SHADOW OF THE HEART

The first rule of being a prince of Veloria was simple. Never show weakness. The second was far more important. Never fall in love with a man the kingdom would demand you kill. Arion Vale had broken neither rule. Not yet. He stood before a mirror of polished silver while three royal servants fastened the black clasps of his ceremonial coat. Gold embroidery traced the sleeves, forming the ancient crest of House Vale: a lightning bolt trapped inside a crown, outside his chambers, bells rang across the capital, the Festival of First Light had begun. For three days, the people of Veloria would fill the streets with music, wine, dancing and offerings to the gods of the old magic. Merchants had travelled from neighbouring kingdoms. Nobles had arrived with their daughters, their sons and their carefully rehearsed smiles, And every unmarried royal was expected to participate in the festivities, especially Prince Arion At twenty, three, he was the kingdom's most powerful living lightning wielder, the only surviving heir to a bloodline that had once brought entire armies to their knees, he was also, according to his father, embarrassingly difficult to marry off. “Your Highness," one of the servants murmured, adjusting his collar. "His Majesty expects you in the eastern hall before the first procession“, “Then His Majesty should have sent for me before I was dressed." The servant lowered his eyes. Arion immediately regretted the remark. Not because he feared the king's anger, but because he was tired of watching people shrink whenever he spoke. “Forgive me," he said more gently. "That wasn't directed at you." The servant looked surprised. “Of course, Your Highness." When the doors finally closed behind them, Arion exhaled and loosened his collar. A tiny blue spark snapped between his fingers, he stared at it. Then another appeared. "Not today," he muttered. The sparks vanished beneath his palm. For the past seven nights, his powers had been behaving strangely. His lightning had always responded to his emotions, but recently it had begun reacting to something else. Something he couldn't see. Something that made the back of his neck prickle whenever he passed the northern boundary of the palace. Last night, that feeling had become impossible to ignore. He had seen a young man standing across a crowded street, his dark hair falling across his forehead and his silver, grey eyes fixed on Arion with an unsettling lack of fear. The encounter had lasted less than a minute. Yet Arion had spent the entire night remembering it. The young man's expression. His eyes, the way Arion's magic had stirred beneath his skin as though it had recognised something his mind could not. And, most annoyingly, the fact that the stranger had walked away without even asking his name. Arion had been thinking about him when he fell asleep and he was thinking about him now. Which was ridiculous, he didn't even know the man's name. The eastern hall was already crowded when Arion arrived, tall pillars supported a ceiling painted with scenes from Veloria's founding war, Beneath them stood the kingdom's most influential families, dressed in silk and velvet, their jewellery gleaming in the afternoon light. At the far end of the hall, King Theron sat upon the obsidian throne. Beside him stood Lord Cassian, the royal adviser, a thin man with silver hair and a smile that never quite reached his eyes, Arion bowed, “You're late," the king said, “By three minutes", “Three minutes is sufficient time for a kingdom to fall", “Then perhaps the kingdom should invest in a better clock." Several nobles abruptly found the floor fascinating. The king's expression darkened, Arion bowed his head again, hiding the smallest hint of a smile, "You find everything amusing these days," Theron said. "Not everything.", "No? Then perhaps you will find this interesting." The king gestured towards the gathering nobles. "Lady Seraphine of House Dareth has arrived with her family. You will escort her during tonight's procession." Arion glanced at the young woman standing near the eastern pillars. She was beautiful, poised and clearly aware that half the room was watching her. She offered him a graceful smile. Arion returned it. "Of course, Father.", "And after the festival, we shall discuss your future." There it was. The word that had haunted him for months. Future. In Veloria, a prince's future was not his own. His marriage determined alliances, his children secured succession, and his bloodline was considered a national treasure. Love was a pleasant luxury. Duty was law. Arion had never questioned that arrangement aloud. He had, however, privately wondered what it would feel like to choose someone simply