EVIL WEARS A CROWN

EVIL WEARS A CROWN

First published: October 14th 2023

© 2023 Rani De Vadder

© 2023 Hamley Books Publishing

Cover design by Sleepy Fox Cover Designs

Interior design by Design by Lotte

ISBN 9789464661903

NUR 285

Theme Code: YFCB 15+

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Love isn’t soft like those poets say. Love has teeth which bite and the wounds never close.

—Stephen King

To my love

Amor Vincit Omnia

WORD FROM THE AUTHOR

Dear Reader,

Before you start this book, I want you to understand why this story is different from anything I have ever written before.

I wrote Evil Wears a Crown during the pandemic. A big part of it came to be when I was in isolation and found myself to feel utterly alone. I realized what an enormous impact Covid had on everyone’s lives and I felt the need to express the feelings and thoughts I experienced then by adding them to my manuscript.

I wanted to write a book about people—about friends, about enemies, and about lovers—showcasing how different relationships were affected in various ways during the pandemic.

Most of all, I wanted to recreate what I missed most during the pandemic: touch, affection, closeness. A thing we all took for granted or believed to be trivial, until the day the world went into lockdown and families, friends, and lovers got separated not only by different houses but sometimes even by borders and oceans.

I want to show that you aren’t alone in those feelings, when you read this book, and I hope we all come to realize how valuable our different connections and relationships are.

Welcome to the story of Nesrin and Slate.

With love,

Rani

THE CURSE

PROLOGUE

The woman was more beautiful than anyone he had ever seen. And so, when she caught his eye for the first time, he immediately knew everything would change.

He had been sitting in the snow for hours, rubbing his hands together to keep his fingers from freezing off while tiny white clouds billowed into the crispy air. Above his head, the sky had become a stormy gray. Menacing dark clouds had moved closer, rolling in like high waves, and seemed to predict even more snow.

If the storm were to break, he would have to leave soon, to make it home before the heavy weather. Yet, he would be coming home empty-handed, and he wouldn’t be able to feed both his wife and children. The empty stomachs of his family kept him frozen in place, while the storm surged on, making the branches above his head shake and rattle like broken bones.

***

The woman appeared out of nowhere.

One moment, he was staring at a point in the distance, and the next, he blinked and turned his head away for no more than a heartbeat, lost in thought. As soon as he looked up again, he saw her.

She was wearing a strange coat as black as the pelt of a bear. The fabric seemed to move around her body, as if living shadows closed around her naked arms and legs only to disappear once more. Behind her, golden sunlight broke through the clouds, causing a halo of rays to glow around her curvy body.

Her eyes, however, were as pale as ice, edged with black around the irises which made her pupils seem deep and endless, like empty sockets. He averted his gaze, for although her face was drop-dead gorgeous, her strange eyes frightened him.

She walked silently toward him. He saw the curves of her body move gently with her, like a boat on the waves. Only when she was standing right in front of him did she come to a halt. He’d expected to feel the heat of her body, but all there was was cold. He didn’t dare to look at her directly, yet he still did. His eyes slid over her neck, shoulders, and chest even though he never caught her frosty gaze.

“Amos,” she said.

How did she know his name? he wanted to ask her, until he realized his tongue was sticking to his palate. His throat felt dry and filled with words that wouldn’t come.

“Amos.”

“Who—” The word forced itself out with difficulty and he felt like a child that had to learn how to talk again.

She raised a hand. “You dared venture into the Massif,” she said softly. “Why?”

“My—my wife and kids.” As soon as he managed to speak again, the words came naturally. “We live at the edge of the mountains, where growing food is hard. Our stomachs have been empty for weeks, our children have hollow eye sockets and shadows under their rib cages. I saw no other option.”

“But the Massif is full of danger,” she replied. She tilted her head. “What do you want to achieve?”

“If I hunt the beasts, I can sell their pelts. That will get us through the rest of winter.”

The woman nodded. “Certainly,” she said. “Their fur is very valuable, but it costs you much to kill such a beast. The animals here are magical and cursed, stronger than humans. How do you think you will succeed?”

