SOULBOUND ASSASSIN

THE PRINCES GHOSTS

The Crown Prince of Alderan was seven years old when he first learned that his mother was not like other queens.

He remembered the day with perfect clarity. The summer sun had been blazing through the windows of the royal nursery, casting golden squares across the floor where he and his sister, Princess Margery, had been building castles out of wooden blocks. Margery was five, small and fierce, with their mother's dark hair and their father's stubborn chin. She'd been bossing him around, telling him his towers were too tall and would fall over, when the door had burst open and their mother had swept in like a storm.

"Children!" Queen Isabella's voice was bright with barely contained excitement. "Put down your toys. We're going on an adventure."

"An adventure?" Aldric had looked up, his eyes wide. "Where?"

"The kitchens." Their mother had knelt beside them, her golden-brown eyes sparkling. "I've discovered that the new pastry chef makes the most exquisite honey cakes, and I simply cannot wait another moment to try one. But we must be stealthy. Your father would have my head if he knew I was corrupting his heirs with sweets before supper."

"Papa doesn't care about sweets," Margery had said, her little face scrunched in confusion. "Papa only cares about treaties and taxes and—"

"Margery!" Their mother had clapped a hand over her daughter's mouth, her eyes dancing with mischief. "We do not speak of taxes before honey cakes. It's a rule. Come now, quickly, before the guard changes."

They'd crept through the corridors of the castle, the Queen of Alderan leading her two children like a general commanding troops. She'd known exactly when to duck into alcoves, exactly when to pause and listen for footsteps, exactly which servants' passages would lead them to their destination undetected.

Aldric had been amazed. His mother, who spent her days attending councils and receiving ambassadors and looking regal in silk and jewels, was also... this. A woman who could sneak through her own castle like a shadow, who knew every hidden passage and secret door, who laughed like a girl when she stole pastries from the kitchen and fed them to her children in the garden.

That was the first time Aldric realized his mother was hiding something.

The second time came when he was ten.

He'd been struggling with his studies. The royal tutors were relentless—history in the morning, languages in the afternoon, warfare and strategy in the evening. Aldric was bright enough, but his mind wandered. He'd rather be in the training yard with the knights, learning to swing a sword, than memorizing the lineages of dead kings.

His mother had found him in the library one evening, slumped over a scroll about the War of the Three Crowns, his eyes heavy with exhaustion.

"Trouble?" She'd settled beside him, her silk robes whispering against the stone floor.

"I don't understand why I need to know this." He'd gestured at the scroll, frustrated. "The war happened two hundred years ago. Everyone who fought in it is dead. Why does it matter?"

"Because the past is never truly past." His mother's voice was soft, her eyes distant. "The decisions made in that war shaped the kingdom we live in today. The alliances, the betrayals, the blood spilled—they echo through the centuries, influencing everything that comes after. If you don't understand the past, you can't understand the present. And if you can't understand the present, you can't shape the future."

Aldric had frowned. "That sounds like something one of the tutors would say."

"It does, doesn't it?" His mother had laughed, but there was something sad in it. "Perhaps I've been spending too much time with them. Or perhaps..." She'd trailed off, her gaze shifting to the window. The sun was setting, painting the sky in shades of crimson and gold.

"Perhaps what?"

"Perhaps I've been thinking about my own past." She'd turned to him, her expression unreadable. "You know I wasn't born a queen, Aldric. I was just a girl from a minor noble house, the daughter of a knight who died in the border wars. Your father fell in love with me at a tournament, against all the advice of his advisors. They wanted him to marry a princess from the Eastern Kingdoms, someone with political connections and dowries. Instead, he chose me."

"I know that story," Aldric had said. "Everyone knows it. It's one of the great romances of the kingdom."

"Is it?" His mother had smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I suppose it is. But what they don't tell you is that I was already betrothed to someone else. A man from a powerful family, a man who expected to become king-consort one day. When your father announced his intention to marry me, that man was... furious."

"What happened?"

