The Blood Prince

By Marie Blanchet

Until two years ago, Rainbow was ruled by dragumens. Now, there's a human Empress on the throne, and she rules with an iron fist. Breaking promises after promises, she controls the people with lies, taxes, and murder. Everywhere in the land, rebellion is brewing.
Gangav, the fallen dragumen prince who wants nothing more than revenge, rallies humans and dragumens to his cause. Sasha, his best friend and fiercest supporter, is eager to help him and is spoiling for a fight. Alexander on the other hand never wanted to be a part of it, but finds himself with no other choice when tragedy strikes home, bringing the cruelty of the empress to his doorstep. When news of a spy amongst their ranks turns everything on its head and the sudden outbreak of a new illness threatens the safety of the rebels, the three of them must find a way to relocate their camp before they are discovered, or the rebellion may very well end before it even begins.

The first book in the Scale Hearts trilogy, The Blood Prince is a story about dragons and rebellions, but also about inner strength and figuring out your place in the world.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Marie Blanchet
• Release date: Nov 23, 2017
• ISBN: 9781775119746

Marie Blanchet

Marie Blanchet is a designer by day and a writer by night, which means that she doesn't really sleep a lot. Graduated from the Université du Québec en Outaouais in graphic design and comic arts in 2014, Marie has since gone on to write a webcomic and work full time in graphic design. The Blood Prince is her first novel, and she intends to write a great many more. She loves fantasy and sci-fi, long walks in the forest, and taking pictures of her rabbit. Marie Blanchet est une graphiste le jour et une écrivaine la nuit, ce qui veut dire qu'elle dors très peu. Diplomée de l'Université du Québec en Outaouais en design graphique et bande dessinée en 2014, Marie s'est ensuite installée à Rivière-du-Loup ou elle travaille en graphisme. The Blood Prince est son premier roman et elle planifie en écrire bien d'autres. Elle aime le fantasy et la science-fiction, les longues promenades dans la forêt, et prendre des photos de son lapin.

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Marie Blanchet

The Blood Prince

Scale Hearts 1

Copyright © 2017 by Marie Blanchet

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

Fanworks are welcome and are understood to fall under the fair use part of copyright law as long as they remain not for profit.

www.blanchetmarie.com

Legal deposit – Bibliothèque et Archives nationales du Québec, 2017

Legal deposit – Library and Archives Canada, 2017

First edition

ISBN: 978-1-7751197-4-6

This book was professionally typeset on Reedsy

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Contents

1. Lights out

2. Open the door

3. Calculated risks

4. For the crime of existing

5. Finding yourself

6. News from the land

7. The First Knight

8. A world of hurt

9. Trusting and blind

10. A rising threat

11. Brewing storm

12. Worst case scenario

13. Smoke and mirrors

14. Exceptional situations

15. Death walking

16. A ruined life

17. Lost in the echo

18. Traitors and spies

19. Up in smoke

20. States of mind

21. Shards of me

22. Overload

23. The tides of war

24. Until dusk

25. Running out of time

In the next book…

About the author

Also by Marie Blanchet

Find out more

1

Lights out

Azilah

Princess Azilah tapped her fingers impatiently against the table as she stared at the intricately designed windows, trying to block out the sound of the High Priest. Tall, graceful arches surrounded an exquisite piece of stained glass, but the bright colours did nothing to lessen her irritation.

It wasn’t fair, she thought, that she should be stuck in class while everyone else was having fun. She wasn’t even learning anything useful.

Outside in the city, it was market day. Regardless of the heavy heat and the rain, a thousand lanterns had been lit in the lower levels of town. She could just about see their glimmer from the corner of the window if she craned her neck far enough. Colourful stalls offering all sorts of delightful products had popped up overnight in every corner. The rain had been long in coming this year, but now that it was here the crops would start to grow again. Everyone was celebrating, faint snatches of music and the hum of voices reaching her ears.

She could almost see it if she closed her eyes. Humans and dragumens alike would be pouring in from all sides at this hour. Laughter and the sound of coins jingled for luck would fill the air. She had good memories of many such markets over the years.

But right now, in the highest tower of the castle, she was stuck in her weekly language class with the rest of the royal children. By the time it finished and she was able to run down to the market, most of the truly interesting things would be sold out.

