Storms of Faith: Part One of the Venator Chronicles

By James Gray

My name is Reckton Venator. I once had a different name, but I was a different man then. My new name Venator means "the hunter."

What do I hunt? Creatures of evil and darkness, the beasts that have denied all that is good and true and now roam the shadows seeking the ruin of souls, the Mortu.

I am the Venator, and this is my story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Page Publishing, Inc.
• Release date: Aug 22, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662476099

James Gray

James Gray is a national newspaper journalist and broadcaster with nearly a decade of experience. Starting with the Daily Express, a title with a long history of motor racing coverage, he has spent most of his career covering Formula 1, tennis, boxing and a host of other sports, now writing for the i newspaper. His first book Max Verstappen was published in 2021.

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Storms of Faith

Part One of the Venator Chronicles

James Gray

Copyright © 2022 James Gray

All rights reserved

First Edition

PAGE PUBLISHING

Conneaut Lake, PA

First originally published by Page Publishing 2022

ISBN 978-1-6624-7608-2 (pbk)

ISBN 978-1-6624-7609-9 (digital)

Printed in the United States of America

Table of Contents

Prologue

Part 1

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

Part 2

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

About the Author

Prologue

The bright light of the day penetrated my darkened eyes. There was something about light that was so fierce. We always think of light as peaceful and calming, the soft sun rising over the horizon and bringing the warmth of the day. That's not always the case. Light is violent. Light is power—power that surges through the world and brings us life. There is a reason God began creation with the words let there be light.

Believe me, I know from personal experience that light is not peaceful. It burns. It brings pain—too much of it will kill you. But it does bring life. The light feeds the trees from which we gather fruit, the energy for the trees to grow, the only way we do not stumble over ourselves as we walk about in the day. Light is both life and death.

Even the light, the burning force though it is, does not reach the cracks and crevices of the harsh corners of the world. Those shadows hide from the light, and within them are the things that cannot bear to touch the power of the day. Those things are the things that scare me the most. Because the light eventually burns away all, and the things in the cracks will be exposed. That is a day I never thought I'd see, but it is one I was doomed to live.

Part 1

My brethren, count it all joy when you fall into various trials, knowing that the testing of your faith produces patience. But let patience have its perfect work, that you may be mature and complete, lacking nothing.

—James 1:2-4

Chapter 1

As I slowly came to consciousness, I rubbed my bare legs together and stretched to relieve the tightness of sleep. My soft feather mattress shifted beneath my movement and under the weight of the woman who slept beside me, Tanis—or was it Saris? I had forgotten which right after she had said her name. Names did not matter. Pretty faces, plentiful bosoms, and smooth legs all eventually seemed the same. Her dress lay strewn across the floor, my clothes mixed among them.

Curtains hung in front of the large window above my bed. Only a thin strip of yellow light beamed through, slicing toward the door on the opposite wall. It would be wrong to call it the morning light for it was well past noon by this time. The activities of the day did not currently interest me much. Meetings, peasant contracts, and servants' requests were things best left up to those more qualified to understand the menial goings-on within my kingdom. Well, it was not precisely my kingdom yet, but it soon would be. For now, my mother held the throne. I was content to let her continue her theatrics for the time being.

I rolled onto my back and tucked my hands behind my head. The woman next to me squirmed and turned her body to face me. Silk sheets drifted down exposing her hips and back, leaving almost her entire body bare. Blond hair splayed out next to me as she stretched out her limbs to come awake.

She opened her eyes and looked up at me. Her hand drifted across the mattress to me and rubbed the bare skin of my stomach. The muscles of my core tightened as I shuddered at her touch. The hairs on my arms and the back of my neck stood as she traced the outline of the ridges of my muscles while I took slow breaths. Sharp fingernails danced over my body, causing my skin to prickle. She pulled herself closer to me and wrapped a leg around my own. Smooth soft skin rubbed against me, and I felt myself get excited at the prospect of her.

Good start to the day.

