A Shimmering World

By AC Lowry

 

Thirty years ago, Prince Herlen of Astenforth massacred the elves of Maqqell. Those left alive were enslaved, their natural magics subdued and their last names stripped from them. Now, the prince wants nothing more than to be judged for his crimes. More than that, he wants to set things right: to improve the lives of everyone in his

• Language: English
• Publisher: Park Road Publishing
• Release date: Nov 20, 2022
• ISBN: 9781737577843

Book preview

COMING SOON BY AC LOWRY

Book II of The Shimmering Saga:

ONLY THE MONSTERS

A SHIMMERING WORLD

AC LOWRY

WORDHORD BOOKS

Copyright

A Shimmering World

Copyright © 2021 AC Lowry

Books are available for promotional or premium use. For information, email [e-mail]

All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or used in any manner without written permission of the copyright owner except for the use of quotations in a book review. For more information, address: [e-mail]

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resembles to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales, is entirely coincidental.

ISBN: 978-1-7375778-6-7

eISBN: 978-1-7375778-4-3

Cover design by AC Lowry. Edited by Hunter Bishop. Interior by Hunter Bishop.

FIRST EDITION

For Kseniya.

Ты - всё для меня

PART I

____________

RELKIN

1

Maq

Hidden deep within the earthly daggers of Astenforth sat a city; large, spiraling, and far from any who might wish to do it harm. Those who lived there called it Relkin. 

Massive structures of classic taste stood strong next to brutalist factories. Pipes ran across rooftops shooting steam and black smoke into the sky. Yet, the true lifeblood of the city was the tower that stood in its center. It was a structure like none other, taller and more majestic than even the surrounding mountains. Its body was pure white, with every millimeter covered in glyphs of ancient origin. Irminsul Tower, a sacred and mysterious place.

Inside—on the twelfth floor—a girl shot upright in her bed. A cold gust swept through her like an apparition, dashing any hope of a good night’s sleep. Her room was dark and filled barrack-style with beds sheltering three dozen others. She looked around for the source of the chill. There was no open window, no cracked door. No one else had awoken, and yet she felt their eyes on her. She shook her head, raised her arms. A yawn escaped as her shoulder popped. 

She called herself Em. 

Em turned and threw her legs out of the bed, letting the blanket fall to her side. She wore a pale blue nightgown, thin but comfortable. She did her best to rub the sleep from her eyes. Beds lined the walls on both sides of her. The only exit at the far end of the room. She stood, headed toward it. It was too dark to tell who was who, but Em had lived in these barracks too long not to know where each girl slept. She recalled their names as she passed; Stephanie, Coraline, Miranda, Jebanine, Lor... She continued, counting twenty-eight more before she finished. Three beds were empty. Curious, she thought, but it was no business of hers what the other girls did in the night. Likely sneaking off to the boys’ barracks for a romp. Although, it was who was missing rather than why that caught her attention. Vernoni Halethorpe and the Kreven twins, Scarlett and Cornella. All three were beside Em at the top of their class. 

She turned the knob as slowly as possible to lessen the chances of waking the others. For some reason, the overhead lights in the corridors had no way of being shut off. They didn't run on electrical bulbs like most of the other rooms in the tower. Instead, these were powered by a naturally luminous crystal. A miracle, her Astenforthian history professor had called it. The crystals require nothing, and the light never fades. It is absolute proof of the tower's divinity. Em thought it more of a pain in the ass than a miracle. 

Gently, she closed the door behind her, trying to let as little light leak out as possible. 

 She began down the hall. The girl was only twenty but had already achieved a position in society that was higher than most could ever hope for. Though she wasn’t particularly grateful for such a status. These nights of hard sleep and long walks were common for her. Her thoughts almost always turned to her mother. Em knew she should visit more. Vera lived in the city just below the tower. Yet, Em’s visits remained scarce.  During her early years, she made sure to write to her mother at least once a week. That was during a time when Em and the other girls were not allowed to leave the Tower on the order of the Crown.

