Chapter 8

Alaric.

“Whores,” barks a voice hovering above my head. “We need whores!”

I rip the covers from my head to reveal the grinning face of who else: Elias.

Daylight streams in through the window slits of my chamber in this ancient fortified pile of a castle. Why on earth did the guards let him in…

The green eyes of Elias sparkle with mischief. “You’re too sullen Alaric. And after that mess last night we deserve a little fun.”

My head pounds. Oh right. What an absolute nightmare. Even in my dreams, I am haunted by violet eyes.

First the wine-and-heat-induced vision of the most beautiful creature my mind could possibly conjure. Then the glittery, colored-light water.

And then the encounter with that little creep with the questions in the crypt.

“So, first order, a hearty breakfast!” booms Elias as though I weren’t directly in front of him. “Manservant, guards, serve your prince!”

He really enjoys milking the nobility of it all.

“Elias,” I start sleepily, “did you know who that was in the crypt last night.”

“I believe that was Dorian Nightshade,” replies Elias. “Evelyn told me about him a few weeks ago. She says he’s been spending more time around the palace lately.”

Elias is referring to Lady Evelyn Swiftwood, an advisor to my father. And one of the only women that Elias actually talks to.

Lady Swiftwood has her ear to the ground, which is why she’s so valuable to my father. But she’ll sometimes let things slip between the sheets with Elias.

So, Dorian Nightshade. I remember his slight frame, nondescript dark robes of fine quality, and piercing grey eyes. A lock of dark hair fell across his forehead.

“Is he a noble? How did he come to the palace?” I ask Elias.

“I’m not sure. Nobody knows where he’s from. He also may be a shapeshifter,” replies Elias with a grin.

“A shapeshifter! What absolute horseshit,” I say sullenly. “What fairy stories have gotten into your head Elias.”

“Well how else would he manage to come into the palace?” retorts Elias.

“I don’t know. Maybe the guards are as stupid as you are,” I snap back with a grin.

Dorian Nightshade wanted to know about my vision. Elias, ever-protective of me, shooed him away. But how did Nightshade know to find me last night? How did he know I’d seen something?

A servant arrives carrying a tray of meats, eggs, back bacon, fresh bread, juices from the orchard, and teas. And ale of course.

“Delightful!” exclaims the big man, clapping his hands together and rubbing them with glee. Despite him being three years older than me he can act like a child.

Elias grasps a flagon of ale with one of his large hands and takes a big draught, gulping greedily. He slams it down and rattles the little chamber table, then gets up to stick his head out of the door.

“Oh guards!” he announces in a sing-song way to the hallway outside the chamber, “Could you please give the prince and me a little privacy? He’s safe with me, I assure you.”

I hear the shuffling of armor as the guards clear the hall.

Elias shuts the door and wheels around to face me. “We’ll need disguises,” he says excitedly, practically bouncing.

“Why would we need disguises?” I reply dryly.

A grin spreads across my friend’s face. “Well, we’re going to a real whorehouse of course. Not ordering at this time. So you can really see how it’s done,” he says. “I hear that at Madame Zenovia’s Palace of Earthly Delights there’s a talented young lady who can play the tambor pipe with her—”

“Do you think this will actually work? What will you tell the guards?” I interrupt. I am not particularly moved by the prospect of non-traditional music-making but I would like to get away from the palace.

“Of course,” says the big man with smiling forest-green eyes. “We’ll put on these clothes I found behind the stables and put you in a hood and cowl. I’ll tell the guards that I’m taking you hunting.”

“Don’t those clothes belong to someone,” I say with light disapproval.

“Yes, and we’ll be sure to return them after we’ve borrowed them,” smiles Elias, immune to my qualms. “Here, put this on and have a drink. It’s important that you reek of ale.”

He flings open the chamber doors. “Guards! I’ll be taking the prince hunting. You are relieved of your posts. Should anything befall him you may personally have my head.”

With our disguises on, Elias and I put our noble cloaks on top so that any stray guards won’t be suspicious. The stableman’s boots pinch my feet as we go, once again, to the crypt.

We stash our cloaks underneath the memorial of some forgotten ancestor and head toward the passageway that opens to a small lane in the city. We squint at the daylight coming in through the small door.

“Wait, you’ll need this,” says Elias. He stoops down to the ground, grabs some dust, and then smears it on my face.

“That’s disgusting!” I cry, jerking back from his dirty fingers.

“This is the reality of the common people, sire,” says Elias with a laugh. “They are dirty. So you should be dirty.”

I roll my eyes but allow him to cake my face, hands, and hair in a healthy layer of dirt.

“That’s better,” he says looking at my dirty face, satisfied with his handiwork.

We move through the back-allies of Celestria. It’s true, I never come here. I am not allowed to come here by my father, who thinks it’s dangerous for a prince to rub shoulders with commoners. Perhaps it would be if I were dressed in my finery and accompanied by a retinue. But looking like a dirty stable hand I feel—

“Hey watch where you’re going you filthy lout!” cries a pot-bellied man whose shoulder I’ve just brushed. “Fuck you!” he grunts before shooting a glob of spittle onto my boot.

So this is the real world.

“Alaric, hurry up,” says Elias over his shoulder, bounding gleefully ahead. “Let’s see if there’s anything good at the market before we visit some houses of sin.”

The market is huge and bustling even this early in the day. Celestria is the largest city in the realm by far. Unpronounceable delicacies from far-off lands mingle with humble potatoes and cabbages from farms a few miles from here.

“Well isn’t that delightful,” exclaims Elias. I don’t know to what he’s referring, but notice him cup an ear to listen. I listen too.

“Beautiful, one-of-a-kind paintings!” I hear the voice of a spirited little girl say. “Artwork! Handicrafts! Wovens! Gifts for your mother!”

“Winner of the Celestrian Guild of Arts Medal!” continues the sweet voice.

“Oh, perhaps you’ll get to see your favorite, Miss Seraphina Darkwater,” teases Elias. “Come!”

We slide through the crowd to the stall with the bright-voiced girl. Toward the back of the stall in a metal-work mask stands a young woman, completely covered.

Unconsciously I gaze into the mask and am blinded by a blaze of purple.