The Cursed Prince of Ashfall

003

The knock on Kael’s door came while the sky was still more night than morning.

Three short raps. A pause. Two more.

It was the palace signal for urgent, not deadly—a distinction Kael had never appreciated until now.

He was already awake.

Sleep had refused to come after he left Bram’s sanctum. He’d lain on his bed fully dressed, staring at the ceiling beams while his mind replayed the terrace, the fire, his father’s voice.

If he cannot control this, he will not remain my heir.

He had heard a king speaking, not a father.

“Enter,” Kael said.

The door opened. A narrow slice of torchlight from the corridor fell into the room, cutting across stone and shadow. A guard stepped in—Captain Riven, the one who oversaw the king’s personal watch.

Riven’s armor was muted steel, his cloak dark red, his hair tied back in a short tail. His expression was as sharp as the sword at his hip.

“Highness,” he said, bowing. “Dawn approaches. The king has ordered your escort ready.”

Kael pushed himself up to sit. “You say that like I have a choice.”

Riven didn’t answer. Good soldiers rarely did when their orders came directly from a king.

Kael swung his legs off the bed. He was already wearing his traveling clothes: dark leather tunic, reinforced trousers, sturdy boots. Over a chair nearby, a cloak the color of storm clouds lay folded; he threw it over his shoulders, fastening it at the throat.

The Shadowblade rested in its sheath at his hip, hidden beneath the cloak. When he touched the hilt briefly to make sure it was secure, his shadow twitched on the floor.

He pretended not to notice.

“No armor?” Riven asked carefully.

“Armor says ‘royal envoy.’” Kael adjusted the cloak. “I’m trying to say ‘unremarkable traveler who definitely isn’t a cursed prince you should burn at the stake.’”

A muscle in Riven’s jaw jumped. It might have been amusement. It might have been discomfort. “As you wish, Highness.”

“Who’s coming with me?”

“Two riders to the outer gate,” Riven said. “After that, you travel alone, per the king’s command.”

Of course. Kael nodded.

They left the room.

The palace corridors were quieter at this hour, the torches burning lower, the air cool and still. Servants moved silently in the distance, carrying baskets and buckets, beginning the day’s work as if nothing had changed.

Kael felt the change in everything.

Every footstep echoed.

Every shadow leaned toward him.

They passed the entrance to the great hall. It stood open, revealing a dim interior still littered with the aftermath of celebration—half-drained goblets, plates, wilted flowers trampled on the floor. Someone had already extinguished most of the candles, reducing the grand room to a skeleton of stone and wood.

The terrace beyond the hall doors was closed now, heavy shutters drawn against the view of the mountains.

Kael’s gaze lingered on them.

You leave by dawn. Or you die by sunset.

His father’s words walked beside him, unwelcome companions.

“Has the king said anything else?” Kael asked as they descended a spiral staircase toward the stables.

“Only that your departure is to be kept quiet,” Riven replied. “If questioned, we are to say you have ridden out to inspect the eastern villages.”

“So I remain useful as a story, if not as a person.”

“Highness…”

“Relax, Captain. If I sound bitter, it’s because I am.”

The stables loomed ahead—long, low buildings of stone and timber. The smell of hay and horses seeped into the corridor before they even stepped outside.

When they did, the cold air slapped Kael fully awake.

The horizon held a smear of gray where dawn was gathering itself. A few stars still clung to the upper sky. The mountains were hulking shadows, their red vents dulled to faint embers.

Two horses stood ready near the stable entrance. A third waited a few paces away, slightly apart from the others—a tall black mare with a white streak at her forehead, reins tied to a hitching post.

That one was his.

The stablemaster, a stocky woman with arms like tree trunks, bowed slightly as Kael approached. “Your Highness. Ember’s been fed and saddled.”

Kael ran a hand along the mare’s neck. Ember snorted softly and bumped his shoulder with her head, annoyed at the early hour or the tension in his touch. He couldn’t tell.

He glanced at the two soldiers waiting near the other horses. He recognized their faces—Rian and Jessa, veterans from the palace guard. Good with blades. Better with secrets.

“Your escort,” Riven said. “They ride with you to the outer gate, then return.”

Rian, a tall man with a crooked nose, kept his gaze down respectfully. Jessa, shorter with a scar across one eyebrow, met Kael’s eyes briefly—measuring, maybe worried.

Kael swung up into Ember’s saddle. The Shadowblade settled against his hip, weight aligning with the movement like it belonged there.

His shadow stretched briefly along the stable wall as he mounted, elongated by the torch behind him. For a moment, it looked like a second rider astride the horse.

Then it snapped back to normal.

They rode out through the palace yard.

Guards on the walls watched them go without comment. No trumpets sounded. No banners waved. There were no formal farewells, no weeping servants, no dramatic embraces.

Just the whisper of hooves over stone and the quiet creak of leather.