My hands ran through her hair and rubbed her cheeks as she lay her head across my chest. The room was still dark, save for the bright lights of the sun peeking through the edges of the curtains that threatened to ruin the mood. Shifting my weight down from the pillows that propped me up, I brought my face close to hers. Her lips still tasted like the brandy we had drunk last night with a hint of the strawberry wine we'd taken from the cellars when we'd returned to the palace. The splendors of the castle were an allure very few loose-legged girls could resist.

With a jerk of my hips, I turned her over, causing a high-pitched scream followed by a small giggle to release from her mouth. My body hung over hers as I kissed my way down her neck, to her chest, to her stomach, and then, with her fingers laced through my hair, I ducked beneath the sheets. She will surely entertain the guards outside the door. Perhaps Mother will hear. That would tighten her asshole even more.

She took long deep breaths of exhaustion as I rose back up from beneath the covers and ran my hands up her body back to her face. Her skin was smooth, and her curves were as enticing as ever. She bit her bottom lip as I looked up at her and felt her skin bump up as my fingers danced over her body. Her hips shifted slightly as she reached down to grab the edge of the sheets. The white fabric flew up in the air as she tugged it over us while I pressed another kiss onto her lips.

A very good start to the day.

We both were lackadaisical in pulling on our clothes. I watched as her dress hung loosely off her shoulders as she searched around for her undergarments. With a smirk, I kicked them further under my bed and stepped toward her.

Dear, care for some breakfast? I put a hand on her waist and squeezed her bottom firmly.

She yelped and smacked lightly at my shoulder when I spun her to face me. Once more, I kissed her, then allowed her to continue searching to no avail for her missing garments.

My bliss was interrupted by the clacking of heels in the hall, followed by a pounding on the large wooden double doors that were the entrance to my room. Before I could shout back a response, the wood cracked and burst open, allowing my mother access. Here we go.

The woman stepped in forcefully with a splay of guards following behind her. Her red hair that matched my own was pulled up into a tight braid with an elaborate decorative piece that stuck out above her head. Diamonds sparkled from her ears as two guards walked past her and tugged back the curtains letting the full light of the day into my room. Harsh light poured in. I shielded my eyes with an elbow and cursed under my breath. The spurs of the guards clinked as they stepped back toward the door. Through my squinting, I saw their figures dressed in black uniforms pass my view.

Reckton, my mother said. Her lips were pursed even as she spoke, and the wrinkles around her mouth deepened with each syllable of my name. The jade-green irises that matched my own were not comforting but glaring and intimidating as she stared daggers at me. The lines of her forehead did not shift as she tilted her chin up to look down her nose at me, her insolent son, with my long hair frazzled from the previous night's escapades.

Morning, Mother. I gave a half-hearted bow to her.

She huffed at me then shifted her gaze to Tanis, or was it Saris, who stood behind me. Mother's black dress, ordained with golden flakes of paint throughout, made her appear as if she stood among a cloud of smoke. Her red hair was a sharp contrast to the bleakness of her dress and expression. Tanis, Saris, whoever she was, stood hesitantly before the queen and held her hands across her abdomen in embarrassment. Her blond hair hung loosely around her face, still mangled from my hands. Her loose red dress gave any viewer a clear understanding of what she had done.

I'd worry you carry my son's bastard child, but he is far too impotent for me to worry. Her words did not have a tone of harshness, which almost made them worse to the girl who could not meet the queen's eyes. Get out of here, strumpet. The queen nodded her head toward the door, and the young woman rushed out of the room, tugging the straps of her dress over her shoulders.

Now with the distraction of the girl gone, I stood the sole target of my mother's ire. She turned her gaze to me and stepped closer. Reckton, you are worse than your father. He at least had the decency to try to hide his boorishness from me and those around him. You on the other hand… The sentence trailed off as she circled me in examination.

As I recall, none of the men who now warm your bed, dear mother, are my father, nor have been for a long time, I spat back at her.

A hand ran across my face, turning my cheek red. The sound of the slap echoed off the stone walls of my room as I reached up and grabbed at my face.

Insolent child. The king, God rest his soul, was a bastard, a drunk, and a terrible husband, but he is still your father, and you will show him the respect he is due as you are commanded.