It was standard for the first five years of a new recruit’s training. Astenforth believed it imperative all familial and financial ties be broken before entering service. Their reasoning being that strict rules only served to strengthen loyalty to crown and country. Em knew firsthand this ideology caused more resentment than admiration. At first, anyway. Once privileges were restored, many thought of the Tower as their home and their brothers and sisters in uniform as their family. For Em, this was half true. The tower had indeed become her new home. 

She had no idea what hour it was. The hallway walls were a bland, egg color with no artwork, windows, or decorations of any kind. It was impossible to tell what was happening outside or even what time it was. A massacre could be waging in the city, and none in the Tower would hear or see a thing. All of this was, of course, by design. One of the other girls had told Em that it was for training purposes. The lack of detail and noticeable marks were all intended to keep your mind sharp and constantly on alert. She thought it would help explain why the endless corridors were so confusing. According to Astenforthian legend, the Tower had no maker. It had simply always been there. For this very reason, the people worshiped it as the physical manifestation of their goddess: the city's divine, silent watcher. 

Em stopped. She’d finally found what she was looking for: a door. Made of thick gray iron, the small, ugly thing seemed rather odd compared to the rest of the white corridor. She took a moment to prepare herself. The door opened and she was met by a blast of wind. She’d expected this. The tower was quite high, and the winds were strong, occasionally deadly. During her first year, she heard a tale of a girl named Rosaline. She’d come to the Royal Guardian's training program as a show of good faith by one of the Tower’s noble houses. It was said the wind whisked away the poor girl on her first day. They never found the body. 

Em grabbed the metal rail. Ice covered it, and the cold stung her skin as she braced herself against the wind. Keeping her footing was a constant struggle, the frozen wind needling at her. Yet the view was worth it. At the right time, all Astenforth could be seen from this little balcony. The hallway behind her was only the source of light and it did its best to pierce the darkness that encompassed the man-made valley. Ultimately, though, she could see nothing. Just darkness and snow. Yet she knew the view and placed everything where it was meant to be. The rolling hills and far off castles of the south. The rough, jagged mountains that cut into the sky as they came around the ocean’s bend on the west. The Red Wall in the east that sealed Astenforth off from the rest of the world; only recently completed. 

This is where she came when things were rough, and times were indeed rough. Though she was trying to hide it, her heart was racing. It had been racing since she’d received the news early that day. Despite how cold she knew it to be—well below freezing—she felt hot. A bead of sweat dripped down her face. Even the view (if you could call dark clouds soaring over an even darker landscape a view) wasn’t calming her. 

Relax, she commanded herself. This is what I wanted. It didn’t help. How could it? She removed a hand from the guardrail and rubbed her temples. It was a risk, but she held strong against the wind’s push. She let out a sigh. Snowflakes stuck to her nightie like polka dots. Goosebumps had popped up over every inch of her. She wondered, When did it start snowing?

Em! shouted a high-pitched voice from behind her. She turned to see a short girl in a nightgown matching hers in the doorframe. Her name, inspired by her jet-black hair, was Raven. She was a fellow Guardian cadet and, at this point, Em’s only remaining friend. They’re looking for you, she cried. You need to come back! 

Em looked at her friend for a bit, then back out at the darkness. Her short moment of relief was gone. Reality had returned. Raven came up behind her, threw a fur over her. Thank you, Em whispered, not really concerning herself with whether Raven heard her or not. She knew what was happening. That morning, Em had been named the new Guardian to the heir of the blood throne, Prince Herlen Vallex Relkin. The Prince himself had decided that she would be replacing his current Guardian, Bourabon Van Verot. A man with a fearsome reputation who was now retiring. She’d been told that he would be the first Royal Guardian to actually make it to retirement in almost a thousand years, perhaps longer. 

Now she was to replace him. It was an honor and a horror. Since the announcement, she'd been struck with a constant anxiety. Rovanna Evereen, the head trainer of the female elite guard, had been pushing Christen or Vernoni for the position. Both were daughters of noble houses as well as remarkably skilled fighters. Yet, the Prince handpicked Em. It was something she’d always wanted but never expected. She had never been happier than at that moment. Yet, from the very second the words passed Evereen’s lips, she knew there would be backlash. She was a Maq after all. 