Kael’s father did not appear on the wall.

Kael tried not to look for him.

The city streets beyond the inner gate were mostly empty. A few bakers already had smoke curling from chimneys. A cart rattled by, driven by a man too tired to notice the cloaked trio riding past.

Ashfall City in the early dawn looked small, almost vulnerable. Without the noise and press of the day, the cracked stones and leaning buildings seemed more honest.

Kael had walked these streets as a boy sometimes, disguised in plain clothes, Bram scolding him in whispers. Back then, the city had felt like a story. Now it felt like something he was being exiled from.

As they passed a narrow alley, a stray dog slunk into the shadows, hackles rising. Its eyes tracked Kael, ears flattening.

He met the animal’s gaze.

Its tail dropped. It backed away, not from Ember’s size or the sound of hooves—

—from him.

His shadow shifted on the cobbles, stretching toward the dog like a reaching hand.

“Enough,” Kael said under his breath.

The shadow snapped back to the horse’s hooves. The dog whimpered and bolted.

Jessa glanced over. “Everything all right, Highness?”

“Just an overreacting animal,” Kael said. “Can’t blame it.”

The eastern gate towered ahead, built into thick stone walls darkened by years of ash and weather. Two guards stood at attention, spears in hand, their armor dulled but serviceable.

They bowed as the riders approached. One pulled the gate mechanism, chains clanking, while the other stepped aside.

“Ride with Ashfall,” the guard said, the traditional farewell.

Kael almost laughed.

He settled for a nod. “Try not to burn down without me.”

The guard blinked, unsure whether it was a joke.

The gate yawned open.

Beyond it lay the road east: a pale ribbon of dirt and gravel cutting through low hills dusted with scrub and the occasional twisted tree. The air outside the walls felt different—emptier, thinner. The world expanded quickly once the city fell behind them.

When the gate had closed at their backs, Rian guided his horse closer.

“We go another mile, Highness,” he said. “Orders say that’s far enough to avoid questions from early traders.”

Kael nodded. “Then you turn back. I know.”

The Captain hadn’t come. Riven rode with them only to the inner gate, then turned aside, duties pulling him elsewhere. It made sense. It still felt like abandonment.

Silence settled over the riders for a while.

The sky brightened, stains of pink mixing with gray. Birds began to stir in the sparse branches. Far in the distance, the mountains loomed, their details sharpening as the light grew.

Kael felt the weight of the world change as the palace disappeared behind a low rise.

He was outside.

No walls.

No guards that would die for him on command.

No father to order his execution if things went wrong.

Just open land and the faint hum of something ancient in his blood.

“Highness,” Jessa said quietly after a while, “if I may ask… is it true? What they whispered in the barracks?”

Kael kept his eyes on the road. “Depends what they whispered.”

“That the sky ash went into you,” she said. “That your shadow… moved.”

He exhaled slowly. “Yes.”

“And the king sent you out alone,” Rian added, unable to keep silent. “With… with that inside you.”

“It was that,” Kael said lightly, “or losing my head on the terrace.”

The two soldiers exchanged a glance.

“I’m sorry, Highness,” Jessa said.

“For what?”

“For a kingdom too afraid of its own legends to trust its prince,” she said. “For a king who… who chose fear over family.”

Kael felt something tighten in his chest. “Careful. The wind might carry your treason back to the walls.”

She shrugged one shoulder. “The wind has never listened to me.”

His lips twitched despite himself. “If it makes you feel better, I’d have been afraid of me too.”

“It doesn’t,” Rian said.

They rode another few minutes in silence.

Jessa cleared her throat. “The witch Bram spoke of—the one in the Shattered Mire. Will you really seek her out?”

“Yes,” Kael said. “Unless you know of another expert on cursed bloodlines and disobedient shadows.”

Rian hesitated. “I know only of rumors. That she lives where the land drowned. That she speaks with things beneath the soil. That people who go to her come back… changed.”

“Changed how?”

“They either talk too much,” Rian said, “or not at all.”

“That’s encouraging,” Kael muttered.

The road leveled. The city had long vanished behind them, hidden by hills and distance. The only witnesses now were the sky and the wind.

Rian slowed his horse. Jessa did the same.

“This is far enough,” Rian said. “Orders.”

Kael pulled Ember to a stop.

The silence between them felt too big suddenly.

“You know,” Kael said, “this is the point in stories where loyal companions swear to follow the exiled prince into danger, disobeying orders with dramatic speeches.”

Rian cracked a small, sad smile. “I have a wife and three children in the lower quarter, Highness. Dramatic speeches don’t feed them.”

“Fair,” Kael said.

Jessa adjusted her grip on the reins. “I have brothers in the army. If I disappear, they’ll send someone worse in my place.”

“Also fair,” Kael said. “So you turn back. You pretend I rode farther east. You try to forget that I exist.”

Jessa met his gaze. “I won’t forget.”

