by Emily Inskip
But Amara had lived too much of her life cowering in the shadows of the Valkrane. She had been so focused on fleeing, that every memory she tried to remember of her two centuries in this world was but a blur. A smudge of existence. And what type of a life was that?
No more. I will never yield.
“When shall we meet?” she asked before she could change her mind.
Aedric straightened slightly, as though he hadn’t expected her to agree at all. “I’ll come for you tomorrow at noon.”
“I might just be able to find the time.”
He winked, already beginning to stride towards the door. “That’s good enough for me, Lady.”
“Amara,” the name slipped from her mouth before she had time to stop it. The prince paused his steps and turned to look over his shoulder, waiting.
“You can call me Amara,” she stumbled, desperately fishing for something to say. “It’s my middle name.” Great excuse, you deserve a shiny medal for that one.
She chewed on her bottom lip nervously, her hands fidgeting behind her back as she awaited his response.
But Aedric only grinned. “Is it rude if I say it suits you better?”
Instantly, Amara sagged with relief. “Not at all,” she replied, a faint smile beginning to touch her lips. “I agree completely.”
He nodded once then began to stroll away. “Until next time, Amara.”
27
By the afternoon, news had spread as fast as wildfire around Winvaris. People murmured in hushed tones as Amara strolled past them in the corridor. Although she barely batted an eye, her keen ears picked up on every whisper they shared amongst each other, royals and servants alike.
Did you hear she defeated the prince in combat? Where did she learn to do that? How could she do that? What did the prince say? What did the Queen say? Look at what she’s wearing. Hardly the image of a lady. Disgrace. Shameful. Oddity.
Amara took every word as a compliment, flashing a stunning grin at anyone brave enough to meet her eye. After a second, the few that did quickly scurried away in the opposite direction. Even the guards began to notice her, their concrete features fracturing. They no longer saw her as the foolish lady who had lost her way, but as a threat, someone who could have them disarmed and defenceless within a heartbeat.
Elias was smirking when she burst into his room.
“Look who it is, the woman of the hour,” he drawled, clutching a glass of red liquid in his hand. He sat in one of the high-back leather armchairs facing the unlit fireplace.
“What can I say? I’m sensational,” she said, prowling about his room, too jittery to sit still. “Please tell me you’ve found me a witch.”
“Amara darling, it’s been one day, you expect too much of me” he smiled, swirling the glass before bringing it to his lips. “But it’s a good job I never disappoint.”
“So you have?”
Elias hesitated. “Well, yes and no.”
Amara raised a brow in his direction before studying the mahogany dresser beside her and running a finger along it.
“Witches come with a price,” Elias said as he extended his long legs and hooked one ankle over the other. “The only one I could find willing to go through with the Red Ritual is a dark one indeed.”
“And what does she want?” Amara demanded. She’d already moved away from his dresser, sauntering towards the window sill.
“She wants to receive the blood of five people, extracted after death.”
Amara snorted. “Why am I finding that hard to believe?”
“Because she wants proof that you’re capable of surviving the Bloodmoon,” Elias replied calmly. “It should be easy for you.”
“I’m not killing anyone.” Amara shook her head before dropping into the armchair opposite Elias.
He only narrowed his eyes. “That’s not what it looked like when we discovered the fisherman’s tavern or should I say . . . what’s left of it.”
“That’s different. They were bad people.”
Elias smiled, the action almost sent a chill skittering down her spine, reminding her of everything she wished to forget. “There are lots of bad people in this world, many we both know well.”
After a moment of thought, Amara exhaled deeply through her nose.
“Fine,” she conceded. “But if I’m doing this, I’m going to the city.”
Elias almost choked on his drink. “You do realise, my father is in the city.”
She smirked and tilted her head. Her eyes darkened in the shadows of the dim room. “Maybe I’ll get the chance to say hello.”
“Why would you even consider it?” He threw her an incredulous look, as though he were scolding a disobedient child. Amara clenched her fists.
“Because,” she said, “those streets hold the worst kind of evil, and as it turns out, I am the only one who knows how to tame it.”
Elias ran a hand down the back of his neck. His brows knitted together as he closed his eyes. “Just be careful.”
“Aren’t I always?”
Elias blinked and she was gone. “Amara?”
He hadn’t so much as noticed that the chair opposite him was now empty. Like lightning, he pushed out of his seat, whirling around just in time to watch Amara slip from his window and leap into the air below.
28
“You look nice,” Nadia mumbled the following morning, in between bites of chocolate sponge. Crumbs dusted her dark lips as she shovelled in another muffin from the tray beside her. She looked up as Amara hurried into the sitting room. “That’s the one.”
“You think so?” Amara twirled, her dark velvet gown flowing out around her.
Nadia nodded as she perched crossed-legged on the chaise. “Of course, besides, I’m pretty sure you’ve already tried on every other dress in your wardrobe.”
She wasn’t wrong. Amara had spent the majority of the last hour darting back and forth from her bedroom different gowns and fabrics. As shallow as it was, deciding her clothing was the only thing keeping her from ripping a door off its hinges. That, or punching a wall very very hard until it crumbled.
