. I only know that it has something to do with your fate, as does the silver moon.”
Leaning forward, I cross my arms on the table before me and arch a brow. “You know, Oradon, you only refer to me as your prince when you give me any news I may not wish to hear. At all other times, I am Ryvan. Why is that?”
He chuckles. “I hadn’t noticed.”
“We have no need of such formality between us, Oradon, no matter the news. After all, you’ve known me since I was a child, and you know…” I pause, hesitant to breach an unpleasant subject, and finally settle on, “everything about me.”
“That I do,” he agrees. He studies me with a piercing gaze a moment before adding, “Though I would ask you to remember that, despite what you may believe, you are not cursed, my prince.”
I do not bother with a response. We have argued about this many times. I don’t understand why he insists upon revisiting this point.
His glowing blue eyes search mine. “Why do you not believe me?”
I huff out a frustrated breath as I relinquish some of my carefully kept control. It seems he needs a reminder of what I’m capable of.
Energy, raw and untamed, rushes through me. Magic crackles across my skin like lightning, arcing between the tips of my fingers. I lift my hand toward him, allowing him to witness the dark power that courses through my veins.
His mouth drifts open, and despite his attempt to feign nonchalance, the shock is easily read in his eyes. He quickly snaps his jaw shut. “Remember. You can control it.”
I flex my fingers into my palm. Concentrating, I grit my teeth as I call the power back, forcing it again into submission and praying this is not the day the darkness escapes my control. “So you say.”
He opens his mouth to respond, but I stand abruptly from the table and move to the door. I’m tired, and I do not want to wait around for him to impart his wisdom to me—his insistence that I’m stronger than the curse that runs through my veins. I’ve already heard the platitudes many times, yet they’ve made no difference.
Neither has his divination, this evening, of my future.
“Goodnight, Oradon,” I call over my shoulder as I step through the door and out into the hallway.
With my hands curled into fists at my side, I make my way through the castle to return to my room. Several guards along the corridor bow as I pass. I dip my chin in acknowledgment as my wings flutter agitatedly behind me. How can my father expect me to take a bondmate when I hold such a terrible darkness inside me? I refuse to subject a mate to my curse.
Frustration burns through me, and I want nothing more than to fly out the window, passing the gardens for the forest beyond.
However, it is late. If I were to leave now, Father would most certainly notice. It wouldn’t be long before he’d send someone after me, worried that I may have been injured or met whatever crisis he imagines in his head.
Ever since my mother was murdered, he has been overprotective of me and my younger brother, Eryl. I should be thankful; he used to be much worse. When we were children, he assigned us two guards each, shadowing our every move.
It is already dark outside. Floating orbs of light line the hallways and corridors. Their blue flames cast strange shadows along the gray stone walls and silver finishes, lending the usual haunted nighttime undertone to the interior of the castle.
At night, dark memories seem more prone to resurfacing, and the ghosts of my past return to torment me. Closing my eyes, I can still picture their faces—the dying screams of a dozen men echo in my mind. They were not innocent by any means, but I cannot help but believe I am a monster for having killed them in the manner that I did.
I walk past my father’s chambers and note the illumination that leaks through beneath the door, telling me he’s still awake. I take great care to move as quietly as possible, continuing down the hallway. The last thing I want is to alert him of my presence and receive another lecture on the need to procure a bondmate.
Carefully, I push open the door to my bedroom. I wince inwardly when the heavy wood creaks on the hinges as it swings in. If that does not draw my father’s attention, I’ll be surprised. He has always been possessed of exceptional hearing, especially when it comes to my movements. Hopefully, he has simply fallen asleep in bed as he often does, with one of his many books resting on his chest.
With a wave of my hand, I conjure light to illuminate the darkened interior of my chambers. The glowing blue orb hovers in my palm for a moment before I flick it toward the wall to rest in its usual place.
Removing my cloak, I hang it on the chair of my desk. Crumpled parchments lie scattered across the worn top and the surrounding floor. Each is an attempt to explain to my father why I do not need a bondmate just yet. All fail to convey my point compellingly, however.
I turn my attention to my bed along the far wall and sigh heavily. How long has it been since I infused the wood with magic? The thick vines that wrap around the four posts are beginning to show signs of distress, their green, heart-shaped leaves drooping since I’ve neglected to tend them as often as I should.
I lie back on the plush, green comforter and stare at the canopy overhead. I reach back and trace my hand along the headboard. The dark wood of the frame and the vines are smooth beneath my fingers. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on my magic, infusing the entire structure with some much-needed life.