"Just as you are commanded to submit to him? I readied myself for another slap, but when the rings that adorned her fingers did not strike my face, I relaxed my shoulders. Pardon me, Mother, but I must get about my appointments for the day." I gave an elaborate bow and turned my back to the door. In a straight line, I stepped backward, my hard-heeled boots clopping across the stone floor. The armor of the guards clattered as they moved to create a path.

Once out of sight, I spun on my heel, my hair flying wildly around my face, and stood upright once more to trot down the hall. The early afternoon sun warmed my face through the tall stained-glass windows on my left side, casting colorful light along the white stone of the castle hallways. The white shirt I wore billowed as I walked, the reek of alcohol still present. God, I can't believe she kissed me this morning. A smirk decorated my face as I replayed the memories of the night in my mind, blurry though they were.

The hallway went straight then curved around the edge of the castle. Doors leading to various rooms, conference halls, war planning boards, and servants' quarters broke the smooth stone of the walls; and every so often, I dodged a basket or tray-carrying servant. My riding boots echoed off the hard floor and walls with each step as I made my way toward the baths.

Scuffed wooden double doors opened to the bathhouse at the center of my wing—the prince's wing—of the castle. Steam poured out of the room as I was hit with the hot, humid air of the steam tubs. Instantly, I began to sweat, and my hair frizzed up around my head. A large pool sat at the center, and a stone bench lay beneath the water for me to sit and soak away my troubles. Beside the pool, a wooden bucket of towels neatly folded within sat ready for use.

I tried not to slip on the steam-slick tiles as I walked over.

I kicked off my boots and flung them across the room. I loosened the laces that held up my pants, letting them fall to my ankles. I stood in nothing but my white shirt that hung down, almost to midthigh. The loose fabric hung off my shoulders and flew around as I walked around the bathing pool. The stone steps that led down into the steaming water allowed me to slowly lower myself into the warm water. I pulled off my shirt, and as it came over my head, I let the tension of the fabric launch the shirt back over to the pile of my other clothes strewn on the floor. Sinking lower into the water, I felt the aromatic bath salts soak into my skin, relieving the tension.

My body loosened at the heat, and the morning aches dissipated with each second. Holding my breath, I submerged myself into the water. The water slid off my face as I came up. Droplets sprayed around the room as I shook my hair, the strands splaying out with each jerk of my head.

Climbing out of the bath, I wrapped myself in a plush towel. Warmth encompassed me as I pulled on my old breeches and tied them around my waist once again. My shirt lay in a wrinkled mess where I had tossed it. While pulling it over my head, I caught a whiff of the smell embedded in the fabric. At that, I decided best not to dirty myself with it.

As my bare feet slapped down the stone hallways I shook my damp hair around, leaving water droplets splattering the walls. My long hair was drying, and as it did, its volume increased. I should remember to grab a leather band before I leave for the day. Servants bustled around me, but I stopped a small blond-haired girl that carried a basket of old clothes from Mother's toward the laundry room. I stepped in front of her and held out my hands to stop her in her tracks. The girl was only a year or two younger than myself, probably eighteen or so, and her eyes were bright green that reflected my own frazzled face back to me. I could see the bloodshot in my eyes. Her freckle-dusted cheeks and nose were the central focus of her angular features that made her look older than she was, but her soft high-pitched voice gave away her youth.

Prince Reckton? she said, angling herself into a slight bow at my presence.

I tossed the soiled shirt into her basket, then flung my boots on top. Mud caked the soles, and the leather upper was sticky with spilled ale and wine. She bent her arms to receive the new weight then looked up with a questioning glance. I gave a lustful grin at her as she looked at my bare chest. The skin of my torso was still red from the heat of the bathwater. My hands reached for the laces of my pants and began to untie the knot that held them up. The servant girl's eyes drifted down watching me fumble about.

As I pulled the waist loose and tugged the pants down my legs, she gasped then quickly looked up. Her cheeks grew red under her caramel skin, and she shifted her weight nervously. I gave a mischievous chuckle while stepping free of the legs. Lightly, I rested the brown leather garment atop my boots in her basket, then slowly pulled the towel from my shoulders down to wrap around my waist. She tried to keep her eyes up, but I saw her eyes dart diagonally down to catch a glimpse of me. Now there I stood with a bare torso and placed my hands on my waist, exposing my toned upper half to her. The blush in the girl's cheeks darkened. She swallowed trying to maintain her composure.