Within an hour, news of the appointment had spread throughout the guard. No one could have prepared her for the wave of resentment that came along with her new title. Those she’d called friends suddenly looked at her with eyes of hatred and envy. When she returned to her room, she found her locker emptied, her possessions replaced with a bag of feces. What they’d done with her clothes she didn’t know. No one would speak to her. No one besides Raven, that is. When she went to bed that night, she found tacks had been placed inside her mattress pad. It took her half an hour to remove them all. 

Em was used to a general atmosphere of disdain following her. Even outright hate towards her was nothing new, but it had never before been so intense. There was no denying she was a skilled fighter. She was consistently in the top five of her class and could beat or tie with any of the girls or boys in a one on one. Yet, there was an aspect of her that most of the inhabitants of Irminsul Tower found quite inexcusable: her blood. She was a foreigner training beside native-borns and nobles. For most in Astenforth that alone was bad enough but, to have her—a Maq—be selected by the prince? Even to those that had previously tolerated her, the thought was simply unacceptable. 

Em turned and looked at her raven-haired friend, then back at the view. She had hoped it would calm her down; steady her for what lies ahead. It hadn’t. Alright, she whispered. Time to die.

Raven threw an arm around her. So dramatic, she said with a half-smile. Into the tower they went, closing the iron door and returning the mountains to darkness. Waiting for them was a man; skin and bones, pale, hands clasped behind his back. A slight smirk crossed his face as Em’s frame came into view. She wondered if he was smirking because of her state of dress or because of whatever he was about to make her do. Perhaps both. 

He bowed before them. Good evening, ladies. My name is Robert, a priest of the Tower. He then turned to Em. The next part was just for her. Miss Evereen has summoned you. Please, come with me. 

Em didn’t even have time to look at the man before Raven shouted, You have eyes, don’t you? Give her a moment, let her get proper! She then quickly turned to her friend and whispered, You can take my gear from my locker. It should fit. 

Em smiled at her kindness but knew nothing Raven had would fit her; the black-haired girl was practically half Em's height and a good bit heavier. It didn’t matter either way. The gesture was pointless. 

No time, Robert said. Evereen demands you now. You shall have to come as you are.

Raven gasped in shock. Indecent, she exclaimed, turning red-faced to the priest. 

Miss Evereen’s orders, I’m afraid, the man replied. 

It’s fine, Em said. Evereen wants one last humiliation before I’m officially her superior. 

I’ve no idea, the man said. However, until you take the oath you must do as I say, and I say you shall come with me. 

You are filth, Raven spat, her eyes filled with a woman’s rage. The second Em’s Guardian, you’ll pay. She turned to Em and winked. I recommend he lose his head. Either one of them. Perhaps both? 

Back to bed, he shouted. Another word and tomorrow you’ll run fifty laps. 

Raven snickered at him. If you’re even still alive tomorrow, she said, pushing past the man and toward the barracks. 

Fifty laps, the man shouted. Once he regained his composure, he turned to Em. Let’s go, he commanded. The sooner we get there, the sooner this is over. 

Em sighed, allowing the fur to fall off her shoulders. Following a few paces behind him, she traveled down the featureless hallway. How many times had she walked this path? Too many to count. She’d been in the Tower too long, done the routine day after day, year after year. The training room to the barracks, the barracks to the cafeteria, the cafeteria back to the barracks. She could probably walk it in her sleep.

Further, still, they walked. Soon the plain, white hallway gave way to intricate patterns not painted but carved into the walls. The patterns were strange and seemingly meaningless, yet beautiful to look at. In parts there even seemed to be some sort of language amongst the swirl of dancing lines. It was then they found themselves at the entrance of the Guardian training room. 