She ran her hands through her long hair with a frustrated huff. Her thoughts turned to her best friend and tomodaë servant, Anzu. Usually, he was the first to suggest running off to the market as soon as class ended. But today, he hadn’t talked about it at all. She peeked at him out of the corner of her eyes.

There was something wrong with him. It showed in the line of his shoulders and the tension in his tail. For weeks now, he’d been sulky and withdrawn.

It is always disturbing to discover that the person whom you know best in the world is keeping a secret from you. A month ago, Azilah would have thought it was impossible for her to not know something about Anzu. He was an open book to her.

And yet it was becoming evident that something had upset him, and she couldn’t for the life of her figure out what it was. It wasn’t about the horrible suffering of their people at the hands of the Three Kings – something that pained them both. She was aware of that. They often spoke about it, loudly and at length. Even if something new had cropped up in that regard, Anzu would have told her right away.

No, this quiet and gloomy hurt was new, and it worried her.

She was wrenched out of her contemplation when a sudden voice spoke right next to her ear. Azilah, you have a mistranslation here.

She almost jumped right out of her skin. The old priest who was in charge of their class leaned over her shoulder and touched her parchment, smearing her ink with his finger. She wondered how long he had been there.

High Priest Eldrick looked like an owl that was ruffled and irritated in the morning light. He had squinty eyes and a hunched frame, and could turn his head almost all the way back on his neck. The white of his feather wings was starting to fade to brown near the edges, and his tail was always a little dirty from where it trailed in the dust of the library. She’d never seen him fly, but she’d heard that he was near silent in the air. In any case, when on the ground, he had the tendency to walk softly behind people and then speak up suddenly. Most people found this habit unsettling, especially his students.

She waited until he removed his finger before reading the passage aloud.

‘Seeing that men and dragons could not live in peace, on the third year the gods sent their favourite daughter and her four guardians to lead a new ruling species, half dragon and half human.’

"‘Alanth’ in this context translates to a word of endearment and not ‘favourite’, he explained. ‘Favourite’ would mean that they had more than one daughter. However, no other children are mentioned in the Book other than the Sons. Redo that part. And be careful next time, your ink is smeared. Show some application, please." And with that, he moved on to the next desk.

She twitched in irritation and stretched her tail to her left. Anzu’s coarser one met hers halfway between their chairs. Her smooth white scales rubbed against his rough, squarish orange ones comfortingly. Over the desk, he was the picture of concentration, all gleaming glasses and hunched shoulders. His fingers, always fidgety, were still for once. However, she could see that his ears were red from tugging at his earrings earlier, and that his hair was sticking up from running his hands through it. This sudden stillness could only mean simmering anger.

Sumik! the priest bellowed from the other side of the room. What are you doing?

Writing down a translation…?

Priest Eldrick’s gaze darkened in anger. Sumik looked up at his uncle with wide eyes, suddenly realizing that his genuine confusion could be taken for cheek.

I know that you know every word of the standard text, young man, and that you also know that what you’re writing down is inaccurate. Are you even taking this assignment seriously?

I… um…

Sumik’s eyes flickered towards the young woman sitting at the desk next to his own. Daliyah met his gaze and gave him an encouraging smile. She was beautiful, with skin only fractionally lighter than his and long, shiny hair. The scales on her wings were glittering in the light of the fire ramps around the room. He seemed to take comfort in their shared glance and took a deep breath.

It’s not inaccurate, sir. It’s a direct translation, whereas the standard edition has been modified for readability and… and flow, and so this is… Faltering, he added meekly, This is more accurate in a sense. Sir.

Sumik bit his lip and hung his head. His wings twitched, curling closer to his body. He looked like he wanted to disappear and Azilah felt a pang of sympathy for him. She could attest that it wasn’t easy being a Child of Inheritance to a strict family.

The old man slammed his hands down on the lacquered wood of the desk. Sumik recoiled with a squeak. Priest Eldrick leaned in.

You wrote of the Daughter’s guardians that ‘One was a Red Demon who commanded flame as shield and sword; One was a Child of the Sea, born in ice and cold; One was a Shadow, bright as moon and dark as night; and One was Innocent and carried the gods’ might’ – which doesn’t make any sense! Give me the translation for this passage, Sumik. The correct one.

The boy fumbled around his desk and pulled out an old leather-bound book. He opened it to a spot where the spine was broken and the ink faded. Rubbing his sweaty hands on his thighs, Sumik cleared his throat. "‘Red was merciless, shield and sword aflame;

Blue from ice and cold on sea was given claim; Black was shadow of bright moon and dark night; and White the immaculate spoke of the gods’ might.’"