Nothing wrong with a glimpse, dear, I said, running a finger under her chin.

Yes, sire. My apologies, sire. Another small curtsy and bow of her head.

Please wash those filthy things. I'd love to have them by tonight, and—I ran my eyes up and down her figure—bring them to my rooms yourself, dear. I will require some…assistance with my attire for this evening's festivities. Another smirk crossed my face.

The girl bowed again and then took off down the hall behind me. Too easy, I thought.

When I got back to my room, having shoved the large wooden doors back into their place, blocking any unwanted visitors, I unspooled the towel from my waist and tossed it atop the mangled sheets on the bed. The sun of the afternoon beamed in through the large window that sat just above the stone ledge. Warm rays beat down on my naked frame as I arched my back in a stretch. Across the room from my bed, a fresh bowl of water had been laid next to the washing basin

I watched myself in the mirror above the washbasin and dipped the brush into the water. Water dripped off the end as I moved it over and placed the hairs lightly into the ground up herbs and salts. The gray powder began to smell fresh and cool as it stuck to the brush.

I held my hand up to my face and breathed out. Catching a whiff of my breath, I winced slightly. Should have brushed before the baths. That servant girl might not be coming by later. Having successfully cleaned my mouth of morning stench, I spit into the basin then cupped some water into my hands to swirl around in my mouth. I spit once more and watched the small puddle of water circle down the drain at the bottom. If I was quiet enough and placed my ear to the floor, the sound of rushing water through newly built pipes that ran down to the sewers beneath the castle could be heard.

Clothes, clothes, clothes, I hummed in my mind as I stood before my open wardrobe, eyeing the variety. Pants hung from shirt hooks, shirts lay in crumpled piles at the base, and my various coats were shoved into rainbow piles among the shelves that ran the entire length of the left side in the walk-in closet. Still, I stood bare and the breeze from my cracked open window gusted into the closet. A shiny pair of black leather breeches lay with one leg out of a shelf, so I grabbed the leg and pulled. Unfortunately, the pile under which it sat tumbled down with it, and other garments fell into a pile at my feet.

Damn it, I muttered.

In my frustration, I kicked the clothes. A tight silk shirt flew up. I swiped it out of the air and caught it in my fist. Black breeches and a red silk shirt. Good enough.

With my foot, I kicked the large door to my closet closed and slung the shirt over my shoulder. I struggled to pull the breeches over my newly toned legs. Mother had made me train with Swordmaster Joru, Keep you out of trouble, and maybe teach you some manners, she had said. I listened to her for all week or two before I used my knowledge to sneak around and rid myself of the common louts who inhabited the bars and brothels I frequented. Though I would never admit it to Mother, Swordmaster Joru had been an invaluable part of my life—until recently.

I needed to see the tailor.

Arikon was the tailor for both my and Mother's garments. She had bought him off a lord who had come to visit when I was younger. The scruffy-bearded lord was too drunk and seasick to have any sense that he had sold away his most loyal servant to the leech that was my mother.

I had been no more than eight or nine. Sitting next to the right of Mother's large throne, I remember the stone lions that sat on the arms looking out toward the throng of traders that had arrived that morning from Inovia. The storms had ravaged their ships. Not a good omen for the new relationship between their lands and my home of Lakosia. Lord something-or-other had stood before the queen, smelling of salt, fish, and rum. Arikon had stood there, the only one among the sailors with any poise and class. Not to mention sobriety.

His bow had been nothing short of grandiose. Majesty, I beg pardon.

Mother had been rather perturbed at the sailor's behavior, but this young Ranaran servant had intrigued her. Pardon given to you, but your friends have yet to earn such a privilege.

Arikon stood upright then spoke of the details of trading in whale oil and fisheries. The Inovians offered many great benefits as a trading partner, and Arikon would be a great spokesman for the queen. When she had learned that he was responsible for the procurement of silks for Ranar, it was not a hard choice for her to offer to purchase Arikon from the intoxicated lord. Arikon was Ranaran, a land known for its comfortable weaves and skillful textile industry. He had been taken as a slave when he was a young man and had served the Inovians ever since.