The door was huge, at least three times as tall as she was. It was constructed of white marble and decorated with images of Astenforth’s legends. There was High King Herlen Relkin, whom the mountains and heir prince were both named after. Beside him was an image of Irminsul tower appearing mighty before a dragon’s corpse. Along the sides were images of dwarves and humans at battle. Monsters watched, jealous, from a distance. 

As the worry traveled down her spine into her gut, the doors swung open. The priest entered through right away, but Em hesitated. She needed a moment. Her eyes closed to steady her breathing. You can do this. She followed the man, taking timid first steps inside the room. The training area was a huge, open space with incredibly high curved ceilings. 

The door shut behind her with a loud clang. The great room was mostly empty, filled with darkness, like so much of the Tower. For something that was supposedly divine, it sure held a lot of darkness inside. The Priest turned to her and gave a quick bow—that same smirk still on his tight, skull-like face—before disappearing behind an iron door. 

The overhead light flashed on, revealing three women in the center of the room. All were roughly Em’s age. She quickly recognized the blonde on the left. It was Vernoni Halethorpe, standing incredibly tall and thin, a dagger ready in her left hand. The other two were brunettes, the twins Scarlett and Cornella. She'd lived with the three of them for most of her life, fought them many times, winning just as many as she lost. They were decked out in their training garb, armored and ready to fight. 

Click. Em turned toward the source of the noise. Click. She looked up to find Evereen clicking a heel against the metal of the platform. The platform was designed to be a place for instructors to watch over trainees, but Evereen also used it as a place for archers to target the girls as they did their practices. ‘Real world prep,’ she called it. Before Evereen could order it, Em made her way over and stood in the bright red circle beside the other three. 

Thank you for coming, Evereen said, barely trying to hide her pleasure at what she was about to order. Although, I wish you had donned something more appropriate.

The priest wouldn’t allow it, Em replied.

I assure you, that was not my doing. She paused. Evereen was a small woman. She could barely see over the rails of the platform. Still, she stared at Em; her pointed face dressed in an ugly smile. As you know, she continued, you were not my first choice to be his highness’ Guardian. She twirled a short brown cane with a dragon head hilt. However, since you have been chosen, she paused and turned her gaze toward the other three women. I'd like to give you the opportunity to change my mind. A slight smile graced her face as she waved her hand, still gripping the cane. An order for Em to move forward. Em did just that, stopping when Evereen held out her hand. This is your chance. You four will fight. Impress me.

It was worse than she had feared. Em couldn’t help but say something. This isn’t fair!

Fair, repeated Evereen. "You talk about fair but you, as a Maq, are taller than them, stronger, your skin harder to cut. Darling, if anything, you are what’s unfair. I’m simply evening the odds."

In real combat—

Real combat is hardly ever fair, my dear. Please begin.

Click. 

The three women entered into fighting stances. Em responded by going on the defensive, quickly putting space between them. She needed time to analyze the situation. Only Vernoni had a weapon drawn: a dagger of foreign make that she was so very fond of. A gift from her late mother, she’d once told Em. A late birthday gift if her memory served. The other two had batons strapped to their thighs, as well as two daggers still holstered on their belts. Em had no weapons on her, but she could make do. As bad as the situation was, she was nothing if not resourceful.

Vernoni moved first, rushing towards Em with her dagger, ready to take first blood. Em dodged the strike and countered with a low kick to throw her off balance, but it missed. The other two ran to flank her; one on her left, the other on her right. They rushed her from all directions but one, behind. Quickly, Em leaped backward, until she had only three or so meters from the entrance. The three closing in on her, she took a deep breath and entered a fighting stance. 

The brunette on the right was the first to meet her, and she swung at Em’s stomach. It landed hard, but Em endured, quickly grabbing the girl’s wrist and twisting. The brunette’s face contorted in pain, and Em used her free hand to deliver a hard punch to the girl’s throat. The other brunette was approaching on her left. Em quickly took cover behind the girl, stealing one of her batons and using her as a shield.

Vernoni arrived a moment later. They stopped, taking a moment to analyze the situation. A few seconds passed before she gestured to her companion and sheathed her prized dagger, switching it for one of the other girl’s batons. She won’t stab this girl to get to me, but she’ll certainly beat her to a pulp. For a moment Em hesitated, trying to figure out the best course of action. All it did was give her opponents a window. 

