Wren moved further into the shop, pausing to take in her surroundings. The walls were lined with shelves filled with books and ancient-looking manuscripts, along with small trinkets and tokens. More were displayed on tables packing the rest of the space. At the back there was an unoccupied counter and a door behind it leading to what she assumed would be the back room.

  Wren found herself browsing the wares, even fingering some of the objects. They ranged from jewelry and stones to ornaments and baubles and statues. Some of the manuscripts on the shelves predated the War of Seven Battles, she observed. Pulling one down out of curiosity, she unfurled it to discover it was written in what she thought might be Erese, the ancient language used long before Lithera was established. Putting the scroll back, Wren returned to surveying the lot of stock. A little way down a table, a necklace caught her eye. She moved toward it as though magnetized, lifting it for a closer look.

  The pendant was one large circle with four smaller circles knotted together inside. It was an aged bronze and appeared fairly neglected and old. For some reason, she was drawn to it like a moth to a flame.

  “Lovely piece, ain’t it?”

  Wren jumped, one hand clutching her chest. She turned around to find a stout middle-aged woman behind her, smiling slightly. “Didn’t mean to scare you there, youngin.” The woman squinted at Wren’s face. “Say, have you been around these parts before? Ya look familiar, but I don’ think you’ve been n’ my shop before.”

  “No.” Wren looked away, trying to calm her racing heart. “It’s my first time in the city.”

  “Well then, welcome to my shop! The name’s Helena. Feel free to have a look ‘round the place and let me know if you're interested in anythin’. Mind I ask what brings ya here to the capital?”

  Wren appraised Helena, coming up short with a lie. “A wedding,” she admitted a bit grudgingly.

  “Ah, I see. Looking for a pretty gift for the lucky couple?”

  “Something like that,” Wren mumbled.

  “What’s that you said, dear?”

  Wren lifted the necklace for the shopkeeper to see. “What can you tell me about this?” she asked.

  Helena hummed, thinking. She touched the piece lightly, like it helped her remember. “Think I got this off a young lad ‘bout 20 years back. He claimed it was cursed an’ begged me to take it from him. I ain’t seen no sign of bad magic from that thing, though.” She shrugged. “You’re welcome to have it. It ain’t doin’ me any favours sittin’ ‘round with the rest of my wares.”

  Wren shook her head, pushing the necklace towards the woman. “I’m sorry, I can’t. I don’t have any money.”

  Helena closed Wren’s hand over the pendant. “Keep your cash and the piece, girl. Ya may need it more than I do.” And with that, Helena walked away and disappeared behind the counter.

  She stood perplexed a moment before dropping the chain over her head and slipping it into her blouse. The cool metal rested against her breastbone, and she startled as it began to glow faintly beneath the fabric. It dimmed just as soon as it had illuminated.

  Perhaps the previous owner was right, and the pendant was cursed after all.

  ༺═──────────────═༻

  Alaric had always loved the animosity that came with this city. No one knew who he really was down here, especially while wearing common garb.

  Wending through the streets, he didn’t have to be Crown Prince Alaric Bernthal. He was just…Ace.

  He stopped only once to purchase a single carnation, then continued on the route he’d walked many times before.

  When he finally reached his destination, he stilled for a moment.

  This part of Evaleer was mostly empty, used as a burial ground for those who contracted and died from the plague.

  Though there was one landmark that rose above the rest.

  The Janella Rosenar Cemetery. Named after the late queen—Alaric’s mother—Queen Janella Rosenar Bernthal.

  He took a deep breath before entering the quiet graveyard. He walked all the way to the back, where a few steps led up to a large plaque. Alaric knelt before the stone and laid his flower in front of it. A violet carnation—his mother’s favourite—for the plaque bore the name Janella Rosenar Bernthal. Underneath that, in smaller print:

  Beloved queen, daughter, wife, and mother.

  This was only one of the monuments erected in her name, as she also had a plaque on the castle grounds and back in Treph, where she grew up.