While the drunk had no reservations and Mother seemed pleased, all I remember was the look of quiet shock and fear on Arikon's face. The Ranaran man had continued to speak calmly, but I had seen the disappointment behind his eyes.

As the memory faded, I let myself pity Arikon for a moment. Stupid, though it was.

Chapter 2

Having fully dressed and woken my joints from the stiffness of the morning—well, the afternoon—I strode out of my room, tying my hair back.

New boots clicked underneath my feet with each step down the hall, spurs jingling at my heels. Today was a good day for riding. Summer weather had been mild this year, and the ground had not been muddy on the trails my friends and I frequented. Riding was not a sport for us but rather a way we traversed the various towns, taverns, and inns where the girls were enticed by the rings and clean clothes we donned.

It had been a primary source of strife between myself and Mother. She didn't much care for the heir to the throne to be out spreading his seed among the common women. While her critiques were well noted, I had not heeded her advice. If nothing else, I had doubled down on my debauchery out of spite. However, I did have to cut back on my travels. The queen had grown more cautious of my escapades, so the guards around the edge of the city had been given orders to allow neither myself nor my friends, whether alone or in a group, through the gate or across the bridges.

Riding had proven to be a valuable skill despite my protests at having to spend hours in the saddle when I was younger. Using our winnings from bets on dog races and jousts in the city square—and a few of my own fights and fencing matches—my friends and I hid the purchase of prize stallions from Mother. Those fresh horses allowed us to make our way out of the city through the forest trails that crossed through the woods to the north and make way over the mountainous trails to the west.

The jingling of my spurs echoed off the marble walls of the castle as I sauntered through the halls and made my way down the spiral stairs. Only once did I have to press my back against the wall to avoid any servants walking up the steps. The very same servant girl who had taken my dirtied clothes.

I did my best to put on a charming demeanor, she ducked her head, bowed slightly, muttered a soft sire then rushed past me up the steps. Apparently, my charms had not worked as well as I'd hoped.

Oh well. Bedding the servant girls was nothing more than picking a horse from stables. Most were rideable, though not always prize-winning; periodically, one could come across an unbroken steed that refused to be mounted. Undeterred, continued down the long hall past the kitchens to the small back door that led out to the stables.

Hinges creaked as I kicked the door open. The sound of my steps became muffled from the straw underneath my feet. Large open-air barns encircled the central area of the stables. Wooden gates rested on old rusted hinges to keep the cattle, sheep, pigs, and horses in their respective areas.

The animals bleating and neighing around me all melded into white noise. I approached the horse stables and walked down the aisle seeing their noses stick out from the stalls. Some were being fed by caretakers, and others were being brushed by the young boys helping their fathers around the castle.

Coming to the stall that held Scarlet, I saw a little boy, who looked no more than eight, standing atop a stool to brush his mane.

I leaned into the stall with my arms crossed. Beautiful, isn't he?

He grabbed the brush before it fell, but the stool was too far titled. The boy caught himself against the side of the horse, who took a step to stabilize the added weight.

Reassuming a stiff posture, he said, Majesty, in a high-pitched voice.

I laughed. That is my mother. I'm Reckton. I opened the stall door and stepped inside. The boy remained stiff-backed, but his eyes followed me as I entered and closed the door behind me. I nodded my head toward the horse as I raised a hand to rub the strong neck of the animal. The horse snorted and leaned its head toward me.

Ever ridden one? I looked back at the boy and quirked a brow.

No, Your Maje…uh…Reckton—the boy paused and opened his mouth to speak, but only a soft sound came out as he squeaked—sire.

Hmm. Here. I held my arms out straight, level with the boy's shoulders. Arms out, boy. Come on.

The boy held his arms awkwardly out to his side.

I put my hands under the boy's armpits and lifted him up in the air. I grunted with the effort and rotated to bring the boy over the back of the horse.

Legs out too.

The boy lifted his legs, making his body into a five-point star shape as I gently placed him on the back of the animal. I stepped up the stool and supported the boy by the back ensuring he had his balance. The horse shook its mane as it adjusted to the weight of the child.