The other brunette jumped forward and grabbed Em’s hostage, pulled her away while Vernoni rushed forward, baton at the ready. Thinking quickly, Em released the girl, jumped backward, but not before she hit the girl hard in the back of the head with the baton. She fell into the other brunette, and they stumbled. 

Vernoni continued her advance.

Now it was just the two of them, Vernoni rushing her, and Em still pushing back as fast as she could. Em had fought Vernoni before. She knew in a one on one she’d end up on her ass. Still, they are on equal footing for now. Then something large loomed in her peripheral. She had backed herself into a wall once again. Damn. 

Quickly, she changed her stance and lunged ahead. Lucky for her, Em had momentum and the element of surprise. Vernoni couldn't stop quick enough. The attack landed. A quick strike to her left knee that made Vernoni buckle. Em immediately raised the baton high in the air for a finishing blow, but Vernoni caught herself and returned with a blow to Em’s leg, knocking her down.

She scrambled to gain her footing, but it was no use. Vernoni smacked her hard across the face with the baton, knocking her against the cold marble floor. Em could feel her head throbbing, her vision slightly askew. Get up, she thought. Up! By the time she was back on her feet Vernoni had drawn her dagger and was advancing for a final attack. Get it together! Dodge! Vernoni thrust her blade, but Em ducked, dodging by a hair’s width and tackling her opponent to the ground. The blade made a long, shallow wound along her back as they fell to the ground. Em didn’t even notice. She was preoccupied, wrestling Vernoni, desperately trying to gain control of her dagger wielding hand.

The brunettes suddenly reappeared and knocked Em off Vernoni with a kick to the side. They surrounded her, one lifting Em by her hair while the other put her in a headlock. Unable to think of a plan and her head still throbbing, Em struggled violently. The next thing she saw was Vernoni kneeled before her. She threw a hand on Em's face and raised her dagger. 

Acting quickly, Em head-butted Vernoni, using the momentum to push back on the two brunettes as hard as she could. Vernoni swung the dagger in reflex, cutting Em deep across face. She fell to the ground, grabbing her head in pain. Fresh blood from her wound dripped into her eyes, obscuring her vision.

 She could still hear her opponents coming. They wouldn’t stop now. Move, dammit, move! She did her best to get up on her feet, feeling around for some kind of support, but she found none. She forced herself to open her left eye, but all she could see was gray blobs rushing towards her. A thousand things suddenly raced through her mind; a few hundred ideas for possible moves she could make, a few thousand memories, a few things she wished she would have done, a few things she wished she hadn’t. Too late now, she figured. It’s over. Em did the only thing she could do; take a defensive stance and prepare for the worst. 

Then a gunshot rang out.

Everyone turned toward the source. Em couldn’t see the figure through the blood. Everyone quickly stopped where they were, dropped their weapons, and bent a knee to the man as he made his way across the training floor. He made straight towards Em, ignoring the others. She couldn’t make out just who it was until he got close. Her eyes were blurry, but the man who had saved her was undoubtedly the man whose life she was now in charge of protecting. No one but Crown Prince Herlen Vallex Relkin would receive such a welcome. As he neared her image of him became clearer. 

The prince wasn't at all what she had expected. For a man called The Soldier Prince, he was awfully thin and informally dressed. At first glance, he could have easily been mistaken for a woman. Though that could have simply been the blood in her eye. He had a messy goatee and green eyes that shined beneath a sea of long, soot black hair. He wore a floral pattern shirt, so oversized it nearly seemed like a dress. He was as handsome as everyone had said, yet in a vastly different way than the pictures of other soldiers she'd seen. She blinked desperately to clear the blood from her vision, to see him with clearer eyes, but to no avail. Damn it, she thought. He shouldn’t see me like this. Not yet.

He knelt before her, ran a finger along her fresh cut. She winced at his touch. That’ll scar, he muttered, more to himself than her. Are you okay? 