  But her body laid in the very ground beneath his feet.

  Alaric tried to visit her here every month—sometimes he wasn’t able to get out of the palace to come. He’d been bringing her a carnation every time he saw her since he turned sixteen.

  “I’m sorry for your loss.”

  Alaric whirled around at the sound of Kerensa’s voice. She stood behind him; hands clasped in front of her as if she were embarrassed. Her elegant long hair blew softly in the warm wind, her cheeks pink and copper eyes wide, lower lip caught between her teeth.

  He was astonished by her beauty once again. It seemed she grew more stunning everyday—he didn’t understand how that was possible.

  Truthfully, he’d been a little more than shocked to find her wearing pants this morning, but…they suited her.

  He cleared his throat to speak. “How did you know I was here?”

  She tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear, hesitating to answer. “You were gone longer than I thought you’d be and I…I don’t know.” Her gaze was trained on the ground. “I just kind of followed the path I thought you’d maybe taken.” Look at me.

  Unsure how to respond to that, Alaric expressed, “I—Thank you. For your condolences. But it was a long time ago.”

  Kerensa glanced up at him then. “It was Death’s Shadow, right?”

  “Yes,” Alaric said, tripping on the word.

  Kerensa spoke so soft next he strained to hear her. “You were young when she died.”

  He stiffened. “I was eleven.” And I lost more than just my mother that day. He had to squeeze his eyes shut at the flood of memories, leaning against the headstone for support.

  “Alaric?” Her voice was closer now, full of empathy.

  Alaric was starting to panic now as his breaths came in short gasps. She can’t be seeing this, no, no, no—

  “Please,” he choked out, “please don’t make me talk about this.”

  And the moment he felt her palm against his cheek, everything stopped. His mind forgot to think. His breath forgot to be sporadic. His eyes forgot to squint closed.

  He thought maybe his heart even forgot to beat for a few seconds.

  Kerensa hadn’t willingly touched any part of him yet, skin to skin. Her smooth hand slid along his jaw, thumb resting on his chin. “If it upsets you, we don’t have to.” The whisper of her tone sent chills down his spine.

  His eyes flicked open and when Kerensa met his stare, she swiftly hid her hands behind her back and took several steps away from him. Alaric exhaled a long breath. “What about your parents?”

  She froze and retorted, “What about them?”

  “Will they be coming for the wedding?”

  Her short laugh filled the space between them. “Not a chance.”

  He was a bit startled by her curt response. “You left home on bad terms?” he inquired, hoping that wasn’t the case.

  “You could say that,” came her muttered answer.

  Alaric frowned. “Any siblings?”

  “A sister.”

  Three hells, give me something to work with. “Older or younger?”

  “Younger by three years,” she admitted, angling her head to the ground again. “The last time I saw her,” Kerensa went on quietly, “she was…unwell.”

  Silence fell around them.

  “Have you been given means to contact them?” Alaric tried.

  She shook her head, looking up at him with a tear clouded gaze. “They wouldn’t want my contact.”

  Alaric advanced until he stood in front of her, tilting her head up with two fingers until she met his eyes. “I find that hard to believe,” he professed, searching the depths of her copper pools.

  “That’s because you don’t know what you’re talking about.” She attempted to turn out of his grip, but he held her fast.

  “Then explain it, please.”

  Her lips pressed together, eyes narrowing. “I can’t.”

  “Sounds like an excuse to me,” he challenged.

  Kerensa’s fingers wrapped around his wrist, wrenching away from him. “You don’t want to talk about your mother because it upsets you, then fine,” she berated. “But that doesn’t give you the right to be a hypocrite.”

  He watched her chest rise and fall heavily, shoulders relaxing infinitesimally. “All I’m trying to say is that you still have a family, Kerensa,” Alaric murmured. He hesitated before reaching out to brush her hair out of her face. Surprisingly, she let him. “Don’t act like they’re dead until they’re dead.”

  A mix of curiosity and wonder flooded her expression while she nodded once in understanding.