A bright smile came across the face of the boy as he felt my hands come away from him, letting him sit fully on the strength of the horse's back. He giggled, placed his hands on the strong muscles of the animal, and smoothed the mane. His face lit up as he looked back at me. I smiled and patted him lightly on the back.

What's your name, boy? I asked.

Lijah, he half-heartedly replied.

Elijah? The kid was too enthralled with the horse to pay much attention to me.

No, sire. Uh…Reckton. Just Lijah. His face was bright as he grabbed the mane of the horse and pretended to be riding through the wind.

Okay, Lijah. Here, boy. I reached out and grabbed him under the shoulders to lift him off the horse's back. His excitement waned, and his face drooped realizing that his fun was over. No need to mope about. Come with me. His feet were gently set back on the ground.

Lijah hung his head and trudged out of the stall. Catching up to him, I ruffled his hair and patted his shoulder. Not to worry. You want to learn to ride? I paused in front of the storage room that held the saddles and the materials to clean the leather. Grabbing mine, I placed it over my arm and turned back to him with my question.

Really? he squealed.

The two of us walked back to Scarlet's stall. His brown coat looked red in the sunlight that I always enjoyed. I had bought Scarlet about a year back after I had won enough in the underground fights. Mother would have had a fit if she'd known her dear boy was the one running through the barroom brawls in the lower quarter of the city. Soldier's training came in handy more often than I liked to admit, but no matter how many times it helped me, I would absolutely never thank Mother for her foresight.

Regardless, the bruises on my ribs and the broken nose I received were well worth it to obtain such a fine horse as Scarlet. Mother hardly ever left the indoors of the castle, so my secret funds that did not require her approval left me more freedom than I knew what to do with.

Scarlet huffed as Lijah and I returned back to the stall, and I wrapped the saddle around his torso. Gratefully, he accepted the weight of the saddle as I tightened the girth. Lijah almost took flight each time he jumped around and shouted, I get to ride the horsey!

Having successfully strapped on the saddle, I placed my boot in the stirrups and mounted the steed. Scarlet shook his head, his red hair waving around.

Lijah, I called out.

Hearing his name, he rushed back to me. Seeing me atop the horse his bright blue eyes grew wider than saucers. Really? He bounced on the balls of his feet.

Climb the steps, boy. Up. The second he reached the top step, I leaned over and grabbed his shoulders again. He gave a small jump so I could place him in front of my lap. My arms supported him by the sides, and Lijah leaned back against me. He kicked his legs out and giggled, ready for the new experience.

I leaned down and tightened the reins in my hands. The leather of my riding gloves creaked as I tested Scarlet's reactions to my suggestions of direction. Scarlet snorted as I rubbed his neck.

Ready there, boy?

Lijah took a sharp gasp and turned to look at my face, which reflected in the brightness of his blue eyes.

Yes. Yes. Yes!

All right then. Hold tight.

I tapped the pommel of the saddle with my hand. He instantly clasped both hands tightly over the stiff leather, turning his knuckles white.

My spurs clinked as I squeezed my heels into the sides of Scarlet. He snorted as he trotted out of his stall. His tail swished in the air behind him. Open space felt freeing to the animal, and I'm sure he was grateful to enjoy some sunlight. I guided Scarlet to the forest outside the castle.

All right, Scarlet, let's give the boy a good show.

Lijah started to turn back to question my statement, but before he did, I clicked my tongue and sent Scarlet cantering out of the stables. Lijah gripped the pommel of the saddle and squeezed his legs against the horse's body at the sudden movement. Scarlet carried us out into the open air. With nothing but the path before us, I decided to give the kid a show. I gave Scarlet one sturdy tap with my spurs as I shouted, Hyah! Scarlet reared up, red mane flying like fire from his neck.

The boy squealed, laughing as the hooves hit the ground again, and the horse took off down the path. His hooves clacked on the cobblestones as we leaned forward behind his neck. The wind blew my hair back from my face, but Lijah's head of blond hair flew back and brushed my nose.

