The Midnight Prince

Kingston Mining and Gold

(Flint)

87, 88, 89, I count my steps in my head as I approach the board room. Counting relaxes me, it draws my mind away from the poisonous thoughts that run rampant nearly all the time. I often have visions of murdering or using my magic to force others to bend to my will. And right now, with the betrayal still fresh in my heart, all I can picture is all the awful, horrible things I want to do to Kaylee and Slate.

My mother would never admit it, but my conception and the influence it had on the magic in my veins has left me easily susceptible to the darkness. There’s several types of witchcraft in the world. There is light work; gentle, yellow light that has the ability to heal and help those around it. Then there’s my mother’s kind. Her magic is not light work, but more so a classical magic. It comes from my grandfather. He was an incredibly strong and talented witch from what she’s told me. He came from a long line of pure witches, no mixed or mortal blood to weaken the powers passed through generations. Pure magic can take on many colors, green being my mom’s. Then there’s dark magic. It is not commonly practiced, and usually requires the witch having gained it by making a deal with a demon. Not the types of demons you read about in the Bible or in movies. Demons are created by a God, usually Chaos, to bring mayhem and destruction in the mortal world. Often, they will take a soul that was so despicable in life, and give them the ability to be a demon in their afterlife. A witch that gets her powers from evil becomes evil herself. She (or he) will lose themselves to the power, become so addicted to it that they will do anything to continue fueling it. Dark magic always comes in black, or red. And I’m the lucky guy who happened to be born with dark magic already coursing through my body. I didn’t choose my fate, but I constantly have to act against my urges to prevent myself from giving into it.

90, 91, 92, 93. My hand touches the cool doorknob. Anaana and I have a business opportunity with a Russian pack, Yana Volk. They recently discovered gold on their land. However, they don’t have the equipment to dig it up. We happen to have one of the largest mining companies in North America.

I open the door to find everyone already in their seats, waiting my arrival. “Hello everyone, my apologies for being late. Something came up that needed my attention for a moment.” I move to my chair beside Anaana, clearing my throat and opening the file in front of me. I don’t need these papers, I’ve already read this five times before today. Looking interested is important to business prospects. It shows we care about their plans.

Anaana’s frozen eyes bore into my skull, silently scolding me. She glares for a second more before continuing the conversation she was having. “Mr. Orlov, I apologize for my sons interruption. Summer is a very busy time for us, as you well know, we must get as much done as we can before the snow comes back to bury us all again.”

Mr. Orlov laughs dryly. With a thick Russian accent, he speaks. “Yes, winter can be very hard times for all, even creatures like us. That is why we must make plans for next summer’s mining to begin, so we may start as soon as the sun warms the earth again.”

“Yes of course. Let us get right into it. Please explain your proposal.” Anaana gestures to him to begin and sits back in her chair. Her short, platinum hair is straightened like always, and she sports an all white business suit with a navy blouse under the blazer. She is known as the Ice Queen for a reason. Everything about her is cold and pristine. I wish to be like that one day, but my emotions often get the better of me, as she enjoys reminding me quite often.

“We have found gold here,” he points to an x on the slide of a map of his territory, “we know there is more there. If we can mine it, we will be rich. Millions and millions of dollars sit before the earth, waiting for us to take it.” He smiles, flashing large yellow teeth to the table. “But sadly we are small pack, with little money to invest in equipment. But your people have plenty of equipment. So my offer is this,” he clicks to the next slide, which shows different percentages and profit margins. “You allow us to use your equipment, and in return we offer you twenty percent of profit made.” Orlov claps his calloused hands together happily. “We are hard workers, and we need this money to continue our pack. Please, let us business together.”

“What happens if you don’t find anymore gold?” I ask, drawing all the eyes to me. On my left, a team of employees that keep Kingston Mining running smoothly, and on the other, a trio of his colleagues here to help him make the big decisions.

Orlov’s smile falters but he pulls it back up and chuckles curtly to me. “The gold will be found. There is no doubt. But, if the impossible happens, I will offer 3 million dollars for the use of your mining tools.”

