Chapter One

 

“ACCORDING TO ISLYNE’S LETTER, I’m supposed to pay attention to you.”

Darian stared bemusedly at the small black and white cat perched beside him on the wide window seat.

In typical feline fashion, she didn’t bother to acknowledge him.

Instead, she continued to groom the sleek black fur of her tail as if it were the most important task in the world.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” he agreed with a self-mocking sigh. “You have more pressing concerns at the moment than a bunch of hopeless royals who haven’t figured out how to get out of their own way.”

Prince Darian.

Third in line to the throne of Darkhar.

Lord of the Eastern Border. Overseer of the Observatory Bridge.

There were at least a half-more titles that belonged to him, but he couldn’t be bothered to remember them at the moment.

None of those lofty labels were any help to him now. And, despite Islyne’s message, it didn’t look like the cat was going to be much use, either.

Darian leaned back and let the wall take his weight. Exhausted from another restless night of ominous dreams, he allowed the brooding dissatisfaction with his life to overwhelm him once more. As he sulked, he idly picked up one of the discarded letters next to him.

With deliberate disinterest, he crumpled Islyne’s carefully written words into a tight ball.

Hefting it consideringly in his hand, he hurled it halfway across the room.

It felt so good to express his disgust at the meaningless message, he repeated it twice more with the other two letters he’d received from the most recent courier.

Cat paused her attention to her tail, watching the paper bounce and skitter over the floor with mild interest.

When the third ball came to a rest, she twisted her head to blink up at him with startling violet eyes.

In a human, that particular color would signify a powerful witch. 

Darian wasn’t quite sure what it meant in an animal.

He just knew it was deeply unsettling to look into the purple depths for any length of time.

As always, Darian blinked first. 

Metaphorically and literally.

His wings flared reflexively, and Darian grimaced. White feathers shivered at the edge of his vision while he fought to pull them back in. 

An outward manifestation of the curse that befell him, and his siblings, five years ago, the unruly appendages often seemed to have a mind of their own. Which wouldn’t be so bad if they weren’t completely useless.

A few ill-considered, and failed, attempts to test them had proven that his wings were most definitely not flightworthy.

Just another inexplicable, unwelcome part of the curse.

Like the dreams that occasionally troubled his sleep.

His intuition had always been strong, and Darian hadn’t thought too much about how regularly those feelings proved reliable. After the curse, however, the dreams began. Dreams that, more often than not, inevitably came true.

The kind of foretelling dreams that the witch clans of the north were known for.

The witch clans his mother was rumored to descend from.

The same witches who were likely responsible for his family’s curse.

Darian snarled, familiar anger and fury bubbling up as he vehemently denied any association with the merciless enchanters. His dreams were a curse. Nothing more.

He didn’t want even the vaguest hint to escape that he might have something in common with the treacherous magic clans.

So Darian kept the visions to himself.

It wasn’t like he could use them to make any kind of difference.

For the most part, he didn’t even understand what they meant until after the fact. Like last night’s vague, blurry memory of reaching desperately for something unseen.

In the pit of his soul, he knew someone was in danger.

But the who, the how, and the where all eluded him.

What was the point of seeing things if he couldn’t make any difference?

Frustrated with all the aspects of his life that he no longer had control over, Darian leaned closer and forced himself to make eye contact with Cat once more. 

“What can you tell me about breaking the curse? Did you help Islyne or Alaistar find a way to free themselves from the magic?”

Because, clearly, there was a way to undo the magic, even if his siblings wouldn’t share the details.

First, Islyne had mysteriously emerged from both her magical slumber and the Thorn Forest that kept her Trapped within the Winter Palace.

Accompanied by the man she’d been forcibly betrothed to. Conall, the thirteenth Duke of Lakentre. A man who made no attempt to hide his disdain for the current royal family or the mess they’d made of ruling Darkhar.

A man who may be the traitor fomenting unrest and chaos throughout the kingdom.

Islyne’s letter assured that Conall could be trusted, but Darian was ruthlessly reserving judgment.