As we rode, the boy did not once stop beaming. Surely, his cheeks were sore from holding that grin, but the wind in his face and the exhilaration of the large animal kept him occupied in both body and mind.

I can still remember my first time in the saddle: I was six years old, not even my first time alone. My father would die later that year, but he still lifted me up into his lap just as Lijah sat with me now. An animal as majestic, strong, and capable as a horse was a beast that should be impossible to tame in the eyes of a wide-eyed boy. Being atop an animal so daunting was the first whiff of power any young man would feel.

How man tamed the horse was a testament to the power of humanity. On our face, we should not be powerful. Small, hairless, weak, and not built with any of the weaponry other animals showed. No claws, no poison, no wings, no teeth to shred the flesh of prey. What made humanity the top of the food chain then? It is neither our strength nor our speed but the mind.

Humanity is the only species able to comprehend its existence. Only we could begin to reason, think, and ponder the wonders of the world. It was that mind that led us to discover fire, create the wheel, and develop civilization. Castles that sat at the peaks of mountains, cities that sprawled whole plains, even taming animals to be useful was what gave humanity power. Imagine the looks on the faces of the first army to face a rush of cavalry. The power of God himself might as well be advancing down upon them.

Power.

A deadly drug. One that is intoxicating beyond belief. I should know. I'm a prince. People would kneel and prostrate themselves in my presence simply because of the blood that flows through my veins.

Scarlet, Lijah, and I sped down the street. Buildings blurred past us as we neared the edge of what many called Servants' City. Most of the servants of the castle lived in this small little town that rested up against the high wall that surrounded the royal's residence.

Clotheslines hung over their heads from the tall buildings, and a few children ran out of the street to make way for the horse. Lijah waved to his friends, and a black-haired girl ran behind them, trying to catch the horse shouting out Lijah's name. Someone had a little crush. I would have to teach this boy about women one day.

Finally, the line of trees spread out in front of us, separating the forest from the city at the northwest end of the castle. I tugged the reins back, and Scarlet stuttered his steps to come to a stop just before the forest began. The cobblestone street ended and gave way to a dirt path disappearing among the dense foliage.

Breathless from the ride, Lijah sat straighter in the saddle, his chin held a fraction higher.

Power.

He'd had a taste of power.

Chapter 3

We trotted through the city on the cobblestone street. On top of the hill of the city, the castle loomed over us. A large black shadow was cast down as the sun set behind the massive stone structure.

Control over an animal as powerful as Scarlet was an exhilarating experience, and Lijah had whooped in excitement as he told me, Faster. I dug my heels into Scarlet's sides, and the horse sprinted forward. Lijah held the reins in his small hands while he guided the horse along the dirt path through the trees. While he felt fully in control, and he was, I still had my hands around him ready to grab control at the slightest sign of a mistake. Only once did I have to.

Lijah wanted speed, so I gave him speed, but that led us down a path near the cliffs and hills. To the mind of a young boy, the danger was an afterthought. However, I grabbed his arms and tugged the reins back, calming Scarlet to a canter. Lijah stuck out his lower lip.

I wanted to go fast, he said.

I patted his shoulder lightly as Scarlet carried us out over the hills and we could look down into the valley below.

I know, laddie, but that is a skill that must be learned.

Lijah huffed as he crossed his arms.

Easy now. One day, you'll get there. Remember, there is still danger no matter how comfortable you get. Forgetting to respect the risk you're taking and forgetting to respect your horse, that can hurt you more than you can imagine.

Just as I'd finished speaking, the rumbling echo of rocks sounded to our right as Scarlet's hooves kicked the gravel loose. Lijah turned slowly and took a gasping breath. A sharp drop off, lined by thousands of rocks, led down to a luscious green valley barren of trees. Out across the horizon, rolling hills of grass blew in the wind. Beyond the hills spread the Plains of the Asphodel. That was not their true name, but that's what I called it.

The plains held a high brown grass that waved softly in the wind. When I first saw the fields, all I could picture were the millions of invisible souls wading among them like I had read in the ancient stories. Asphodel was where souls too scared to face judgment went for eternity. Neither punishment nor reward, the fields allowed a soul of good or evil to wander aimlessly among the grasses. Some of the stories said that the souls within the fields were searching for something. What though? What could a soul search for? I did not know, but if that was true, then I would rather face judgment than be doomed to constantly search for something I would never find. That would only be hell by a different name.