Anaana shakes her head slowly. “You must use our equipment and men. We don’t allow for other crews to play with our toys, Mr. Orlov.” She sighs and holds out her hand for someone to pass a folder over. “It is my turn to give you an offer. Please, have a seat.” Mr. Orlov looks questionably to his team but sits down. “Your estimations look good, I appreciate the research you’ve put into this. In my experience, you will hit gold.” She pushes the folder across the table. “But, on the off chance you don’t, I expect 5 million for a waste of a season for us. That’s an entire summer my team could’ve been at one of our locations.”

I watch her, taking mental notes of how she handles this. The way her gaze never waivers, she doesn’t laugh or play nice. She is stoic, collected, and gets right to the point of everything. “Now, if we do strike gold. I will expect 60% of all profit. Essentially what is happening, Mr. Orlov, we are harvesting your gold for you. It is my equipment, my men, and your land. I’m basically renting the land from you and letting you sell my gold.”

Mr. Orlov’s once chipper expression shifts into frustration and offense. “Eto grabezh! The Tiran!” He shouts in Russian, throwing himself into his seat like a toddler. Internally I scoff at him. He’s nearly fifty years old and hasn’t learned how business works.

“This is not a robbery, it is business, Mr. Orlov. You want us to mine the gold for you, we must cover our own expenses and still make a profit.” I don’t bother sitting upright in my chair, and continue to fiddle with the cuff of my sleeve. “My mother is not a tyrant either, she is a Queen. And Queens may charge whatever they find just. If you don’t like it, find someone else to help you.” My gaze moves to his now red face. He looks like a greasy tomato. Drago snickers. Yes, he surely does with his puffy face and slicked back hair.

“You speak Russian?” He inquires.

I try not to roll my eyes at him but I can’t avoid the tiny smirk that tugs at the corner of my mouth. “Eto gosudarstvo ranshe prindlejalo rodine. Russky yazyk byl rodnym yazykom vie techeniye mnogich let.” I remind him that Alaska used to belong to Russia, so it was the common tongue for many years.

This draws out some of the red on Mr. Orlov’s face and he huffs out the breath he is holding. “Forty percent.”

Leaning forward and resting my arms on the table, I maintain eye contact. “Fifty. And I want a beaver fur Shupa for negotiating.” What do you need a sheepskin coat for? Drago seems annoyed with my silly negotiation. I think I’d look very dashing in a Shupa.

He whispers with his teammates for a quick moments before turning back to us. “Fine, fifty percent and my wife will personally make your Shupa.” He holds out a hand to shake and I stand to come around the table to him.

“Our lawyers will send over the paperwork in a few days. Do you and your team need rooms to sleep in for the night? We have plenty of space available, you can get a little taste of how Alaska’s changed since America bought it from you.” I jest.

“Yes, that would be wonderful. Ya tsenyu gostpriatism.” He thanks us for our hospitality.

I call in Rhea to come escort our guests to their rooms and show them around the place.

The rooms falls empty and silence takes over as I wait for a scolding from Anaana for taking over her meeting.

“You did good today, Flint. I’m impressed with you. Although, I would’ve stuck with sixty.” She winks. Her approval fills me with pride. I’ve worked twice as hard as anyone else to prove that I belong here, I belong at the head of her table, despite not being genetically hers. Many of our kind don’t believe I have any claim to the throne, that I’m just the product of a fling their Queen Consort had prior to meeting her mate. It is my duty to prove them wrong and that I deserve to be here.

“Do you want to tell me the real reason you were late, son?” She shifts the topic and I all my unfortunate emotions start coming back to me.

I look for the words but I can’t seem to find them. Anaana sighs and buttons her blazer absentmindedly. “She isn’t going to reject him, is she?”

Her words feel like daggers and all I can do is bite my tongue to keep from crying. “They were kissing when I went to take her flowers. I don’t know what to do now. I love her, Na. I love him too but this is unforgivable. They are making a mockery of me.”

“Do you want to banish them?” She asks me suddenly and I freeze. I never expected her to ask me that, surely she would never allow her son to be sent off to become a rogue, with no home of his own anymore.

“I don’t know what I want. I just want to get away for a while and think.”

“So go think son. Find your answer in the mountains. I’ll be here for you when you’re done.” She offers a weak smile to me and motions for the door.