"He tried to kill your father." His mother's voice was flat, matter-of-fact. "Poison in his wine, during a feast. Your father survived, barely. The man was executed for treason. And I became queen."

Aldric had been silent, processing this new information. "But that was years ago," he'd finally said. "The man is dead. There's nothing to worry about."

"There's always something to worry about." His mother had reached out, her hand finding his cheek. "Power attracts enemies, Aldric. The higher you rise, the more people want to see you fall. Your father and I have made many enemies over the years. And some of them..." She'd paused, her eyes darkening. "Some of them are patient. They wait. They plan. They remember old grudges and nurture them like gardens."

"You're afraid of something."

"I'm always afraid." She'd kissed his forehead, her lips soft against his skin. "That's what it means to be a ruler. You're afraid for your kingdom, for your people, for your family. The trick is not letting that fear rule you. Use it. Let it sharpen your instincts, make you vigilant. But never let it paralyze you."

Aldric had nodded, not really understanding. But he'd remembered her words. He'd tucked them away in his heart like a precious stone.

The third time came when he was twelve.

He'd been walking through the castle late one night, unable to sleep. His dreams had been troubled—shadows and whispers, a sense of danger lurking just beyond the edge of vision. He'd decided to seek out his mother's chambers, hoping she might have a soothing word or a cup of warm milk.

But when he'd reached her door, he'd heard voices.

Two of them. His mother's, and a man's.

"—can't keep this up forever," the man was saying, his voice low and urgent. "The Guild is growing bolder. They've already infiltrated three of the noble houses. If we don't act soon—"

"We can't act yet." His mother's voice was sharp. "We don't know who else is compromised. If we strike too soon, the Guild will retreat into the shadows and we'll lose them completely. We need to wait. We need to gather more information."

"And if they strike first?"

"Then we'll be ready." A pause. "I've been ready for years. I've been preparing for this since the day I married the King."

Aldric had pressed his ear to the door, his heart pounding. What was his mother talking about? What Guild? What infiltration?

"Your Highness, with respect—" the man began.

"There's no time for respect." His mother's voice cut through him like a blade. "We both know what's at stake. The Guild wants to destabilize the kingdom, to place their own puppet on the throne. They've been working toward that goal for decades, ever since the War of the Three Crowns. They won't stop. They'll never stop."

"Then what do you propose?"

"We find their leader. We find the one who's been pulling the strings all these years. And we destroy him." His mother's voice was cold, steel wrapped in silk. "I've been hunting him since I was a girl, since before I married the King. I've come closer than anyone. And I will not stop until I see him dead."

Aldric had crept away from the door, his mind reeling. His mother, the gentle queen who snuck honey cakes to her children, who laughed at his father's serious speeches, who kissed his forehead and told him stories—she was a warrior. A hunter. A woman consumed by a quest for vengeance.

He hadn't known what to do with the information. So he'd buried it, locked it away in a corner of his heart that he rarely visited.

The fourth time came when he was thirteen.

His mother had taken him aside after a council meeting, her expression grim.

"Aldric," she'd said, her voice low. "I need you to listen to me carefully. There are things happening in the kingdom that I haven't told you about. Things I've been shielding you from, because you're still a child."

"I'm not a child." He'd straightened his shoulders, trying to look older. "I'm thirteen. I can handle it."

His mother had smiled, but it was sad. "I know you think you can. And perhaps you're right. But I need you to promise me something. If anything ever happens to me—"

"Nothing's going to happen to you."

"Promise me." Her hand had found his, her grip tight. "Promise me that if I'm not here to guide you, you'll finish what I started. You'll find the Shadow Guild. You'll destroy them. You'll protect the kingdom from their poison."

"I promise." He'd said it without hesitation, because he was young and foolish and couldn't imagine a world where his mother wasn't there. "I promise, Mother. I'll do whatever it takes."

She'd pulled him close, her arms wrapping around him. "My brave boy," she'd whispered. "My beautiful, brave boy. I'm so proud of you."

Two years later, she was dead.