  He couldn’t stop himself from glancing back towards the stone plaque behind them in that moment.

  One phrase from the text had always stood out to him. Beloved wife.

  That doesn’t give you the right to be a hypocrite.

  She was right. If he wanted to know something, he would have to give in return.

  “I find it ironic,” he stated.

  “Hm?” Kerensa stepped up to his side, brows bunching together as she examined him, trying to decipher his words.

  Alaric surveyed her out of the corner of his eye. “You know, my father’s firstborn son was born to another woman.” He had no idea how much of his family’s messed up history was known to the world or how much she would’ve been told before being sent to marry into it. Across his kingdom, though, it was common knowledge that Rollon was only his half-brother. Alaric couldn’t look at her as he continued, “He forced my mother to raise Rollon even though he was not her own. She hated them both for it, and as a child, I couldn’t understand why my parents were so at odds with each other all the time.” He looked up to the sky, taking a minute to watch a cloud float overhead. “She always used to say to me that Rollon was her punishment, that he wasn’t really my brother, that the crown was my right, not his.” He spun to Kerensa, feeling so very vulnerable for the first time in a long time. “My mother was not a cruel woman. Her will was strong, and the people loved her. I loved her,” he affirmed, tears stinging his eyes.

  “You don’t have to defend her to me, Alaric.” Kerensa reached up to brush away a tear rolling down his cheek. “I believe you,” she added.

  Alaric redirected his gaze, nodding gradually. He motioned back to the street with a hand, ready to leave this place and its haunting memories behind. “Shall we?”

  They walked back to the bustling streets in silence, each lost in their own thoughts.

  Chapter Ten

  It terrified him that he had no idea what was going through her head right now.

  Alaric could hardly believe how much he’d opened up to her in the cemetery. All he could do was hope that his honesty allowed her to put a little bit more of her trust in him.

  If this marriage had to happen, he didn’t want it to be comparable to his parents’.

  The streets became more populated the closer they were to Evaleer’s main crossway, Darien Square, named after the legendary king who led Lithera to victory against the Ravyn witches in the War of Seven Battles half a millennium ago.

  Out of nowhere, a small boy ran up to Kerensa and tugged on her blouse urgently. “Ma’am, please help,” he cried. “It’s my ma. The sickness grows worse everyday.”

  Kerensa exchanged a glance with Alaric, and he gave the slightest shake of his head.

  “Where is your ma now, little one?” she probed, ignoring his subtle disagreement.

  “This way. Follow me,” the boy answered, taking off down an alley between two buildings.

  She made to follow, but Alaric grabbed her arm. “Kerensa,” he growled in warning.

  “Let go.”

  “There is nothing you’ll be able to do for them if it truly is the plague,” he explained tersely. “And I can’t risk you getting sick yourself.”

  “You lost your mother nine years ago. I lost my mama in a different way—but if I can spare a little boy from that pain, I will,” she hissed.

  “I urge you to reconsider.” He would rather have to physically drag her back to the palace than let her put herself in any kind of danger.

  Kerensa shook him off and told him, “I am going to help. You’re welcome to go back by yourself if that’s what you want.” Her words held a certain finality, leaving no room for argument.

  Alaric clenched his jaw because he’d just lost this fight. “Fine,” he bit out. “But I’m coming with you.”

  Together, they headed in the direction the boy had disappeared, Kerensa in the lead. Some sunlight was able to filter down between rooftops, glinting off her dark hair. With Alaric following behind, it was evident she quickly lost track of the boy’s trail, the maze of paths that crossed behind the buildings too intricate to navigate alone.

  Something isn’t right here.

  Alaric carefully took in their surroundings, his sword hissing as he unsheathed it. Kerensa whirled around at the sound, and he slowly advanced until she was safely behind him. “Stay behind me,” he whispered to her.

  All was eerily quiet, the sounds and voices from the streets far away now.

  He heard a yelp escape Kerensa’s lips, and by the time Alaric had turned around, a knife lay perilously across her throat, a meaty hand forcing her head up by her hair. Four other men materialized out of the shadows around him.