A short time after Islyne’s miraculous reappearance, new rumors had emerged from the coast. Rumors that Alaistar no longer bore the hideous silver mask or the green-tinged skin that had earned him the moniker Frog Prince. The story that made it to the Observatory was a tangle of rumor and guesswork, wildly elaborated on by bards who felt the need to improve a tale with needless drama.

All Darian knew for certain was that a plot to assassinate Alaistar had been foiled. In the process, his brother had met the woman he intended to marry, his curse had been broken, and someone had stolen the worthless gem that gave the Lighthouse its unique blue-green glow.

Of course, Alaistar’s short message offered very little detail beyond that.

Cat remained still, staring back unblinkingly, until Darian sighed and pressed the heel of his hand into his eyes. Then, with a victorious twitch of her tail, Cat jumped off the window seat and began meandering around the circular room.

The Star Room was Darian’s refuge. There was something poetic about a winged man who couldn’t fly preferring such a lofty perch.

Or, perhaps, it was merely pathetic.

Either way, no one bothered him there. 

The chamber was located at the very top of the original observatory. At first, it had been a single, cylindrical tower topped with a smooth dome. A multitude of buildings and wings had been added on over the centuries until it became a sprawling watchtower. 

This room, however, remembered its true purpose.

It had become Darian’s haven in the years since the curse had Trapped him within the confines of the Observatory’s borders.

The chamber itself was a work of art. 

At the center of the dome, a magnificent glass-covered skylight gave a wide view of the night sky. The rest of the curved ceiling was painted dark blue and embellished with bright silver representations of hundreds of constellations. 

The room was lit with four magnificent windows situated at the four cardinal points. Each sported a deep window seat like the one Darian was settled on. The walls between were etched with golden alchemical symbols that dazzled the eyes. Dozens of astronomical and scientific instruments were displayed around the chamber on small, artistically carved oak pedestals.

The grandest of these, however, dominated the center of the room. Set on a round wooden platform, the mysterious device was made of wood and polished metal. Balanced on three thick, intricately carved legs, it climbed delicately up to twice Darian’s height. A careful balance of gears and straps and arms and levers, all precisely placed to hold aloft a single crystal.

The pristinely clear convex lens was encircled with a golden frame that looked almost like a crown. When viewed closely, the metal spikes curved around the crystal looked almost like newly sprouted seedlings reaching for the sun.

It was the only instrument in the room that Darian hadn’t, yet, figured out how to use. 

He’d spent most of the past five years researching, studying, and learning as much as possible about every aspect of curses, magic, and alchemy available in the Observatory’s multiple libraries. Despite the endless hours of reading, he’d found nothing to help him undo the spell that had been cast on his family and destroyed their lives.

While he brooded on his failures, Cat meandered toward one of the heavy wooden support legs on the central device. Eventually, she made herself comfortable next to the pile of balled-up papers Darian had tossed there earlier. He should have thrown the frustrating dispatches directly into the fire for all the use they were to him.

Yet, one of them was the letter from Islyne.

As maddening as the lack of information was, he couldn’t quite bring himself to completely destroy a note from the baby sister he’d barely been allowed to know.

Even if her letter made very little sense.

“She promised that the curse could be broken, you know,” Darian explained conversationally to the cat. He didn’t really believe the animal could have anything to do with how Islyne and Alaistar had freed themselves from the cursed magic.

Unfortunately, he had no one else to talk to.

“Though she refused to tell me how. ‘The paradox of the magic means that if I tell you the key to undoing the curse, it will no longer work.‘” A sneer twisted Darian’s mouth as he quoted his sister’s message. “All she’d say was that the dark magic was meant as a punishment for Aegron.”

A growl of anger burned in his gut at the cruel injustice of it all.

“Just one more way he avoided the repercussions of his own actions by letting his kids take the brunt of his transgressions.”

Darian bit back on the torrent of candid resentment pouring out of him. Cat or not, his feelings about his family were not something he ever shared intentionally.

Clearing his throat, Darian took a moment to bring his thoughts under control.

“Are you the cat she warned me to watch for?” Amusement curled through the absurd question. “Do you know what I need to do to get my life back?”

Darian didn’t expect Cat to respond, of course. Nor did he expect any animal, feline or otherwise, to hold the answer to breaking his curse.

