A CROWN OF SHADOWS: BOUND BY RUIN

THE MEETING (1)

NALORIE

The southern people live like royalty. They exude a regal air as they walk, their pale feet barely making a sound. There are no street beggars or urchins here, no suspicious pickpockets ready to rob me of the little bronze I have left. I doubt there’s a class system in the South.

“Watch where you place your feet, milady.”

The voice broke my reverie. I looked up to see a dusky-skinned man with a python curled around his neck. He stared intently into my eyes, his green irises shifting into slits. I found it hard to break eye contact, my breath coming in short intervals.

Twig stepped into my line of vision, snapping her fingers in my face, jostling me back to the present. The lightheadedness dissipated, and Twig rolled her eyes, turning to the snake man.

“If you try to charm her again, I’ll pull out your eyes, grind them up, and make a tonic out of them.”

Oh, that explains the snake. He’s a magic charmer, able to enchant anyone or anything to do his bidding. They’re said to be extremely rare and dangerous, which is why they’ve been banned across all twelve kingdoms… except the South.

“Y-y-yes.”

The snake man stuttered, visibly shaken, and hurried away. Twig turned to me, clearly annoyed.

“If you think I’ll always save your ass, you’re wrong. Really? The snake didn’t juggle your senses. You didn’t even try to fight it. If you think the mark will protect you against a charmer, you’re not just dumb; you’re stupid. Let’s go.”

“Why was he scared of you if charmers are so powerful?”

“Only one person is immune to the powers of a charmer.”

“Let me guess, the king?”

“Yes.” Twig hesitated, her expression shifting as she quickened her pace. I almost had to jog to keep up; I’m short-limbed and not exactly graceful.

“Forget I said anything.”

She continued with long strides, leaving me a few feet behind. I had to dodge the villagers in our path.

“For the sun’s sake, bloody slow down! You female giant!

Twig paused, glancing over her shoulder at me. I was hunched over, hands on my knees, sweaty and breathing heavily. The sun here was unforgiving. Curse summer! I didn’t need a soothsayer to tell me how miserable I looked right now. She approached an old man in a jewelry store. He gave me a once-over before turning to her. “He’s waiting for you on the other side. What took you so long?” His tone was dismissive, not acknowledging my presence. Whatever they were doing, they better make it snappy.

“The scroll,” Twig replied, ignoring his question.

“On the shelf, to your right.” The scroll shimmered blue, but Twig opened it, obstructing my view. The vixen—I was sure she didn’t want me to see what was written.

“Let’s go.” She raised the scroll and burned it. The old man’s gaze followed me as I trailed behind Twig. That man was creepy.

Twig took a moment to change into something more suitable. Finally! I couldn’t endure another moment with her in that tiny piece of clothing she had managed to put on before coming to the market. We passed through a labyrinth of rooms and cubicles before bursting out through a little door that led to a market similar to the one we had just left. A coachman in a neat silk shirt and pants ushered us in. His choice of attire baffled me; I had never seen a coachman in silk—nobles didn’t even wear silk for a ride! But then, everything about the Southerners seemed normal.

The ride was quiet, but I could barely sit still, anxiety bubbling through my veins and causing me to jump at every sound. I had to school my expression and reign in my emotions, trying not to give away how anxious I truly felt.

The carriage slowly came to a halt. Had we arrived that fast?

“Are you going to come out, or will you keep your mouth open like a fish?”

Twig shot her head around, climbing down from the carriage in one swift motion. I should have expected the coachman to help me out, but I wasn’t a princess anymore. I was about to face the mad king once and for all.

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“Moonshine,” I whispered, taking in the magnificent beauty before me. Now I understood why it was called moonshine. Despite the sun being high in the sky, a cold, calm aura enveloped the surroundings. The roses were a burst of rare colors, blue and purple, curling around the grand door of the castle. Monuments and statues of past kings and heroes dotted the castle grounds, imposing and fearsome, as if they could come to life. The castle towered above, requiring me to crane my neck for a proper view.

Nestled atop a hill, the castle boasted stone walls weathered by time. Its central keep, the tallest structure, rose majestically, with narrow windows offering glimpses of the sky. Four corner towers, each adorned with conical roofs, stood sentinel, providing strategic vantage points. A massive wooden gate, reinforced with iron bands, marked the entrance. I noticed a shift in Twig’s demeanor; her back was ramrod straight, and her steps were steady.