After a moment, I open my eyes and notice the leaves are no longer wilting. A deep frown curves my mouth when I see tiny buds have now appeared on the vines. When they bloom, they will make the loveliest, glowing white flowers, but I dread their appearance. Every Fae knows what the blossoms herald. For me, they mean nothing but trouble.
My magic is communicating to me that my mating cycle approaches. I will be forced to find a mate or lock myself away until it ends.
Neither option sounds appealing.
I pray Father does not come in here and see this. I’d never hear the end of it, I’m certain.
A cool breeze drifts in from the balcony along the far wall, swaying the green silk curtains. With a flick of my wrist, I gesture to the fireplace across the room and light the hearth.
I raise my hand, readying tendrils of magic to shut the balcony door as well, but pause when my eyes note something even more worrisome than the impending flowers on the vines of my bed.
I stand and move toward the balcony, lifting my gaze to the darkened sky. The silver moon shines brightly overhead. Many find it lovely, but I think it is only a herald of my doom.
“What’s wrong with you?” My brother’s voice draws my attention.
Unlike me, Eryl can move with stealth… even without trying. He does this often, so I’m not surprised when I turn to find him lying on my chaise lounge. Propped up on one elbow, he sips on a glass of wine, looking for all the world like nothing can faze him.
With dark hair and green eyes, we could pass as twins despite the fact that he is two years younger than me.
I glance once more at the moon and sigh heavily. “Do you not remember?” I ask bitterly. “Father told me that when the next silver moon cycle comes, he would send announcements to all corners of the kingdom, commanding that every eligible maiden attend the Silver Moon Ball.”
My brother’s pointed ears perk up. “So what?”
My wings flutter in irritation as I purse my lips. “I’m supposed to choose a bondmate at the event—my future queen. I wouldn’t expect you to understand, Eryl.”
He rolls his eyes. “Really, Ryvan, is that such a bad thing? Do you not see that Father is trying to help you? By inviting every eligible maiden in the kingdom, there must be one among them who is right for you.”
“And what if I do not want a bondmate?”
Eryl swirls his glass. Bringing it to his lips, he takes another drink and arches a brow. “Unfortunately, my dear brother, you do not have a choice. You’re the heir to the kingdom of Anara. You cannot remain single your entire life.”
With another heavy sigh, I turn my gaze to the sky once more, staring up at the silver moon. I envy my younger brother. Because he is not the heir apparent, he can do whatever he wants with his life. He has no idea what it’s like to bear so much responsibility from the very beginning. My earliest memories are of my teachers reminding me who I was and what would be expected of me some day.
My brother’s hand on my shoulder draws my attention back to him. “You may be worried for nothing, you know.”
“I do not know what you’re talking about.” I feign ignorance, not wishing to speak of it again.
“You think you are cursed, but you’re not, Ryvan.” His tone is tinged with sympathy. “I know it.”
My eyes snap up to his. “You know nothing,” I reply, unable to hide the bitterness in my tone.
Eryl pats my shoulder. “You’re my brother. You are not cursed.”
I shrug his hand off. “I don’t care what Father says, I am not going to choose a mate at the ball.”
“Yes, you will,” Father’s thunderous voice sounds from the doorway.
My head snaps toward him. “No, Father. I will not.”
He levels me with a dark glare. “You will choose someone at the ball.”
“You cannot expect me to pick someone I just met,” I state incredulously. “Someone I do not even know beyond one turn around the floor.”
His eyes sweep to my bed posts and the tiny buds along the vines. He arches a brow. “It would seem you are running out of time, my son. But do not worry. You will find someone at the Silver Moon Ball.”
I scowl. “And if I do not?”
“You must,” he grinds out. “As much as I may wish it, I will not live forever, and you must secure the throne before I’m gone.”
By secure the throne, I understand that he means produce an heir. However, I refuse. I will not be forced to take a bondmate. I won’t subject someone else to my curse.
Trying to lighten the mood, Eryl chimes in. “You speak as if you were three hundred years old already, Father. You’re only fifty-five.”
He narrows his eyes at my brother. Eryl grins mischievously then takes another sip of his wine.
Father grits his teeth in frustration. “Do not fight me on this, Ryvan. I’m doing this for your own good.”
He spins on his heels and steps out into the hallway, slamming the door shut behind him. Anger rises in my chest as dark magic courses through my veins like fire and arcs across my palms like lightning, crackling between the tips of my fingers. I curl my hands into fists, trying to control it.