because he wanted to be near them. Someone whose presence made his magic settle. Someone whose smile could ruin his concentration. Someone like— He stopped himself. He didn't even know the man's name. "Are you listening to me?" his father demanded., "Every word.", "Then tell me what I said." Arion looked directly at him. "You intend to discuss my future after the festival.", "And? And I intend to survive the festival first." His father stared at him for a long moment. "Be careful, Arion. You are powerful, but power does not protect a man from the consequences of his choices." For some reason, those words lingered long after Arion left the hall. By midday, the capital had transformed into a sea of colour. Red banners hung between the buildings. Children chased one another through the market square, waving paper dragons. Musicians played beneath flowering trees while vendors called out prices for spiced meat, sweet pastries and enchanted trinkets. Arion had escaped the palace under the pretence of inspecting the festival preparations. In reality, he wanted an hour in which nobody called him Your Highness. He wore a dark cloak over his ceremonial clothes, its hood pulled low enough to conceal most of his face. Two royal guards followed at a discreet distance. For the first time that day, he could breathe. He stopped at a stall selling honey cakes and bought two. He had just taken the first bite when a voice spoke behind him. "You're holding it upside down." Arion froze. He knew that voice. Slowly, he turned. The young man from the previous night stood beside him, dressed in a charcoal tunic with silver stitching at the cuffs. A narrow leather strap crossed his chest, securing a small satchel against his hip. In daylight, he was somehow worse. His hair was tied loosely at the nape of his neck, with a few strands escaping around his face. His eyes were a pale, unusual grey, and there was a faint scar near his left eyebrow. He looked entirely too pleased with himself. Arion glanced at the honey cake. "It's bread.", "It's a honey cake.", "They taste the same." The stranger looked genuinely offended. "That is the most insulting thing anyone has ever said to a honey cake." Arion stared at him. Then, unexpectedly, he laughed. Not the polite laugh he used at royal dinners. Not the brief, controlled sound he offered nobles who made unfunny jokes. A real laugh. The stranger's expression changed. Only slightly. But Arion noticed. "There," the young man said. Arion raised an eyebrow. "There what?" "You look less terrifying when you do that.", "Do what?", "Smile." Arion's laughter disappeared. The stranger tilted his head. "Ah. There it is again.", "What?", "That expression. You look like you're deciding whether to arrest me or throw me into a river.", "I haven't decided.", "Take your time. I have errands." He turned away. Arion caught his wrist. The movement was instinctive, and the moment his fingers closed around the stranger's skin, a pulse of silver light flashed between them. Both men went still. The festival noise seemed to fade. Arion felt something cold and luminous rush through his arm, meeting the familiar heat of his lightning. For one suspended heartbeat, the two forces circled each other like wary animals. Then they intertwined. Blue and silver. Lightning and moonlight. The stranger's eyes widened. Arion released him. "What was that?" Arion demanded. The young man rubbed his wrist, though there was no mark on it. "Your terrible manners?", "Your hand.", "My hand is attached to my arm. It's a fascinating arrangement.", "Stop doing that.", "Doing what?", "Making jokes.", "Then stop asking questions that make me want to." Arion stepped closer. The stranger didn't retreat. That, more than anything, unsettled him. Everyone in Veloria knew what the royal lightning could do. Even trained warriors hesitated when the blue light appeared beneath Arion's skin. This man stood close enough to touch him again. And looked as though he might do precisely that. "Who are you?" Arion asked. The stranger's gaze flicked towards the guards behind him. Then back to Arion. "Someone who would prefer not to be arrested before lunch.", "That depends on what you've done.", "Existing, mostly." Arion's mouth twitched. "Your name." For the first time, the young man hesitated. It was brief, but Arion saw it. "Lyn," he said at last. Just Lyn. No family name. In Veloria, a person's family name revealed their standing, their loyalties and, sometimes, the kind of magic they could wield. Refusing to give one was either an insult or a warning. Arion suspected it was both. "Lyn," he repeated. Something about saying the name felt strangely familiar. Lyn's eyes narrowed. "And you are?" Arion almost