The Mistaken Prince: The Sevenwars Trilogy, #1

By Sage Marrow

As a devoted, if somewhat sardonic, handmaid to a young princess, Emera is accustomed to temper tantrums and flung objects aimed at her head and it hardly bothers her. But when the one thing she values above all others is tossed out a window, that viewpoint abruptly changes. And as she attempts to retrieve her bauble from the pond it sank into, so does everything else.

Like his sister, fun-loving, self-absorbed Prince Idan is used to having his way, and he did NOT ask be whisked right of his body and shoved inside the next available one: a frog's. No one seems to notice him - until a maid he had never given much thought to before shows up trying to find her golden ball. However, as she unknowingly transfers him to a cat with a simple kiss, he's paying attention now.

The unlikely team is drawn deeper into a madman's net as Emera, framed for killing the princess, becomes a fugitive running for both their lives. Breaking Idan's curse seems to be a reality slipping progressively further away since Raylek, wearing Idan's own body, has more devastating plans in mind now that he's a prince.

BOOKLIFE: "Marrow conjures up a mid-sized fantasy epic that weaves a convincing spell in its smaller, quieter moments, and is sure to entertain genre readers."

• Language: English
• Publisher: Sage Marrow
• Release date: Oct 13, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215515839

Book preview

THE MISTAKEN PRINCE

Book One of the Sevenwars Trilogy

By Sage Marrow

THE MISTAKEN PRINCE by Sage Marrow

Published by Sage Marrow Books

Copyright © 2022 Sage Marrow

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact: [e-mail]

Cover by Vlyxdesigns

Copyright: 1-11494694518

ISBN: 979-8-4066829-7-5

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Prolgoue………………………………………………………………………….

Chapter 1…………………………………………………………………………

Chapter 2…………………………………………………………………………

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7…………………………………………………………………………

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Prolgoue

I should be him.

Though it was the dead of night at the end of spring, a malignant aura seeped the warmth from his surroundings, drawing it into a bitterness that he craved to control. The biting air was nothing to his senses and the chill slowly turning his bleeding fingers purple was completely ignored. Deep within him a terrible, burning need drove all else from his mind, urging him on, filling his core with an unbearable realization:

I should be him, that undeserving wretch.

Raylek didn’t see the broken stones he tore from their resting place. He didn’t feel the searing cold bringing frostbite to his skin. All that filled his vision was a golden-haired young man; all that claimed his touch were his fingers curling around that golden youth’s neck, slowly, painfully turning the other’s complexion blue. The bright green eyes would become glassy. The youth’s strong body would go limp.

I deserve that happiness. Not him―never him.

He jolted back to where he knelt in the dark, the crevice walls towering overhead like the shadowy forms of the ancient gods. No doubt they looked down with disapproval, which only made the flames inside him burn hotter. His clothes were damp, both from sweat and snow; the wet clamped his thin, curling hair to his pale head. The skin there clung tightly to his skull and a mottled purple hue spread from the corner of his lip across his features. His left eye was heavily hooded by a hairless brow-bone, but his right was large, wide and feverish in its thinly colored gaze.

A reminder. Nothing more than a reminder.

Raylek stilled, finally allowing a different sensation to register. Grasping at the smooth object at his knees, feeling its brittle and porous surface in his grip, he freed it from the ground. The bone he held once belonged to a ribcage, formerly the curving protector of expanding lungs, now nothing more than a means to an end, dull and yellowish-brown in the moonlight. As he ran a finger down the bone, Raylek’s breathing became sporadic in response, his next movements frantic as he plunged his greedy hands into the grave.

He sought after black bones, the remains of one murdered. Their unfulfilled anger and thirst for vengeance was seeped deep into their bones, giving them a terrible, incredible power that was strictly forbidden. It was a damaging kind of magic, very difficult to control and costly—not that he cared. He had a job to do. Raylek knew he would need to perform the spell at half-moon, when both dark and light struggled to dominate the night sky. And then…

Raylek’s hands shook as he brushed away the nearly frozen dirt holding the bones like an ice-made blanket. The voice of the murdered man seemed to shriek through his head, demanding revenge for the life so cruelly taken from him. He had on false pretenses befriended this dead man’s brother, learned his body’s resting place, and had bided his time. Until this perfect moment. The world was tranquilly unaware of this night’s standing as the culmination of years, of destructive dreams and an eternally dissatisfied hunger.