Amara needed to busy herself. She needed to keep moving. Because when she didn’t move, she thought. And thinking, Amara found, was always a bad idea.
This was your decision, now it’s time to own it.
Amara sighed, poking the pleats of her skirt. “This is the one, I suppose.”
She’d settled on a navy gown, so dark it was almost black. Perfect for hiding stains. Especially those of blood.
“That’s great!” Nadia said, rising from the chair. “I’ve got a few errands to run, but I hope you enjoy the theatre . . . and the Prince.” Her lips widened to a grin as she winked.
That girl really was a wicked witch.
“You know it’s not like that,” Amara corrected.
Nadia only shrugged as she plucked the last muffin up off the tray and offered it to Amara.
“No thanks,” she said, shaking her head before striding off to assess herself in the mirror.
Nadia frowned, looking at the chocolate cake left in her extended hand and without another thought, plopped it in her mouth. “I worry about you sometimes, lady.”
“Don’t waste your time,” Amara replied absently, staring at her reflection in the gilded mirror. As she heard the door click shut behind Nadia, she blew out a long breath.
Today, Amara would go to the Royal Theatre in the company of the Prince of Esteria. She would also have to slaughter five humans and extract their blood for a mysterious witch she had yet to learn the name of. Just another normal day, she supposed.
But she couldn’t deny the twinge in her gut as she imagined Fassar prowling the streets. She was balancing dangerously on the tip of a knife and it would only be so long before that blade began to topple . . .
Amara quickly broke away from that image. She was beginning to think. And thinking was bad.
She shook her head, desperately trying to turn her focus onto something other th
an the impending death she would no doubt have to face.
Amara scanned her eyes over the room before her gaze landed on the ivory shoebox Nadia had left for her on the coffee table. It was wrapped in a silken jade ribbon, which Amara swiftly tossed aside before extracting the contents. Peeling away the layers tissue paper, she studied the pair of dainty heels within. They were a perfect black, adorned by delicate crystals that reminded her of the night’s sky.
Just as she went to slip one on, another knock sounded at her door and Aedric strolled in, his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
He was dressed in a smart dark jacket, his golden hair falling to his broad shoulders in neat waves. Amara blinked. It was only then that she realised, she’d never seen him in such formal attire. Even when they’d first met in the throne room he’d worn a dark tunic and boots. Now, he opted for the ebony waistcoat and polished shoes. It was as though he had become the prince the public imagined him to be. The mask she thought she’d seen crumble, still firmly in place.
But Amara hadn’t failed to notice the amount of attention he was paying her now. And she suddenly no longer had the problem of thinking too much at all.
Amara hurried back to the mirror, clutching the shoes in her hand. “Do I look good?” she asked, stealing a glance at him through the mirror. She tried to master her voice, but even her centuries of honed calm couldn’t help her now. “Actually, don’t answer that.”
A low husky laugh rumbled behind her. “I don’t know whether to be amused or concerned?” he grinned. “Since when did you care about what other people thought?”
“I don’t,” she snapped, before beginning to fumble with the buckle on her shoe.
This was ridiculous. She was ridiculous.
Amara didn’t need to look up to know that he was smirking. “You look fine,” he said, the humour barely restrained from his voice. “Now let’s go, the carriage is waiting outside.”
“Fine? Just fine?” Before she could stop herself, Amara flung her slipper across the room. It hurtled through the air before striking the wall just inches away from the prince’s head.
She whirled in time to see it dent the plaster. Oh, she was definitely being thrown in the dungeons after this.
But the prince merely brushed an invisible piece of lint from his shoulder, fixing the cuffs of his shirt. In fact, he was so nonchalant that Amara wasn’t even sure he’d so much as flinched.
He studied her for a long moment. It was enough to make her shift on her feet. But she could have sworn a flicker of humour danced in his eyes.
“Maybe I should just cancel the theatre?” he drawled, the strong lines of his face straining to keep from smiling. “Because this is far more entertaining.”
“If you want me to chuck the other slipper at your face, you’re going the right way about it.” She tilted her head in warning. Amara had never considered the Prince as target practice before, but now she was curious.
She didn’t know how she’d expected him to reply. She supposed with some witty comeback, an outrageous joke in an attempt to make her act upon her threat.
But Aedric didn’t joke. His smile dropped into a serious line. “You look beautiful.”
For a moment she was stunned into silence. She couldn’t help but hold his gaze, the sound of his own fluttering heartbeat filling her ears. Amara was no longer aware of the distance between them. For all she knew they could have been five meters apart or five miles.
Amara swallowed, her throat feeling dry. “I’ll try not to draw all the attention away from you today, prince.”
He grinned, before reaching down and scooping up the shoe she’d hurled at him. She watched in silence as he walked towards her, his gaze unwavering, fixed solely upon her.
But Amara Vanderlore had survived two centuries of bloodshed and torture. She had fought her way out of every kind of trouble, sliced down enemies until all she knew was death. Darkness bowed to her. And yet, as Aedric drew nearer, she could barely muster the strength to stop her fingers from trembling. Emotions make you weak, she scolded herself. Then the quivering vanished and she curled her hands into fists at her side.