Em nodded bashfully. She wasn’t used to being around him. His very presence was suffocating. He was being kind, but Prince Herlen was an unknown, with more power than anyone else in the kingdom save his father. He could quite literally do whatever came to mind. There would be no recourse. 

Oh, how she envied that. 

The prince stood and turned to Vernoni, Find a medic, he demanded. 

Em wished she could have seen Vernoni running off to obey the prince’s order. She imagined the look of fear and envy on her face. Take that bitch. Sadly, all she could see was a grayish blob slowly growing smaller and smaller. Prince Herlen then took off his oversized shirt and wrapped it around her, turning Em’s face red. She had forgotten she was barely dressed. 

Herlen then turned to Evereen, sitting high in the overlook.

That girl is going to be the death of you, Evereen shouted from on high. She almost seemed happy. Em assumed that stemmed from her injured state. If she had died Evereen would have been ecstatic. As you can see, she isn’t ready for real combat.

For three versus one without a weapon she did fantastically, her prince replied. Could you have done any better?

My skills are not in question here, she responded, the anger in her voice strong and clear.

I question them, Herlen said, his voice as cold and smooth as the ice outside the walls. Now come down from there. 

No one in the room dared move or speak. The prince was angry, that much was certain. No one knew what he would do. Among those who lived in Irminsul Tower, the crown Prince was mostly known for being an anomaly. The man was rarely home. His predisposition for being active in the field led to the nickname The Soldier Prince. Outside of the royal family, no one knew him. They only knew his deeds. This was a man who single handedly toppled nations. He could kill everyone in this room, or he could smile, ignore the incident, and buy everyone a round of tea.

Evereen now stood face to face with the prince, neither of them looking very happy with the other. Everyone in the room was waiting for someone to break the silence. In the distance, Em could hear footsteps, one light and one heavy, which she concluded to be Vernoni returning with the medic. She turned her head, confirmed her suspicions. The medic reached her and quickly removed Em’s nightie to examine her wounds. The old man proceeded to prod at her with gausses and ointments. While she appreciated his help in healing her wounds, she found his grip a little too tight for her taste, especially when he patted around her chest to check her breathing. Herlen watched from just a meter away.

You were going to have them kill her.

If she couldn’t make it in here, what makes you think she’ll make it out there? she asked. Besides, she’s a foreigner. A MAQ. She’s no right to be your protector. 

Em couldn’t help but feel ashamed. Not only did she have to be saved by the very man whose life she was chosen to protect, but, as much as she hated to admit it, Evereen was right. If she couldn’t handle this, how could she handle real combat? She had never taken a life before, never been in anything more than a sparring match. He’s going to change his mind, she thought. He’s going to pick Vernoni or one of the boys. Damn it all. 

She tried to bury her face in her arms to hide the tears forming in her bloodied eyes, but the medic kept forcing her head up to clean the wound. She looked over at Herlen to see if he was still watching her. He was. Their eyes met. Quickly, she turned away only for the medic to force her head back again. Stay still, he commanded. 

The prince took a deep breath then looked at the royal trainer. Our law says she outranks you. That makes this an act of treason.

She hasn't been formally inducted yet, she said, leaning on her cane. Her face seemed bored with the conversation. I'm within my right as her trainer. 

The prince laughed, and even Em could see the look of fear in everyone’s faces. I think I’ll kill you. He said it so simply, with no hint of emotion, except maybe a tinge of excitement. I’d like that. Would you like that? he asked, turning to Em to gauge her reaction. She looked up at him through the bloody sponge the medic was dabbing on her forehead but gave him no confirmation one way or the other. He watched as the blood gushed from her wound. Yes. I think she would. 

You can’t, she exclaimed, outraged. Your father won’t stand for this!

Then I shall have to find him a chair, Herlen said. An angry fire danced behind his eyes.  

I was within my rights! she screamed.