He smiled nastily as he lifted the skull from its resting place, the dirt encrusted into its cracks resembling dark, slimy veins. The image of the golden youth imprinted on his mind made his eyes burn with a sickening gleam.

You will be me, prince, he croaked. And I will be you.

Chapter 1

I didn’t care when the princess chucked the umpteenth shoe at me. That was followed by a golden-embossed hairbrush worth more than everything I owned placed together. But when she hurled my golden bauble out the window, to sink into the pond outside with a sickening sort of plop—forget the fact I had spent an entire year serving this spoiled girl—that was when I smacked her.

I was forgiven by an imposter and sentenced to continue serving her, which I was grateful for in the end. But it didn’t last long at all. Princess Vitta had sealed the path I would be forced to walk—and at many times run, to save my life—the moment she sent my bauble soaring, speeding right towards my fate, dragging me along with it.

It was unfeasible that I would be the one accused of murdering her.

To begin properly, I should probably tell you that I have always been a hard worker, one who, before that crucial day, spent my head bent to my task. But it didn’t matter that I could work like a boy. As the oldest of six, my widower father had constant need for extra income, and I wasn’t surprised then, or even that saddened, when he accepted the king’s offer for work. It was far more than I would have dared hope for anyway. What sort of future can you dream about when, at sixteen, you are the oldest of a miller’s brood? With five siblings behind you, it’s a regular occurrence when people can’t quite get your name right, though I hardly think Emera is that difficult to remember.

One morning the king’s master of arms happened to drop by my father’s mill to resupply his men before they left the border of Berinam, our kingdom, and entered the Lostlands beyond the mountain pass. He only noticed me because I threw my dagger at one obnoxious, cat-calling boy among his group, effectively silencing his taunting by catching his shirt by the collar and pinning him to the side of the grain-grinder.

The boy thought I looked funny in my box-shaped dress dragging by my ankles. I’d say he did too, dangling three feet off the ground, a petrified expression on his face.

When I was dragged back to the capitol—a leafy, overgrown green place called Rogun—to be brought before his Grace, the Grand Duke Marlton, to be judged, I called him an asinine, self-serving pudgy body and that he should do his worst. Everyone I knew back in Nonan, my hometown, hated him and his incredibly high taxes, which he spent making the king’s army looking shiny, too well-fed, and kept overall useless, while the rest of us fought to keep from starving to death.

Apparently, the king overheard my comments, and thought I was hilarious.

His majesty offered me an ultimatum, one which I couldn’t refuse: I could accept to be the first maid to his youngest child, the Princess Vitta, then five years old, or my father would lose his mill in payment for my insulting the Grand Duke. I guess even the king himself found it difficult to keep the man happy. I suspect that except for his Grace’s (it had to be admitted) superb mind for running an agriculturally inclined country, the king would have dismissed him.

We—meaning the people of Berinam—loved our king. He was a kindhearted, gentle man who had ended his father’s bloody reign of war once the throne became his. The Seven Wars, as the years of battles and bloodshed had been come to be called, started far before I was born. They had wreaked a horrid devastation across seven kingdoms, leaving four destroyed and only three standing. Though I am no sorcerer myself, I had heard that white magic, when pitted against black, only became the victor in these circumstances because the number of good hearted people outweighed the bad… and even then, the victory had been by the barest measure.

Luckily, our king invested into the creative, work-loving minds of his people. We had thrived since the wars ended, for which the Grand Duke’s pocket swelled, and we were quickly reaching the limits of our patience for him. I took advantage of the king’s kindness and accepted his offer, thinking that at least, just this once, I could do something right for my father. I was warned (by his Grace’s boar-like voice), that if I made one step out of place again, I wouldn’t like to live out the rest of my life in the state he would see it rendered to.

I guessed he had never tried to harvest wheat before and therefore didn’t know how to come up with anything worse.