He believed his sister believed it, however. At this point, he wouldn’t disregard any crumb of possibility to free himself from the magic that kept him Trapped in more ways than one.

Still, even if there was a sliver of truth that a black and white cat had helped Islyne, it couldn’t be this one. The stray had been spotted around the Observatory too often to have been anywhere near the Winter Palace, where Islyne had been cut off from the rest of the kingdom by a nearly impenetrable thorn forest. 

Which meant Darian had no more leads now than he had before the letter arrived.

Frustration rumbled in his throat and all amusement fled.

He was still stuck. Left to deal with his condition. Alone.

Familiar melancholy wrapped its arms around Darian, and he settled into the darkness of his thoughts once more.

Seemingly uninterested in his self-pity, Cat resumed the intense grooming of her fur. This time, her attention centered on one already pristine, white-tipped paw.

As she shifted to better reach it, her tail twitched and set one of the balled-up papers tumbling across the floor.

“That one was from Alaistar, I believe.” The older brother whose shadow Darian had lived in his whole life. Who he both idolized and resented. “He offered the same platitudes as Islyne. With considerably less sentimentality.”

He looked past it to the smallest paper sphere and let his lip curl slightly. “The third note was the shortest of them all. Of course, Kyllean never has much to say.”

Cat’s attention jerked up at the mention of his oldest brother like she was reacting to his name.

After a considering moment, Darian shook his head and laughed at his imagination. The cat’s reaction was certainly only an odd coincidence. 

It seemed very unlikely that a stray cat would know the name of the man who should be king.

Then again, Kyllean always had a way with animals.

Even before he became the Beast King.

Rumor was that Darian’s brother refused to be seen outside his chambers without a magical cloak that concealed him from head to toe.

Those few who claimed to see him without it, however, insisted he was now more beast than man.

Darian hadn’t seen for himself, of course. Beyond the physical and magical manifestations of the curse that had befallen each of Aegron’s children at the moment of his death, they’d become Trapped as well.

When the curse settled on the third day, a two-mile or so magic boundary had been drawn around the place where the curse resided. Anyone who had been within those bounds was Trapped, unable to cross the invisible line that encircled each territory. Thankfully, everyone else could come and go with ease.

Because of the curse, Kyllean wasn’t truly the King of Darkhar yet. Tradition and law required that he be crowned in the kingdom’s Summer Palace.

Until the curse was broken, Kyllean was Trapped in the northern reaches of Darkhar. Stuck within the Library of the Witches.

Because of Aegron the Cruel’s paranoia, his children had been residing in far-flung corners of the kingdom when the curse fell. Leaving Darkhar to descend into chaos and confusion.

Cat poked at the small wad of paper, and Darian smiled with dark humor.

“Want to hear what he had to say?”

Violet eyes met his with a bland, unamused stare. But there was an unnatural stillness in her posture. As if she was waiting.

With a shrug, he got up and retrieved the crumpled letter.

“It’s difficult to get messages in and out of the Library, so Kyllean keeps his missives simple and direct,” Darian explained as he tried to unravel the letter without tearing it. Located in the savage northern reaches, the Library of the Witches protected the only safe pass through the treacherous mountains that separated the kingdoms of Darkhar and Thuaidar. 

Once the letter was uncurled enough to be legible, Darian cleared his throat and lowered his voice into a mocking version of his oldest sibling’s overly serious cadence.

“There’s possible trouble brewing on the eastern border. Listen to Brathe.”

Darian curled his hand back into a fist, crushing the message into a tight ball once more.

“That’s it. That’s the whole thing. Nothing about what kind of trouble. Nothing about where the information came from. Nothing about who might be behind it.”

Darian dropped the wadded paper back onto the floor with the other two.

“Of course, Brathe thinks the best solution is to arrange negotiation here. Apparently, the small measure of success at the Citadel made him think diplomacy would work here.”

The last thing Darian wanted was dozens of strangers invading his space. Since the curse took over his life, he’d much preferred to be left alone.

He paused, honesty forcing him to correct himself.

Preferred wasn’t the right word. His talents and personality had always excelled with a crowd to play to.