It builds like a giant wave behind a dam, ready to burst forth in all its destructive power and terrible glory.
Eryl inhales sharply, his eyes glued in horror to my closed hands.
I hate the fear on his face, and I hate the burden I’ve been given to bear. Why has fate cursed me this way?
Worried that I’ll lose my control, I rip my cloak from the chair and throw it over my shoulders. Rushing past my brother, I make my way to the door.
“Where are you going?” he calls out.
“Anywhere but here,” I murmur, not bothering to look back.
Pulling my hood over my head, I make my way out to the stables and my horse, Mirna. I could have just flown off the balcony by myself, but that would have been too conspicuous. Every guard in the towers would have seen me take off, and my father would almost assuredly have me followed.
Having sensed my presence, Mirna lifts her head as soon as I enter, then dips her nose in greeting. “You are upset,” she whispers in my mind.
“Yes.”
I grasp a handful of her white mane and pull myself onto her back, not bothering with a saddle.
“Where would you like to go?”
“The forest.”
Instead of questioning me as I’d half expected her to, she takes off in a gallop, leaving the stables. We race through the gardens and toward the low wall. Covered by vines and tall grass, it is my secret way in and out of the palace grounds when I ride.
Mirna picks up speed and leaps over the wall. Her hooves pound the ground as she runs toward the forest. The thick canopy of trees may appear menacing to some, but to me, they are a symbol of freedom.
Wild and untamed, their thick branches reach for my cloak as we pass as if beckoning me to stay a while and lose myself in the woods. Tall trees with massive dark-gray trunks twist toward the sky, competing for the sunlight. They are covered in heart-shaped, violet leaves, and tiny buds of white flowers dot the branches, glowing beneath the damned silver moonlight.
We make our way deep into the woods, toward the veiled barrier. It is a fantasy of mine to cross it someday, making me love the forest even more. In my dreams, this is the place to which I escape—into the human kingdom of Eryadon beyond the veil, to live my life in hiding among the humans, disguised as one of their kind.
The unmistakable glow of magic ahead tells me we are close. As I scan the wall, I notice areas where the light waxes and wanes as it thins. Something about this moon weakens the barrier, though our scholars do not understand why.
My kind rarely comes to the veil, which is another reason it appeals to me. I can burn off my energy when my powers become too strong to contain, and no one is around to bear witness to my dark tendencies.
I slide off Mirna’s back and hold up my hands, allowing the magic to burn through me. A ball of flame hovers over my palms, growing until I cannot contain it. I hurl it toward the closest tree, watching in horror as it slams into the trunk in a fiery display of destruction.
Before it can burn through the wood, I concentrate my energy on the winding river nearby. Gathering as much water as I can, I direct it toward the tree, dousing the flames.
The darkness within calls to me, beckoning me to surrender to its will. The desire to give myself over is maddening in its intensity as raw and untamed energy flows through my veins like liquid fire.
I look to the sky and raise my hands, summoning the power of the wind. Great swirling chaos surrounds me as I stand in the eye of the gathering storm.
“Ryvan!” Mirna’s alarmed cry echoes in my mind, and I release my hold on the elements.
The power that burned in my veins has now ebbed to more manageable levels, drained so that it is much easier to control.
I turn my gaze again to the waning wall, able to catch glimpses of the human kingdom of Eryadon as the veil shimmers and fades. Something moves on the other side, drawing my attention. Magic arcs across the tips of my fingers, instinctively readying to defend against any threat breaking through the barrier.
I instruct Mirna to hide in the trees as I creep closer. The veil thins just enough that I’m able to see through it clearly. My eyes widen, and my mouth drifts open when I notice a human.
She is the most stunning female I have ever beheld. As I study her, I am grateful for my superior night vision. Her chestnut hair falls around her shoulders in long, silken waves. Her eyes are a vivid, striking shade of blue that reminds me of clear skies. Her face is heart-shaped, and I notice a light dusting of tiny, pigmented dots across the bridge of her nose and her cheeks. I have never seen these before, but then again, I’ve never seen a human up close until now.
She is a lovely and delicate creature. I never expected to find such beauty among humans, and I am completely enthralled. I thought only my people or the Elves possessed such charming features.
She drops to her knees before the barrier and lifts a dagger from her belt. I watch in horror as she draws it across her palm. A tear slips down her cheek while she begins reciting words in an ancient tongue that, although unfamiliar in tone, I recognize straight away.
Shock, followed quickly by anger, rushes through me. No wonder she is so beguiling; she’s a witch.
She’s trying to bring down the barrier.