I am above your rights, he said, raising the pistol once more. For a moment Evereen just stood there, staring at him. She turned and looked at her three other students, hoping for some support. The brunettes just looked away. Vernoni, on the other hand, stared at her, equally frustrated with the situation. Though she was seemingly not at all upset about Evereen's impending death. Em knew that Vernoni hated Evereen just as much as she did, but for different reasons. Her death would be a gift to all four of them, courtesy of the prince.

Please, your highness, she whined. I’ve been… I've been loyal—

A bullet finished her sentence—passing through her throat quickly and cleanly. Blood spurted out the wound as Evereen fell to the floor. A red sea staining white marble. 

Prince Herlen looked down at her and watched as she writhed in pain. After a moment he turned to the medic. Can you save her?

The Medic was awestruck at the question. If… I…If I act fast enough.

The prince nodded. Get to it then, he commanded. The Medic rushed over to Evereen, turned her over, applied pressure to the wound. Herlen turned and faced the three students who Em had faced against. They sat there, huddled together in fear of the prince’s wrath. Herlen examined them, and then said, You fought well, all of you. I will not hold that against you. Now go. The three exchanged looks and decided it was better not to argue. They stood and bowed before running. Herlen took a seat beside Em as the medic worked on Evereen. You also fought very well, considering the circumstances, he complimented. 

She didn’t say anything. Instead, she sat in thought, holding the bandage to her head, trying to decide if she had any right to speak. After a moment of courage building, she decided yes, she did. Evereen was cruel—but that—that was too much. Your highness.

Herlen took a moment to let her words sink in. She tried to have you killed.

Yes, Em said, but I wouldn’t be as good as I am without her being that way.

The prince smiled. Fair enough. He then lifted his gaze toward the ceiling. What did she say to you? 

Em thought back to earlier in the day, to the moment Herlen’s emissary had come to Evereen to announce his pick. Once she knew, Evereen dismissed everyone but her, spat at her. Em hesitated to repeat her words. They had cut deep and even the simple act of repeating them would push the dagger deeper. Even worse, she feared Herlen’s reaction. What if Evereen had spoken the truth? She said you…

Go on, he encouraged.

"You have a thing for Maqs. The words burned her tongue as she spoke. That’s why you chose me. She said I'm just… a fetish." Em waited for a response. 

The prince examined her, a chuckle escaping as he did. Well, she’s not wrong, he said, a sort of half laugh filled his words. "I do have a thing for Maqs, though I wouldn’t call it a fetish, and that’s not why I chose you." 

Em sat there. She wasn't sure how to feel about the prince's words, and her conflicting emotions were made worse by her ever-continued blood loss. The prince stood, using the momentum to help Em up as well. 

Let’s be on our way, he said softly before taking her hand and guiding her out of the training hall and toward the clinic. Despite her rather severe wound, Em felt no pain, no fear. On the contrary, all she could feel was the warmth of his hand as he guided her through the entrails of the tower. 

One more thing, he said. Call me Herlen.

2

Message

Prince Herlen woke up feeling cross. To remedy this half of his morning drink was whiskey. The taste wasn’t great, but it was working wonders on his mood. Still, he was not yet up to the tasks the day would require of him. Thus, he had another, and another. Only when four cups of the stuff were in him did he feel up to leaving his apartment. Not for work, though. Not yet. He hadn’t anything to eat and was craving sweets. So, he made a trip to his favorite bakery in Middle Relkin. 

Two hours later, he sat in Irminsul’s hospital, running his fingers along a cheap paper box. There were a hundred donut shops inside the Tower, but none could compare to Little Owen’s in Middle Relkin. Perfectly sweet, a huge variety of toppings. The owner was a friend, too, which meant a discount. Oh, how he loved it. Opening the box, he grabbed a donut—something pink with blueberries on top—took a bite, only for jelly to squirt onto his face and shirt. Shit!  

At that the patient before him stirred. It was Evereen. Slowly her eyes began to open. They focused on the ceiling. It featured an incredibly realistic painting of the morning sky. Herlen too stared up at it. Every room in this hospital had the same image. He attempted to recall the name of the artist they’d hired to paint it, but it wouldn’t come. The more he stared the more it seemed the painted clouds moved and changed shape. He knew it wasn’t real. No, it was just a trick of the mind, but by the Mother did it look real. 