laughed again. Nobody had ever asked him that question while looking so unimpressed. He could have lied. In fact, he should have. Instead, he said, "Arion." Lyn studied him for a moment. Then his gaze dropped to the gold crest partially visible beneath Arion's cloak. His amusement vanished. "Oh," he said quietly. Arion's stomach tightened. "You know who I am.", "I know who your family is.", "That isn't the same thing.", "No," Lyn agreed. "It isn't." A silence settled between them. For the first time since they had met, Lyn looked at him without teasing. There was something guarded in his expression, something old and bitter that didn't belong on a face so young. Arion wanted to ask about it. He wanted to know why Lyn had reacted to his magic, why he seemed familiar with the royal crest, and why looking into his eyes made Arion feel as though he were standing at the edge of something enormous. Instead, he asked, "Will I see you again?" The question escaped before he could stop it. Lyn blinked. Then a slow smile appeared on his face. "Is the prince asking me to meet him?" Arion nearly choked. "I am not—", "Because if you are, you should know that I'm very expensive.", "Expensive?", "I charge extra for royal customers.", "You're insufferable.", "And yet you're still talking to me." Arion had no answer. Lyn leaned closer, lowering his voice. "Be careful, Arion Vale." Hearing his full name from Lyn's lips sent an inexplicable shiver down his spine. "Why?" For a moment, Lyn seemed to consider telling him something. Then he stepped back. "Because people like you have a habit of getting everything they want." His smile faded. "And people like me tend to pay for it." Before Arion could respond, Lyn turned and disappeared into the crowd. Arion stood motionless, the uneaten honey cake forgotten in his hand. He had met kings who trembled before him, generals who flattered him and nobles who would have gladly sold their souls for his attention. None had ever left him feeling quite so powerless. "Your Highness?" One of the guards approached. Arion barely heard him. He was watching the place where Lyn had disappeared. And for the first time in his life, he wanted something he had no idea how to obtain. , , , The scream came moments later. It cut through the music, sharp enough to silence the nearest musicians. People turned towards the northern end of the square. A horse reared violently beside a merchant's cart. Its rider clung to the reins, shouting as black smoke curled around the animal's legs. Then the smoke rose. It twisted into the shape of a man. A creature made of darkness and burning violet eyes. Panic erupted. People scattered between the stalls. A child fell beneath a table. The horse broke free, trampling baskets as it bolted towards the fountain. Arion threw back his cloak. "Get everyone out of the square!" His guards moved instantly. Blue lightning raced across his fingers as he raised his hand. The air shuddered. A bolt struck the cobblestones in front of the creature, forcing it to recoil. But the thing didn't flee. It turned towards him. And smiled. "Prince Arion Vale," it rasped. The sound of his name in that unnatural voice chilled him. "Your father has been hiding you very well." Arion summoned another bolt. "Who sent you?" The creature's body rippled. "Someone who remembers what your bloodline did to his." It lunged. Arion struck it with a concentrated blast of lightning. Blue light swallowed the creature, hurling it through a wooden stall in an explosion of splintered timber. The crowd screamed again. For a moment, everything was still. Then the smoke began to gather. The creature was rebuilding itself. Arion clenched his jaw. He could destroy it, but not while it kept drawing power from the shadows around the square. Every time his lightning struck, the darkness swallowed part of the impact and returned it to the creature. He needed to break its connection to the shadows. He was calculating his next move when a silver blade flashed through the air. It struck the cobblestones beside the creature. A ring of moonlight erupted across the square. The shadows shrieked. Arion turned sharply. Lyn stood on the roof of a nearby stall, one hand extended, silver symbols revolving around his wrist. His expression was no longer playful. It was cold. Furious. And utterly fearless. "Honestly," Lyn called down, "can't you go one afternoon without attracting something dreadful?" Arion stared at him. "You can use magic?" Lyn glanced at the creature. "Brilliant observation. Perhaps the royal tutors are worth their salaries after all." The creature roared and hurled a spear of darkness towards him. "Lyn!" Arion moved before he thought. He launched himself forward, lightning