“Neither will I,” Rian said. “If rumors travel of a man whose shadow doesn’t match his step, I’ll know who they speak of.”

Kael swallowed.

Emotion crowded his throat, unexpected and unwelcome. He pushed it down.

“If either of you ever speak of what you saw last night,” he said, “the king will have your tongues.”

“If the king asks,” Jessa said, “we saw nothing except a prince riding out to inspect the eastern villages.”

Rian bowed his head. “Ride with Ashfall, Highness.”

“Ride with… whatever’s left of it,” Kael said.

The soldiers turned their horses. Dust rose behind their hooves as they headed back toward the gate.

Kael watched them until they vanished over the rise.

Then he was truly alone.

The road ahead stretched empty.

Ember snorted and tossed her head, as if trying to dislodge the tension hanging between saddle and sky.

“Well,” Kael said, patting her neck. “Just you, me, a cursed bloodline, and a witch in a swamp. Could be worse.”

His shadow stretched in front of them, lengthened by the rising sun. It looked normal. His. The Shadowblade at his hip felt like part of that silhouette—an extension of something he hadn’t fully acknowledged.

He nudged Ember forward.

They rode.

The land changed slowly. Low hills gave way to rockier ground. The air warmed as the sun climbed, though ash dust still hung faintly in it, a constant veil that turned light into something slightly duller, slightly heavier.

Hours passed.

At one point, Kael saw a cluster of travelers in the distance—a merchant wagon and a few riders. He considered joining them briefly.

Then he remembered how the dog had reacted. He remembered nobles recoiling. He remembered a sky that had chosen him out of thousands.

He steered Ember off the road, up onto a rocky ridge, letting the travelers pass below without seeing him.

As they rolled by, laughter and conversation drifted up—a woman complaining about prices, a man singing badly, a child asking if they’d reach the next village by nightfall.

Normal life.

He was already outside of it.

When they were gone, he guided Ember back down.

“You see?” he murmured. “We’re safer not touching their lives.”

His shadow rippled across the stones, as if amused.

By late afternoon, the terrain began to slope downward toward a darker smear on the horizon.

The Shattered Mire.

Even from this distance, he could tell where normal land ended and something else began. The earth took on a bruised, waterlogged look. Clumps of dead trees rose like skeletal hands from low fog. The air seemed hazier there, thicker.

Ember slowed, uneasy.

Kael felt it too—a pressure. Not like the mountains’ rumbling, not like the terrace. This was different. Less fire, more… rot.

“You smell that?” he said softly.

The mare snorted.

His shadow seemed to lean forward, as if drawn.

Kael pulled Ember to a halt on a rise overlooking the beginning of the Mire.

“I know you’re awake,” he told his shadow quietly. “You’ve made that very clear. Here is where we make a deal.”

The shadow lay at his boot, still.

“You help me survive this,” Kael said. “You don’t touch my mind. You don’t touch anyone I deem mine. You don’t feed unless I let you.”

Silence.

The wind combed through sparse, dry grass. Nothing answered.

Kael exhaled. “If you refuse, then we both die in a swamp and whatever ancient thing is laughing beneath those dead trees wins. I have a feeling you don’t want that.”

The shadow twitched.

Just once.

Enough.

“We work together, then,” Kael said. “Until I find the witch. After that, who knows. Curse or blessing—we’ll let her decide.”

He nudged Ember forward.

The mare hesitated, then obeyed.

The first step onto the Shattered Mire felt like crossing a border in more than just geography. The ground went from firm to spongy. The air turned damp and cold, carrying the smell of stagnant water and something metallic.

Fog hugged the ground, swirling around Ember’s legs. Dark shapes loomed ahead—tall, brackish trees with sickly, hanging moss. Somewhere in that murk, a crow cawed once, then went abruptly silent.

Kael’s skin prickled.

His shadow, for the first time, did not fall neatly on the ground. The fog warped it, stretched it, made it appear in pieces across roots and water.

It did not seem to mind.

“Welcome home,” Kael muttered to it.

Something laughed.

Not aloud.

Not exactly.

The sound slid through his mind, soft and sharp and familiar, like the memory of a laugh he had never heard in waking life.

You came, a thought whispered, not his own.

Ember froze.

Kael’s hand went to the Shadowblade’s hilt.

“Who’s there?” he demanded.

Fog shifted ahead.

Between two dead trees, a figure emerged, cloaked in layers of tattered fabric the color of old bones. Long white hair spilled from beneath a hood. Eyes like dull silver fixed on Kael, bright even in the dim light.

The witch of the Shattered Mire smiled, as if greeting a late guest.

“I have been waiting,” she said. Her voice was like dry reeds and running water. “Eighteen years and one night. Come closer, Ashborn.”

Kael swallowed.

His shadow slid toward her feet like a greeting, dark fingers curling.

And the sky above the Mire seemed to lean in, listening.