When I returned home to gather one very important thing, my father accepted my news with the usual stoic mannerism. All I carried with me back to the royal castle were the clothes I still wore from that day I had thrown the knife and my golden bauble. It was the only beauty I possessed, delicately carved with horizons made of distant peaks and rushing rivers, though the pictures were a bit skewed from the center. It swished and whispered when shaken, reminding me of wind stirring branches into motion. Glimpsing it clutched in my hands, my father had muttered about taking away more than I earned, but he didn’t stop me when I slipped it into my apron pocket.

Emera, what are you doing? Get up there and stop her screaming at once!

I jerked awake, immediately wincing at the stiff ache in my neck. My body protested as I forced it to stand, and I made a mental note to never allow myself to fall asleep in a chair ever again. The purple colors of the princess’s sitting room unfolded before me as I blinked the world back into focus, making sure I took my time to stretch, if only to annoy Habrah by my delaying.

It worked.

Get going! she commanded, whipping her dusting rag at me. It slapped the back of my bare knees and I glared at her as I finally walked away, muttering oaths to myself. As much as I had come to love the princess, her tantrums were a force to be reckoned with and they made me thoroughly irritated. I was gritting my teeth the next moment as Vitta’s shrieking became progressively piercing, but I forced myself to turn the heavy knob set in a thick door lined with glittering rubies, and I pushed my way into the playroom.

The assault to my eardrums was almost unbearable and I entered just in time to see a priceless tiara―a gift from some other country’s ambassador, actually―go sailing towards a window. Both objects shattered, the shards tinkling like mocking rain as the pieces hit the marble floor.

The princess herself was sitting with her legs sprawled before her in the center of the circular rug adorning the middle of the room. Its elaborate surface was a coiling mixture of soft colors and silvery threads, its elegance matching the pale yellow gown Vitta wore. But the effect was spoiled by the ribbons coming unlaced from her blonde braids, the tearstains on her cheeks, and the dripping nastiness coming from her nose.

Sighing heavily, I pulled out one of many handkerchiefs I always carried in my apron for this very reason, approaching her. Here, highness, stop this mess right now.

She scowled fiercely at me, reaching behind to grab something, anything (it happened to be a shoe), and she hurled it towards me. Her aim was never a concern of mine, and it sailed far to my left as I steadily kept on.

I mean it Vitta. Mopping at her face proved futile as she darted underneath my arm, and I whirled to catch her. You stop it this insta—aaah! Bowing in half, a golden hairbrush soared overhead, crashing impressively into a vase behind me, sending more glass shards alongside broken petals to litter the ground. With a huff, I flattened back the wisps of dark red hair that had managed to escape my head-tie. Really. If I had behaved like this at home, I would have looked forward to sleeping on the porch. But of course, being royalty, Vitta was never disciplined.

When I turned back around, my mouth open to scold her regardless, my words fell flat as I saw her inspecting my bauble in her hands. Dipping my hand into my apron pocket revealed a big hole. Wonderful. Drawing in a steadying breath, I forced myself to step closer to her, bending down to eye level. Vitta. That belongs to me. You need to give it back.

Shaking her head obstinately, Vitta backed away from me, her skirts swishing and bobbing. I knew that look. It meant whatever action she was planning on taking, nothing under heaven was going to stop her. But she had my bauble, and that was the one thing I couldn’t let her have, so I held my hands out. Princess, that’s very special to me, and I need to have it back now.

She looked from me, to the bauble, and to me again. Then she turned around, drew her arm back even as I shouted and started forward, and sent the golden ball sailing for the window. I reached where she stood just as it slipped through the gaping hole and delved out of sight, like a sinking stone. I grasped hold of the window in time to watch its descent into the pond below in the gardens; I stared at the ripples marking its entrance into the water.

You can’t have it, she told me, twirling around happily. You’re not a princess.

Looking at her, feeling myself shake with anger, all I could think of was when I was how I had run home from the woods one night, years ago, proudly showing my mother what I had found. The bauble had shone as I had held it up to her, and she had smiled down at me, stroked my hair, and told me to treasure it.

All I could think of as I stomped towards Vitta was that my last link to my mother had been tossed out of my reach.

Which is why I slapped her.