“Even if you were wearing a canvas bag, you would still have everyone’s attention, Amara.”
She wasn’t used to hearing her name on his lips. Her true name.
Amara reached out a hand to take the shoe off him, but Aedric sank to his knees before her. Her entire body froze.
Slowly, he looked up at her from beneath his brows. “May I?”
She wasn’t sure she was still capable of forming words, so Amara only nodded. She watched him carefully slide the dark material of her dress up her calf. His thumb skimmed over her skin, leaving nothing but a trail of heat in its wake. He took her foot in his other hand, his calluses scraping against her as he slipped the shoe on. It was a perfect fit, no doubt thanks to the tailors who had taken her measurements yesterday.
But that was the last thing on her mind as Aedric eased the other black slipper out of her hand and finished buckling it around her ankle. He removed his fingers, letting her skirt fall to the floor once more before he rose. For a few moments, they stood staring at each other in a comfortable silence.
“Shall we?” he asked, holding out a broad arm.
Amara raised a brow, her mind still swimming.
“Lead the way,” she said and looped her arm through his.
29
Amara gazed out of the carriage window as they rode through the bustling cobbled streets. Memories of her time in Valmont flooded back to her. She recognised every alley and each street corner, the large gated lawns of Bridgeton Park and the busy market stalls set up in Carabelle Square.
People stopped and gaped at the sight of the prince’s royal carriage, the glossy dark-spruce panels pulled along by a set of stunning silver mares. They made good progress navigating through the narrow roads littered by crates and strung out washing lines that hung between buildings like bunting. Amara knew that in order to reach the Royal Theatre, the carriage would have to take them through the western slums.
They veered to the right over the small humpback bridge that separated the slums from the rest of the city. Her throat tightened as she watched people limp along the streets, scraps of cloth hanging off their gaunt bodies. Her gaze snagged on a small scrawny boy slumped against the wall. He clutched a hat between his muddied hands. A sheen of white glossed over his eyes and it didn’t take Amara long to realise that he was blind. Many people hurried past him, not even sparing him a glance. Occasionally, a wealthy merchant would toss a few coins into his hat before scurrying off to do business on the outskirts of Valmont.
Amara knew all about the children in the slums. If they weren’t recruited as spies for one of the many gangs that ran this sector of the city, they were used as ways of scrounging money off the sympathetic people who didn’t know better. Men ran entire empires by snatching children from their homes, injuring them beyond recognition and sending them into the streets to beg. Anything they did manage to collect after a hard day weathering the cruelty of these streets was taken off them and put straight into their master’s coffers.
Amara found herself watching that blind boy as they rounded the next corner. Another minute passed and they were riding over a second bridge towards the outer ring of Valmont, the clacking of hooves a chorus around them.
Aedric sat silently beside her. They had barely spoken since the journey began. Amara was too busy staring at the life she had left behind. She couldn’t stop herself from studying every person they passed. Every hooded figure set her on edge. She straightened on instinct, bracing herself for an attack. But yet, nothing came.
She found herself chewing on her bottom lip as they neared the golden buildings of the Crescent, Valmont’s famed entertainment district. It was packed with tiered theatre venues and open-air stages, fountain-sprinkled plazas and glass-domed dancing halls.
Amara had never bothered to spare more than a glance towards this district of the cit
y, filled with bubbly tourists and patrolled heavily by royal guards in red and gold livery. Although, some nights she used to follow the sound of the orchestra playing in the square. The music would carry her across the rooftops of the slums, where she’d perch against a chimney pot and watch the performance from the safety of the shadows.
But now she would be experiencing it from the audience. No doubt in the royal box with the Prince of Esteria by her side. But even that thought didn’t calm her as she imagined Fassar running a stake through her chest.
She shuddered.
“What’s wrong?” Aedric asked softly, but even the sound of his voice was enough to startle her.
She twisted in her seat to face him. “How do you know when you’ve made the wrong decision?”
Amara wasn’t sure why the words had slipped from her lips so easily. But somehow when she met his eye, a wall crumbled within her. Letting out the person she’d kept locked inside.
Aedric looked at her for a long moment and she couldn’t help but notice his heartbeat picking up. “You want to go back to the castle?”
No, she thought. But Amara’s lips didn’t seem to move. She let out a small sigh, sinking back in her seat.
“I can get the guards to turn us around . . .”
He began shuffling towards the carriage door. But before he could call from the window, Amara placed a hand on his arm and he paused.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
She needed to know. Because the truth was, she had made the wrong decision. All her life she had been making mistakes.
Amara often wondered what would be different if she’d never worked for Fassar. Or if she’d quit whilst she still could. If she had never loved the wrong people or allowed those same people to hurt her.
Amara had always told herself that she didn’t deserve this curse. But neither did the people she’d killed along the way. She could run. She could lie and play princess until the end of time. But she could never get back the years she’d lost living in the shadows. She could never get back the lives she’d ended.