bursting beneath his feet. He caught Lyn around the waist and pulled him off the roof as the spear tore through the wood where he had been standing. They hit the ground hard. Arion landed on his back, with Lyn sprawled across his chest. For one breathless moment, neither moved. Lyn's hand was pressed against Arion's shoulder. His face was inches away, close enough that Arion could see the faint silver flecks in his eyes. "You're heavy," Lyn whispered. Arion stared at him. "I just saved your life.", "And now you're crushing my ribs. Your Highness, must every act of kindness come with a punish Arion should have pushed him away. Instead, he became acutely aware of the warmth of Lyn's body, the uneven rhythm of his breathing and the fact that Lyn's fingers had curled into the fabric of his coat. Then Lyn looked down. His gaze lingered on Arion's mouth for the briefest moment. When he looked up again, his usual smirk had disappeared. Arion forgot the creature. Forgot the screaming crowd. Forgot, for one dangerous second, that he was a prince and this stranger was someone he knew almost nothing about. Lyn swallowed. "Arion," he whispered. It was the first time he had used the name without teasing him. Arion's heart struck his ribs. Then the creature screamed. Lyn scrambled to his feet, extending his hand. "Get up. Unless you'd prefer to die staring at me." Arion took his hand. Their magic collided. The resulting explosion of blue and silver light swept across the square, throwing the creature backwards and extinguishing every shadow within several yards. When the light faded, Arion was standing beside Lyn. Their hands were still joined. Neither had meant for it to happen. Neither seemed able to let go. The creature lay in the centre of the square, its body cracking apart. Its violet eyes fixed on their joined hands. Then it laughed. A horrible, delighted sound. "So," it whispered. "The old prophecy was true." Arion released Lyn. "What prophecy?" The creature's gaze shifted between them. "The lightning heir and the moon, born son. Two powers that should never have touched." Its body began to disintegrate. "But when the prince gives his heart to the moon, born, the kingdom will drown in blood." The last of its darkness collapsed into ash. Silence fell over the square. Arion could hear his own breathing. Beside him, Lyn had gone completely still. Not confused. Not surprised. Terrified. Arion turned towards him. "What does it mean?" Lyn said nothing. "Lyn." The young man's eyes flicked towards the palace in the distance. Then, slowly, he pulled his sleeve back. A black symbol had appeared on the inside of his wrist: a crescent moon pierced by a jagged blade. Arion recognised it immediately. Every royal child was taught its meaning. The symbol belonged to the House of Nocturne, a bloodline declared traitorous twenty years ago after the murder of the previous king's eldest son. Every surviving member of that family was to be captured. Or killed. Arion stared at the mark. Then at Lyn. "No," he whispered. Lyn's expression hardened, but his eyes betrayed him. "Now you understand why I didn't give you my family name." Arion took a step towards him. "How many people know?", "Enough.", "Does my father know you're here?" Lyn laughed without humour. "Your father ordered my family to be exterminated." He stepped backwards. "And if he discovers who I am, he'll finish what he started." Arion felt the world tilt beneath his feet. The man who had made his magic feel alive. The stranger he had wanted to see again. The first person in years who had looked at him without seeing a crown. He was standing in front of him, wearing the mark of the royal family's greatest enemy. "Lyn," Arion said, his voice barely audible. "Why did you save me?" For a moment, Lyn looked almost sad. Then he leaned close enough for Arion to hear his answer. "Because I wanted to know whether the prince everyone fears is really as heartless as they say." He stepped away. "And now I wish I hadn't found out." Lyn turned and disappeared into the fleeing crowd. Arion didn't follow him. He couldn't. Because at that very moment, a royal messenger came running across the square, his face pale with terror. "Your Highness!" Arion turned. The man dropped to one knee and held out a sealed letter bearing the king's personal crest. "His Majesty commands your immediate return to the palace.", "Why?" The messenger swallowed. "An assassin has been captured within the northern gardens." Arion's blood ran cold. "Who is it?" The messenger looked up. "Someone claiming to be the last surviving heir of House Nocturne." Arion stared at him. Then the messenger delivered the final words. "He claims he has come to kill you."