The Priest nodded. Yes. This is the correct version. This translation has been made by learned scholars, people who actually know what they are saying – unlike you, boy. The only translation that makes sense is the one approved by the Order. The point of this assignment is to make you understand the thought process that led to our current understanding of the Book.

He moved to the head of the class, where the large, round windows haloed his frame from behind. The whole class was forced to squint at him. Who can tell me the ways in which Sumik’s translation was heretical?

He focused on details and not the message, mumbled Daliyah, sharing another glance with the dragumen in question.

Because the shadow can’t be both bright and dark at the same time? tried one of Azilah’s sisters, Princess Munn.

Because he called the Red a demon, said Florenna. He’s mixing up his mythologies.

Anzu’s tail curled around Azilah’s and squeezed. Is this a language class or a religion class? he grumbled under his breath. I didn’t sign up for this.

I’m the one who signed you up, she reminded him – something that she rather regretted now. She’d wanted to learn more about her ancestors’ language, but if she had known who would be teaching the class, she would have balked. You must be spending way too much time with Seskie, talking like that.

She felt his tail tense and pull away. Azilah looked at him, shocked. Was he mad at her? She tried to glance at his face, but it was tilted down so his hair fell over his glasses and obscured his eyes from view. Frowning, she turned back towards the front of the class.

As for the Red guardian, the Priest was saying, he could not possibly have a shield and sword made of flames! No one can control the elements with that degree of accuracy. Not to mention that a sword made of fire would be both useless and ridiculous…

But it would be impressive. I’m sure my boss could figure out how to do that. In the open doorway stood a young dragumen with pale blue hair and a bored expression. He leaned against the frame. He was all long legs and easy grace, and when he crossed his arms, his sleeves shifted to reveal delicate silver bracelets adorned with rubies. He was wearing royal servant garb in the reds of his master, for all that the rest of him was blue. His long tail of azure scales was sweeping the tiled floor behind his feet, and his lack of wings gave him a tragically handsome air. He was a lone sea serpent, stuck living on land like some human. A soft sigh went through the classroom, as though every student there was a little bit in love with him.

Anzu slammed his book closed and violently shoved his glasses up his nose. What is it with today’s lesson? he grumbled.

Azilah didn’t share his anger at the interruption. Unlike her tomodaë, she wasn’t fond of spending long hours cooped up inside with books as her sole company. Plus, watching Seskie rile up the old Priest was always fun.

As if on cue, the man whirled towards the intruder with a glare. "Your master is but a pretentious little Child of Pleasure! I’ll believe his exploits when I see them and not a second before. How dare you interrupt my class, you heretical Bleah?"

Azilah hissed a breath, but Seskie didn’t even flinch at the slur. She knew that he got a lot of it in the castle. Blues weren’t exactly well liked, even in the capital.

I’m looking for my boss. Have you seen him?

"Your master, you mean? Some tomodaë you are! How could you not know where he is? Don’t you have the Mark of Loyalty on your back? It ought to tell you where he is at all times – or does your science forbid you from believing in it as well?"

Azilah had to fight not to smile. It appeared the High Priest still hadn’t gotten over their science says your dusty old book is wrong argument. Well, Seskie could be mighty convincing when he wanted to, and some things in the Sacred Texts did sound a bit far-fetched. It was no wonder that Gangav, Seskie’s boss, refused to come to class these days. Instead, the Red prince stole the languages books and disappeared with them for weeks on end, but never when the priest could see him.

Seskie sighed and uncrossed his arms. Never mind. He must be out and about somewhere, getting drunk. Or fighting. Or getting some. He narrowed his eyes. Or all three, knowing him. I should check the chapel.

He made a move to leave.

What? Why would the prince be getting drunk in the chapel? cried the old man.

Seskie gave him a look.

Priest Eldrick shoved him out of the way, barking a tense Stay here to his students as he hurried down the hall to the tower stairs. The somehow angry echo of his footsteps faded as he drew further away from the classroom.

Seskie turned back to the seven students and raised a fine eyebrow. With sounds of laughter and cries of Freedom!, Azilah’s family and friends left the room. She rose to gather her things.