Some of the books Mother had given me while younger told stories about warriors, gods, and monsters. Very rarely did I ever care to study or research outside sessions with Mother's private tutors, whom she demanded teach me, but the scrolls and books of the old heroes gave me thrills and large ideas that I craved to return to—Achilles, Odysseus, Perseus, Jason, Hercules, and Hector. Hector. I really liked Hector. I still do. There was something honorable about that man. This man, facing down the largest army in the history of humanity, knowing, in a sense, that he was fighting a losing war, but he still fought honorably.

Every single time I read the story, I hoped and prayed that the Trojans would somehow defeat the Greeks or burn the wooden horse. Once, I screamed aloud, angry with the fictional gods of the pages for choosing the wrong side over such petty circumstances.

Then there was Odysseus. Odysseus, the man who spent decades simply fighting to return to the woman he loved and the son he never knew. To have that depth of love and to be loved that deeply was all I truly desired. My father was dead, but when he first died, I lied to myself that he had gone off to war. The Inovians attacked just after his death, viewing us as weak and unstable without a king. A boy my age needed his father, and having lost him, I begged that I was mistaken. In my naive youthful mind, I imagined that my father had gone off to war to defeat the Inovians, that one day he would return to my mother and me, that our family would be whole again.

As I grew up, I realized that my notion of his return was foolish and immature. I gave up all hope for a father; instead, I retreated deeper into the pages of the stories I loved. Over and over, I read the scenes of Odysseus returning to his wife and son. I heard him, in my mind, speak to me about manhood and ruling as a good king. Odysseus, Achilles, Hercules, Perseus, and Hector, those men were my fathers. They became my mentors and teachers.

Your heavenly Father. Do not forget your heavenly Father, the priest in his robes spoke to me as I sat in the box for confession. Despite the screen that hid my face, I saw Father Graston on the other side. I confessed my many sins to him, blaming it all on my father for leaving, my mother for her spite, the weight of a kingdom bearing down upon me, and whatever other excuses I could muster.

Your heavenly Father, over and over, he repeated the line.

I screamed from within the confessional, He abandoned me too!

I kicked the door open and stormed out of the church. Parishioners awaiting confession sat in the pews, saying their prayers. They looked at me in my fit of rage and anger. Righteous anger, in my view.

God had taken my father, given me a hateful mother, and burdened me with a kingdom that I had not been morally or physically equipped to handle. I wanted nothing to do with him, his son, or his rituals that were supposed to save my soul. My soul was doomed from the start. Free will my ass.

Scarlet's hooves clipped along the stone street. The shadow of the castle spread over the city as the sky changed from orange to purple. Lijah leaned back, his head drooping in a heavy sleep. Though he was a small boy, when he pressed against me in his rest, his dead weight was almost too heavy to hold.

The wall that surrounded the castle towered in front of me as I rode through the gate. Servants were streaming out of the palace after their day shifts while others walked up the path and steps to service the guests for Mother's banquet tonight.

The fact we were even holding such a banquet was preposterous.

Lakosia had been struggling since the Inovian attack, and I'd heard the talk of the local taverns. Soldiers had been stripped of their war pay and laborers; they had lost contracts for grain, livestock, or fabrics. The monarchy was under a lot of scrutinies at the moment, and all I could hope was that they toppled Mother so I could live as a merchant.

What would I do? I wasn't really sure. Possibly I would become a blacksmith or a leatherworker. The saddle that held Lijah and me was crafted by my own hand. However, I loved learning how to craft weapons. My first sword was made when I was only a few years older than Lijah. The flames of the forges and the weight of the hammers gave me a feeling of control that I craved. The metal was at the whim of my fist and mind. If I was strong enough, smart enough, and delicate enough, I could craft elaborate artistry of destruction. Blades of axes that could reflect my face but also cleave an arm straight off. Something about the union of beauty and destruction fascinated me about smithery.

Scarlet cantered into the open-air barn, and I led him to the back of the stables.