Vitta stared at me, absolutely stunned, never having been chastised in any way before. Then she began to wail, ripping out her hair ribbons and throwing any toys within reach around the room, like a miniature hurricane. As Habrah came running, I was a storm myself, heading for the exit, ignoring her demands to know what had happened. Vitta’s shrill cries of She hit me! made it clear enough. I was going to be punished, I knew, but at the moment, I was too furious to care.

Not long after, I found myself kneeling by the side of the large pond in the gardens, trying to see where my bauble had fallen.

There it glistened innocently, nestled in-between cragged rocks. Grumbling to myself, I sat back on my heels, rolling up my left sleeve, leaning out—

Something rustled the reeds to my right and I nearly bit a hole through my tongue as I clamped down on a shriek. I blinked towards the sound, watching the dry stalks shiver. Out flopped a miserable-looking, warty-skinned, mud-colored frog. One glance was all it took for me to conclude that it was near death. The pathetic creature set foggy yellow eyes on me and gave a wobbling croak before its eyelids rose up and it lay still, save for the rapid pulse beating against its sides.

Poor thing, I said, momentarily abandoning my bauble to stroke the frog’s back. It was dry and cold and I couldn’t help but feel sorry for it. Scooting over, I gave it a sympathetic peck on the head, then turned to my original task.

A rush of air hit me out of nowhere, forcing me to shut my eyes against the maelstrom of dust that threw it everywhere. As I covered my face, it roared around me, strangely warm to the touch, and something burned brightly beyond my eyelids. The next moment it disappeared and I lifted myself up, bewildered, and I glanced around. I pinched my mouth tight with frustration when I saw the strange wind had caused the bauble to move from its place in the pond’s turbulence, now lost out of sight.

Are you searching for this?

I jerked where I knelt, hearing a voice close to laughter, but looking around sharply, I saw no one else with me. Only a cat, purely white except for patches of midnight blotching one ear, a paw, and its back. He sat on a rock, tail swaying behind him, and his keen blue eyes were set on me in a gesture of superiority. Before its forepaws, my golden ball gleamed serenely.

Yes, that’s my… I stumbled forward a few steps, hesitated, then straightened to look around. Alright, whoever you are, enough playing with me. You’ve had your fun. I reached down for the bauble.

The cat pinned his ears back, ruffled his pelt and bushed out his tail, yowling at me as he stood over the ball.

I reeled back, startled, and then stomped a foot. Move or I swear I’ll kick you.

You can have what’s yours, the voice said. And the cat’s mouth moved. But only if you’ll help me take back what’s mine.

I gaped at the thing, wondering if the princess had actually nailed me with that hairbrush after all, and now I was hallucinating. I reached out again, managing to touch the pads of my fingers on the bauble before the cat hissed and clawed me. With a shout, I yanked my hand away, inspecting the rivulets lining my skin and I clenched it into a fist, feeling blood slide across and between my fingers. That’s it, you worm-ridden mongrel, I snapped. I’m going to do the gardener a favor and drown you myself.

You can’t drown me! the cat said, sounding honestly stunned at the threat. I’m the prince!

I stared at it.

That must have been a very heavy hairbrush, I muttered, letting my non-bleeding hand inspect my scalp for a knot and some bruising. I found none.

Are you listening to me? the cat demanded, bristling up again. I said I’m Idan, the prince, and—

I am listening, I cut in, wide-eyed now. "I just don’t know how I can hear you."

That seemed to make the cat glower, his whiskers twitching once. Neither do I, really. But you can hear me, so you must help me.

And you claim to be the prince…?

"Yes, that’s what I said. Clear your ears, I hate repeating myself.

Folding my arms, I began tapping a foot against a rock. I hate to burst your happy bubble, but Idan is currently in the castle. I saw him myself this morning.

The cat swiped a paw in the air. "But I am the prince! You must believe me."

Tapping my fingers against my arm in time with my foot, I said, Well, that haughty tone alone is almost enough to convince anyone.

Fine. I can see I can’t rely on your inherently believing nature. I’ll have to prove it to you. The cat stood up, its tail held at a proud angle. Lucky for you, I really am Idan, or you would have to be questioning your sanity right about now.

Well, he had a point. My interactions with sorcerers and their magic works had added