Thanks! she told him with a smile. He inclined his head at her, and then his eyes fixed on a point over her shoulder and lingered for a moment. Azilah struggled for something to say. Seskie was always a pleasure to talk to, full of dry wit and sarcasm, but he was very quiet by nature and it was difficult to get more than a few words out of him.

So! she said with forced cheer, trying to fill the silence that had descended upon them. Did you really manage to lose a fire prince?

His gaze snapped back to her. He’s at the market.

And then he didn’t say anything else. Her smile wavered. She and Seskie were friends, technically. They ran in the same circles and had known each other since infancy. Yet they never really seemed to have anything to talk about, despite her best efforts. She knew that he liked her, as much as he ever liked anyone. And she definitely liked him. But somehow that never translated into the same ease that she had with Anzu or even Gangav. Her private theory was that Seskie was just too beautiful for small talk.

On his own? My wings, he’s going to start a riot! she said, trying for levity. Right, Anzu? Anzu?

Her tomodaë raised his head from where he had been staring pensively at the fire ramp next to him. I’m sorry, what?

She frowned. Are you all right?

Azilah distantly heard Seskie excuse himself from the room as she moved towards Anzu’s desk. She felt relieved, then guilty about it, until concern for her tomodaë took precedence in her thoughts.

He hadn’t picked up his books nor capped his ink bottle. He looked for all the world as if he had every intention of staying there with his parchments all afternoon.

You’ve been tense all day. Is it something I did?

No, I just… He sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

Azilah gathered up her skirts and hopped up to sit on the edge of his desk. She didn’t like seeing Anzu upset. He was her oldest friend, and as her tomodaë, he was more than a servant. He was her protector and dearest companion. They were never apart, and if he was troubled, then so was she.

Were they in a less public space, she would have pulled up a chair and sat with their sides pressed together, or even plopped herself right down in his lap. Most dragumens, when given the opportunity, tend to flock together and forgo personal space, sharing warmth and easy affection with touches and hugs. They were tactile beings. But twenty years of upbringing in the strict atmosphere of the castle had taught Azilah and Anzu to maintain their distance when around other people, lest they be seen as improper. According to the court, physical contact was seen as a Red behaviour, and an undesirable one at that.

She reached out and smoothed Anzu’s rust-coloured hair back in place. He looked up at her, and then his amber eyes shot to the door. It had been left ajar, but everyone else had long since disappeared down the stairs or taken to the skies from the balcony. Once he’d checked that they were alone, some of the tension drained out of his shoulders. He closed his eyes and leaned his cheek into her palm.

His desk was located at the far back corner of the class, from where he could see the door and every other seat. Azilah wished she got to sit next to the windows. She certainly craned her head to see out of them far more than he did, and the rays of light that fell through the colourful panes delighted her. But princesses never got to pick first. Anzu’s seat was in a prized spot; tomodaës liked to be aware of the goings-on of a room. They said that once you started bodyguard training, the habits never left you. Not to mention that, being a corner seat, it received heat from two of the fire ramps that ran along the walls near the ceiling. A very cozy spot for a fire dragumen indeed, now that she thought about it. The fires had been roaring all day, across the whole castle, to dispel the humidity brought about by the rain. By now the air in the room was as dry and toasty as the inside of an oven. She smiled fondly.

Is it the rain? Is that why you’re in a funny mood?

No. he said. Well, yes. But, no.

Her delicate eyebrows raised towards her hairline. Yes but no?

I just – I don’t see what we’re doing here! he finally blurted out.

She reared back in shock at his raised voice.

He turned his head away from her hand and stood up so fast that his stool clattered behind him. Have you looked outside recently? People are starving!

He strode to the wide windows and gestured outside. Look at that! The rains should have started a month ago! No one was expecting the monsoon to be late; no one was prepared! Granaries have been empty for weeks and we’re not doing anything about it! He smacked the glass. What if the rain had never come at all? What would we have done?

She frowned. She knew what he was getting at, and she didn’t like it any more than he did. Nothing, I suppose, she spat bitterly. The kings wouldn’t have moved an inch, not even in the face of their own people’s starvation.

He threw his hands up in the air. Nothing! I’ve heard that people in the Summer Valley got so desperate that they had to hunt in the Wasteland.

Her eyebrows hit her hairline. That was news to her. There was nothing in the Wasteland but rocks and a slow death. If the situation had gotten that bad… But still, that didn’t change what they could do about it. Which was a big fat load of nothing. And she knew that he knew that too.