A footman in an impeccable burgundy suit and polished shoes greeted us at the entrance, acknowledging Twig with a respectful bow. “The king awaits you in the throne hall. This way, your grace.” I couldn’t tell if the title was for me or Twig. If directed at me, it would have been “your highness,” so the footman was clearly not acknowledging me—definitely not me.

My eyes roamed a bustling courtyard filled with the sounds of daily life. Stone paths led to a central well, while gardens flourished with herbs and vibrant flowers. The footman slowed his pace as we approached the throne room. The sturdy iron door concealed us from the king. Two palace guards stood on either side, swords at their belts, ready to strike down any threat to their king. Their eyes roamed over me, making me cringe inwardly. I had been stared at too many times to count, and it still made me recoil.

The footman signaled to the guards, and the door swung open. My heart raced, threatening to leap from my chest. Anxiety coursed through my veins. The great hall served as the castle’s heart, featuring a long wooden table, banners hanging from the walls, and a roaring fireplace casting flickering shadows. The southern throne loomed before me, bathed in imposing golden light. Crafted from dark, polished mahogany and the strongest iron, it exuded an air of ancient authority. Its high back was intricately carved, with serpents coiling around the arms and dragons spreading their wings in fierce defiance.

The serpents were engraved with scales that caught the light, giving them a lifelike appearance, while the dragons’ fierce faces seemed to guard the throne, their eyes set with glimmering gemstones. Rich crimson velvet cushions provided a stark contrast to the dark wood, inviting yet regal. The entire structure radiated power and majesty, embodying the strength and wisdom of the ruler who sat upon it.

The herald announced our arrival, but the king was nowhere to be seen. With the footman now gone and the herald vanished, Twig and I were left in the fading silence of the throne room. As seconds bled into minutes, my anticipation and anxiety slowly ebbed away, forgotten like a healed wound. Before I could voice my complaints about his lack of manners, I felt a presence behind me. The sensation I had experienced in the forest when I received the mark slithered through my veins once more, burning so bright on my palm that I groaned in pain. The intensity made me nearly kneel, but I wouldn’t—though I had lost my crown, I was still every bit royalty. I would not kneel before another king unless we were wed, which was impossible.

Another wave of pain coursed through me, and I screamed, clutching Twig’s arm, breathing heavily. I heard him chuckle menacingly, his footsteps drawing closer. The air smelled of burning wood and pine; my body felt aflame, my arm twitching, my head pounding. And then I saw him.

He resembled a savage warrior more than a king. With each step he took toward the throne, the regal air wrapping around him like a cloak didn’t diminish. He didn’t even spare me a glance, but as he settled into the throne, his silver eyes pinned me in place. His dark hair twisted into two simple braids, hidden beneath the crown resting atop his head. Those silver eyes watched me intently, as if he could see my soul laid bare. The king wasn’t ugly, nor did he possess the beauty most royalty had. He looked powerful, fearsome, and imposing. Many rumors surrounded the mad king of the South—some said he was a mindless beast, others claimed he was cursed at birth with ugliness—but no one spoke of his undeniable allure. The scar, however, told a different story. Whoever had inflicted it wanted to ensure he never healed. It ran from his eyebrow to his jaw, a thick, jagged line, giving him the appearance of a beast.

“Staring means you’re uncultured, daughter of Isis,” he said, and I almost shivered. His voice was a beautiful melody, as if sung by angels—if they existed. I schooled my expression and squared my shoulders.

“I’m no princess, King Orion.” Twig snapped her head toward me, sending a glare that could kill the bravest of humans.

“That fire—no, an inferno—burns within you. I see the cruelty and darkness blooming behind your eyes. You fear me, princess, yet you look at me as though you could challenge me to a duel and win.” He stared at me with a callous smile on his strange yet beautiful face. How could one possess such beauty and be so fearsome? He truly scared me; it took all of Delphine’s training not to cower.

“You flatter me, your majesty. I never introduced myself; please accept my humble apologies, King.”

I offered a half-hearted curtsy, wondering how far he would allow me to disrespect him and act like a peasant rather than purebred royalty.