No. Solitude was more of a necessity now. While the useless wings were the most obvious sign of the curse, they weren’t the worst of it.

Not even close.

The most terrible element of the curse was the part that Darian had spent the past five years trying to keep secret from everyone.

He could not lie.

Because of the curse, only the truth could pass through Darian’s lips now.

While he’d learned to hold back or talk around things, the need to tell the whole truth was a constant compulsion. It was an ongoing battle to silence his honest thoughts every second of every day.

In the beginning, Darian had been horrified to find himself spilling the truth everywhere. So he’d withdrawn, spending most of his time within the melancholy isolation of the Star Room, secluded at the very top of the Observatory’s original tower.

Darian had embraced the role of eccentric recluse to maintain some semblance of control. An impression he’d deliberately chosen and carefully crafted to keep the world at arm’s length.

The moody Gothic prince, Trapped in his airy tower and staring moodily out at the world.

The image went well with the wings.

And it was better than risking anyone ever seeing the true Darian hidden beneath the façade. 

Because the real Darian had never been enough.

He wasn’t the eldest, groomed to be king.

He had none of the talent for war that Alaistar, and later Raneir, showed. As a child, he’d wanted to be a scholar. Even then, Darian had known better than to allow anyone to suspect his true passion. Instead, he’d used his interest in history and philosophy to teach himself to see patterns and anticipate outcomes. He developed a silver tongue and preternatural ability to read people, then ruthlessly used all those skills to become a consummate politician.

Proving himself to be an influential force within the Court had been amusing. Especially when his father acknowledged that Darian’s talents had proved useful.

The grudging acknowledgment had filled Darian with an exhilaration that quickly became addictive.

So, he’d spent years perfecting the façade he showed to the world. Convincing everyone, including himself, that he was as capable and skilled and useful as his brothers.

Darian would not allow some misfired curse to force him to show his true self now. 

Unfortunately, keeping his distant, reclusive veneer in place would be difficult when the Observatory was filled with diplomats trained to read the smallest shift in expression or tone. It would take every bit of focus and skill Darian possessed to keep himself hidden.

Otherwise, his true thoughts and feelings would come spilling out of his lips every time he let his guard down. Not to mention the bizarre, prophetic dreams that had plagued Darian for the past five years.

And that was the last thing he wanted to happen in a room full of strangers.

Even if it was more than likely that not all of them would be strangers.

Consul Viator, the preeminent diplomat in Darkhar, would likely lead an enclave of this level of importance. 

Darian was both eager and reluctant to see Viator again. 

He’d studied under the ambassador, briefly, and it had been the best few weeks of Darian’s life.

The summer he’d spent at Viator’s country estate had been idyllic. So much so that Darian let his guard down more than he’d ever intended to. He’d allowed himself to wallow in the happiness he’d found there.

Only to be forced to destroy that brief, blissful interlude himself when the halcyon summer came to an abrupt end when Aegron had recalled him to the Palace. 

Cat jumped up on the ledge next to Darian, startling him from his reverie. Nudging his elbow, she pushed past him to press up against the glass and stare down at the bridge far below them.

Centuries ago, a violent cataclysm had ripped through the continent Morroinn. When it ended, the five kingdoms had been changed forever. The upheaval in the terrain made it impossible to move around the continent without passing through one of Darkhar’s four watchtowers.

A wide canyon cut off the eastern kingdom of Ythar from the rest of the continent. Only a single bridge spanned the terrifying depths of the ravine at the narrowest part of the divide.

The Observatory dominated the narrow jut of land that thrust its way into the gorge and oversaw the collection of tolls.

From where Darian stood, both ends of the bridge were clearly visible. As was the group of riders approaching the guard post on the western entrance of the bridge. Unfortunately, he was up much too high to make out any details. He He couldn’t discern any of the individuals who made up the party, but he had no doubt this was the diplomat entourage Brathe had sent to him. 

Which meant the time for brooding alone in his tower was at an end.

With a put-upon sigh, Darian folded his wings more tightly against his back. There was no chance of hiding them, but he couldn’t help trying to make them as unobtrusive as possible.

The sight of them always led to the same ridiculous question and he was beyond tired of explaining that he couldn’t actually fly.