Anzu turned back towards her, wild-eyed and agitated. She stared at him. There really wasn’t much else that she could say. They had discussed it a thousand times. He sagged.

We’re translating texts and Gangav is getting drunk. I just… How long are we going to stay here and do nothing while the poor are dying? I remember being poor, Azilah. His voiced cracked. He looked away.

She rose and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. She could also see these things, but there wasn’t a lot that she could do. She was the third in line to the White throne. As a Child of Inheritance, a child born of married parents, she would one day marry out of duty. What she could do was make sure that she married an influential person and hope that they would listen to what she and her tomodaë had to say. Until then, she knew that neither her father nor her elder siblings would listen to a word from her.

Choosing her own tomodaë, after the death of Old Beth, had been an allowance that her late mother had managed to bargain for her. She was considered a spoiled brat by the court for introducing a commoner to the castle as her servant. Her luck had held, though, and he had passed all of the tests thrown his way and proven his worth. Still, her opinion meant absolutely nothing to anyone these days. If she wanted to effect real, meaningful change, then she had to wait until Gangav was on the Red throne – as, despite his indiscretions, he was the only she trusted to rule correctly – and she had married someone influential.

The court was a farce; there was no denying that. To the royals, all that mattered was that today was hunting day for the Red King and his court. Tonight, in the Red wing of the castle, there would be fresh meat. Her father would use it to try and curry favour with the other kings, and leave barely any for his own to eat. The Three Kings system, structured in a way that neither of them could take a decision without the agreement of one of the other two, was becoming more and more of a hindrance and less of a failsafe as the years turned. It had been centuries since a law had passed without turning into a long game of warring influences and ego stroking.

None of the Three Kings cared about anything but themselves. None saw the death toll of hunger and poverty. Or perhaps they just didn’t care. The poor and the servants were humans, after all, and humans didn’t matter. Azilah knew that this wasn’t true, but most dragumens thought themselves high and mighty. The Gods had created them to rule, had they not? Except she wouldn’t call any of what they were doing ruling.

Just last week, the wheat reserves had failed in Fredegast and the kings had let the local lords deal with the famine. Even the lords were starting to be angered at the lack of royal involvement.

In the end, it was a human northerner, some disgraced royal from the neighbouring country of Lask, who had finally ended the crisis. She’d thrown around money like candy, and now everybody loved her. It hadn’t made Azilah’s father happy. Some interloping human had no business messing around with his country, in his opinion. But in one month, a supposedly insignificant human had garnered more respect than all of the dragumens in the court, and that didn’t bode well for the current monarchy.

The kings that govern us don’t care about what happens to commoners, and you father is by far the most cruel of the three, muttered Anzu, echoing her thoughts. You joke about riots, but sometimes I… He stopped himself. Swallowed. If it was the gods who gave them power, then they should take it back. No offense, Az, but your family doesn’t deserve to rule.

She squeezed his shoulder. These words were not something that a royal tomodaë should say, but she really couldn’t blame him. Even she, born in grace, could see faults in the indifference of the court. How frustrating must it be, she wondered, for someone born and raised in the dirt of the poorest streets in town.

When Azilah met Anzu, he had never set foot on any of the roof bridges of the city. People like him, orphans and homeless, were not allowed up in the higher levels. He lived deep down in the maze of buildings and walkways that was the lower city, near the ground. At that level, it was impossible to see the sky. The rays of the sun were reflected a thousand times by giant mirrors, and by the time they reached the ground the light had a muddy quality to it. Torches burned day and night, turning the meandering streets into a smoky and dangerous landscape. Whereas people up above preferred to decorate their houses with stained glass and clear quartz, those below preferred crystals and mosses that came with their own glow. Anzu had been as opaque and intangible as the world he came from when she met him, lit by some queer inner light that was impossible to figure out. He had emerged into her life like mist from a dream, and sometimes she still feared that he might slip through her fingers.

When he’d first seen the castle, rising up proudly over the rest of the city, he had been agape. Everything, from the large windows to the curved archways, was new to him, and the terraces and levels only accessible by flying had delighted him.

Dragumens were meant to fly. Anzu had had to learn the way that kids in his circumstances did: by jumping out of windows. He had never even had a flight ceremony. At fifteen, he had never flown in the sky. She had never been able to wrap her head around that.