  The gruff male voice of Kerensa’s captor addressed him. “Where’d ya find yourself a pretty girly like this, Ace?”

  Alaric’s stance relaxed a bit, a crooked grin painting his face as he lazily twirled his sword in one hand. “If you let her go, I might just let you in on that secret, Ratchet,” he offered.

  Kerensa was looking at him like he wasn’t real, but the man holding her cackled. “Surely you don’t take me for a fool. If you won’t tell me, I’ll just have to get myself a taste of this one.” Ratchet pulled her head back further, so he could get an eyeful of Kerensa’s face. He was a tall and burly man himself, his face stocky and square. His nose was slightly out of place, like it had been broken one too many times. Bushy dark eyebrows framed his dull gray eyes, a jaw shadowed by stubble and a mess of russet hair topping his head. He peered at her, licking his thin lips. “Strange eyes, she’s got,” Ratchet commented.

  “I find them alluring.” Alaric’s sea green gaze hardened on Ratchet, his jaw set. “Drop the knife and we’ll let the girl decide who she wants to go with.”

  He looked between Kerensa and Alaric, considering. “Not sure I like my chances there, Ace,” he remarked.

  Alaric met Kerensa’s gaze at that moment. At the very real sight of her standing helpless in an enemy’s grip, a knife poised at her neck, his eyes widened and brow furrowed, betraying his fear for her.

  His teeth ground together. All I need is an opening.

  “Tell you what,” Ratchet started up again. “I’ll let you have her, but your sweetheart ain’t gonna be as alive as she was before.”

  “No!” Alaric shouted as Ratchet moved to slit her throat. He saw the dagger slice through the skin beneath her chin and red blurred his vision.

  The temperature in the back alley dropped abruptly, and ice exploded from the grooves between the stones at their feet, racing towards Ratchet. He tried to back away as it crept up his legs, his dagger clattering to the cobblestones and losing his hold on Kerensa. Ratchet screamed as he was frozen in place, the ice moving past his legs and onto his torso and arms. It spread rapidly, racing up to his neck and finally stopping when he was immobile and silent, face twisted into an expression of horror and desperation.

  Witch magic. A foul taste flooded Alaric’s mouth at the thought, while the alley paused momentarily in shock and terror. Then the four other street men drew their weapons and cried out in rage.

  One went for Kerensa, the other three charging Alaric all at once. He dodged and jabbed and blocked with perfect finesse, finishing them off in a matter of seconds. He turned to find that Kerensa had managed to fight off the man who’d attacked her, leaving him on the ground with Ratchet’s abandoned dagger sticking from his back. Alaric wiped Wynter on the back of one of the dead men and sheathed it, then rushed to her side.

  “Are you alright?” Worry laced every word, and he couldn’t be bothered to mask it. “Did he hurt you?”

  She waved him off. “I’m fine, he was too slow to do anything.” Her eyes strayed back to the dead man, face flat on the ground.

  He wondered to himself whether it was the first time she’d ever taken a life. But Alaric couldn’t focus on anything else until he knew for sure that she hadn’t been harmed. “Let me see it.”

  “I said I’m fine, Prince.”

  “I’ll decide that for myself. Let me see it, Kerensa.”

  She crossed her arms, but when he went to lift her chin with a finger, she reluctantly allowed it. She waited while he ran his thumb along the perfectly untouched skin where the knife had lain.

  “I could have sworn he scratched you,” Alaric mumbled.

  She batted his hand away. “Like I told you before, I am fine.”

  Alaric nodded, satisfied, and grabbed her hand. “Then we should get out of here before more come. Or before the witch who did that,”—he gestured to the Ratchet ice sculpture staring coldly at them—“comes back to finish with us.” He began to tug her forward, but she resisted.

  “Witch?” she blurted, face twisting in confusion.

  He quirked a brow. “Has no one told you of the sadistic creatures who terrorize my kingdom?”