How are you? he asked, taking another bite of his donut. 

She turned, looked at him. I feel like a little girl, sitting in a field somewhere, staring up at the sky. Each word was a struggle. 

That’s the idea, Herlen said. Lull patients into a peaceful frame of mind. 

The pain brought back the events that led her here. She brought a hand to her neck, found it heavily bandaged. Your… highness. I—

I felt compelled to stop by and see how you were recovering, he said, putting the box down on a nearby table. 

How kind of you, she said. Her voice was harsh, like she’d been smoking far too much tobacco for far too long. 

We sent word to your wife, Herlen said. As I’m sure you know, she was out of town, but should be back this time tomorrow. He waited for a reply, sighed when none came. It is possible I overreacted, he said before finishing the last of his donut. 

Evereen stared. She sensed no malice in him. Still, she felt as if she’d drunk a pint of lead. No, she replied after a moment of hesitation. I understand. It must have been hard for you to see her like that. It must have brought back unpleasant memories.

Careful now, the prince said, his eyes narrowing into angry slits. You know better than that.

It’s not fair to the other girls, Evereen said, averting her eyes toward the ceiling and its mystical moving clouds. She’ll never be her.

Persistent, aren’t you, Herlen mused. I intentionally missed your carotid artery, but I can remedy that if you’d like.

There was silence. I overstepped, Evereen said after some time. I apologize.

Good, Herlen said, smiling. Have a pastry. They’re from my favorite place, Little Owen’s Bakery. Ever been there? No? I highly recommend it. He leaned over and gently laid the box on her stomach. 

She stared at it for a long time before grabbing something chocolate filled. Only when she raised it to her mouth did it occur to her that she may not be able to eat it. She was still recovering, and if she’d had anything in the past few days, it would have been delivered intravenously. She took a small bite, the flaky pastry giving way to a rush of bitter-sweet chocolate that poured down the side of her mouth, staining her gown. Evereen swallowed as the prince handed her a napkin. 

Herlen smiled expectantly. 

Delicious, she said.

I’m so happy you think so, he said standing. But I must be off now. My father has summoned me. Likely to talk about you and my new Guardian. He paused, and watched her face. There wasn’t much of a reaction. She was lost in the painting. Enjoy the pastries. 

Down the hall and into the lift he went. There were several others already inside, and none acknowledged him as he entered. Most avoided eye contact. It was the typical response he received. Most knew little about him. Thus, they feared him. It didn’t bother him; in fact, he liked it. He could talk with these people, but they were unlikely to have anything eye-opening to say. Life in Irminsul didn’t interest him. Thus, he only kept tabs on the top of the top: the privileged few allowed to speak directly with his father. These people were far below that. He doubted any of them were even allowed above the twelfth floor. 

There was a ding. The doors opened. Everyone but him got off. He still had three more floors to go. The kahvesi was making him jittery, the alcohol dizzy. Weed grass would mellow him out, but he decided against it. Malachy would smell it on him a kilometer away. While Herlen was a grown man and he could do what he wanted, the conversation they were about to have would be heated. He didn’t want to give Malachy any more reasons to rage. Fifty-five years of poking the high king had taught Herlen the man’s limits well. Poke too hard and he would lose the fight, and this was one he couldn’t afford to lose. His new Guardian didn’t know it, but her life was in his hands. If Herlen didn’t play this right, Malachy would have her thrown off the Eug. A bad fate. 

The elevator came to a stop. Floor thirteen, the luxury suite. Home of spas, massage parlors, gourmet restaurants, and all other such things people of wealth enjoy. It was a floor unlike all the others of Irminsul in that it did not feel like a floor in the Tower. No, it was wide and massive with ceilings eight times taller than the others. Herlen had once heard someone say the ceilings were a hundred meters tall, though he wasn’t quite sure of that. Either way they’d been made—much like the ceilings in the hospital