His leathery wings had been thin and weak, used for gliding in narrow alleys. They were shorter than most, hanging down just past his knees, and she’d always wondered if it was the lack of food or his parentage that was responsible for it. His skin had been sickly pale under the dirt and you could have counted his every rib through his ripped shirt. He had personally known hunger and misery. Even now, ten years later, he still thought in what ifs and worst-case scenarios. He had none of the carelessness of the people born in the castle. It had taken him a long time to stop hiding food in his rooms, and he still had the intense dislike of rats born from having to compete with them for food and shelter. Eventually, his wings had filled in and his skin received enough sun and care to take on the beautiful ochre colour it was now, just a shade darker than her own olive skin. But even then, he was still at heart that serious, tough child of the street – and he would always be.

Look, she tried, how about tomorrow you and I go out to give bread and soup? I’m pretty sure that the castle’s reserves can take it. We can set up on the terrace near the crystal bridge. It’s got a nice parapet we can hide under, and we can warm up the soup over the fire fountains. We can go ask the head cook for supplies after my evening bath. The dinner rush will be long over, they shouldn’t be too busy then.

He looked at her. It wasn’t a solution to the problem and they both knew it, but she didn’t know what else to do.

Yeah, he finally said. yeah, we can do that.

* * *

Is the water warm enough?

Azilah crossed her arms on the edge of her large private bath. Water’s lovely, just like the last three times you asked.

Steam rose up around her, leaving tiny, scented droplets on her feathered wings. On the other side of the half-opened door that separated her rooms from her bath chamber, she knew that Anzu was pacing. She had been listening to his continued footsteps and muttering ever since she had gotten into the water half an hour ago. He was definitely distracted.

It couldn’t only be his concern over the people. The rain had come now; the crisis was all but passed. She wondered if he had used it earlier as an excuse to mask something else, something new that he didn’t want her to know about. Whatever it was, it had turned up overnight.

She ran her damp fingers down a line of small blue tiles. Are you sure nothing else is bothering you, Anzu?

She heard his pacing stop. I’m fine.

Not what I asked.

She laid her head down on her crossed arms and sighed. Look, if it’s personal, I won’t pry. But don’t lie to me, please.

A moment passed. She picked at a crack on the side of the bath distractedly. I bet you just picked up that smooth rock that Seskie gave us and you’re running your fingers over it. And… biting your lips. You do that a lot when you’re worried.

There was a loud clank. Was not. Are you coming out or do you intend to soak all day?

She frowned at the deflection but decided to play along. I don’t know, what’s in it for me?

He poked his head in the door and raised his dark eyebrows. Well, I was thinking about brushing your miles and miles of hair, princess, but if you don’t cooperate then I might call a servant and have them do it instead.

She splashed a bit of water at him and huffed. As if any old servant would put in the amount of obsessive care and attention that you do. And don’t peek, it’s inappropriate.

He rolled his eyes and moved away. After what they did to me when I became your tomodaë, it’s not like I have the means to be inappropriate anyway. Hurry up, I don’t have all day.

She pulled herself up to sit on the edge of the tub and grabbed a towel. Why, do you have somewhere to be? The answer to that should be ‘to the kitchens’ and ‘with me’, by the way.

She started towelling her hair dry, quick and rough, expecting some sort of snarky comeback to her gentle teasing. When none came, she frowned and got up.

Anzu? she asked, wrapping another towel around her body. She padded to the door, trailing water from her wings. She flapped them a few times, sending droplets of scented bath water flying everywhere, then summoned a bit of wind to finish drying herself. Once that was done, she glanced into the other room.

The sight made her heart wrench. Her oldest friend was standing in front of the glass doors to her balcony, clenching the smooth rock, which he must have picked up again, in his fingers. A beam of light was shining down on his body, but his face was in shadows and his gaze far away. He looked stern and out of place in her overly decorated room, a storm cloud surrounded by soft carpets and jewel-encrusted lamps.

I know what I have to do, he murmured under his breath. I just have to do it. His grip tightened on the rock.

She walked to him and gently touched his shoulder. Hey. Come back to me.

Her tomodaë blinked and shivered. Then he turned around and he was her Anzu again. Sorry. Let’s brush your hair.

***

The palace kitchens were an impressive sight to behold. Consisting of ten rooms for food preparation and cooking, two larders, a wine cellar and