To that, Amos knew no answer. He stared at the bow lying in the snow in front of him. The wood had become damp and warped, the feathers on the arrows had had their best days. The dagger lying next to them was in no better shape. He would never be able to cut the throat of a bear or wolf with it, let alone a wild saber-toothed tiger. There was a much bigger chance of him bleeding to death in the snow, though there was nothing wrong with hoping, right?

The woman smiled. “I see you have the right attitude. That’s why I’ll help you out a bit.” She clapped her hands and suddenly Amos heard a strange rumbling in the Massif.

From the snow rose a weapon. It was a beautiful white bow, made of material that looked familiar to Amos, but he couldn’t think of what exactly it was. Shadows seemed to be wrapped around the black tip, eagerly reaching around. They looked like hands and fingers.

“Never touch the arrowheads,” the woman warned him. “It would be the death of you. If you hit an animal with it, it will die. I promise you that.”

“Why would you do this for me?” Amos touched the bow and arrows, which felt hard and cold. “What do you gain from it?”

A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “A deal,” she said. “The animals threaten me, so I’m looking for men who are willing to kill them. That’s what you will be doing now, and I’ll be happy about it. The arrangement holds until your family has enough to eat again.”

Amos nodded slowly. Grateful. Touched by her gesture. “I won’t forget this...”

“Sybella,” she said. “Call me Sybella. Come to me every month. Then you can show me your progress. You can find me in the mountain that stands just below the moon at midnight. It’s the only black mountain in the Massif, without snow on the top.”

Amos had no other choice but to agree.

***

The hunt was a success. He killed more animals than expected, finally filling the stomachs of his wife and children. Every month, he would seek out Sybella and inform her which animals he had killed, after which she proudly told him to continue his work.

Amos was sure he wasn’t in love with her. He loved his wife, even though she complained a lot and although she asked him every month why he had to leave again. He told her it had to do with the moon, that the brightest moon produced the best hunting, but the lie became easier the more he told her so. Where at first it had tasted bitter, he now found its taste rather sweet.

***

One night, the wolves appeared. They came from the shadows, their white pelts rippling in the moonlight. Amos warningly waved his bow in front of their evil faces, and he placed an arrow on it, but they kept on following him.

When he arrived at the cave, they tried to jump in front of him. With bared fangs and claws, they seemed to want to drive him away, back to his house at the foot of the Massif, with his wife and children and the owl they had saved.

“Leave me alone,” he hissed. “Or do I have to kill you?”

The wolves growled.

He didn’t want to kill them, not like this. Yet, he cocked his bow in warning.

“Amos.” Sybella’s voice drifted from the cave toward him. Shadows slid out and the wolves flinched, snarling. Every time a beast came into contact with the dark magic, it yelped in pain. Amos ran inside. “Stop!” he yelled.

Panting, he came to a halt in front of her. “You don’t need to hurt them.”

Sybella chuckled. “Says you, the man who kills them.”

He bit his lip until it hurt.

Sybella was completely naked. She turned toward him, and he stared silently at her milky-white breasts. His heart was beating hard in his chest. The shadows in her eyes wrapped around her neck and shoulders, forming the familiar dark dress with the white beads, covering her body. She held out a hand and placed a crown made out of shards of ice on her head. From her earlobes hung two shiny objects that strongly looked like claws.

“How’s the hunt going, Amos?”

“G-good,” he stuttered. “We live a good life. We can certainly go a few months without hunting now, maybe even longer.”

“Good.” Shadows pushed into his back. He struggled, but his body moved closer and closer to Sybella, who was watching in silence. “Then it is time to end our agreement. You have done a good job.”

“But...”

“Hush...” She placed a finger against her black lips. When she smiled, he saw shadows flowing from her mouth. “Now come the extra conditions, Amos. For a deal always has a price. When you borrow money, you must always pay interest, right?”

Petrified, he stared at her. Outside howled and yelped the wolves. The animals had warned him. They had tried to help him. He should have listened, but he had believed to be in a position of power.

Suddenly he realized something else: the beads on her dress weren’t beads. They were bones. Finger bones, toe stubs, knuckles, vertebrae.

Sybella tilted her head. “Are you in love with me, Amos?”

“N-no.” He cleared his throat. “No. I love my wife.”

Sybella laughed barkingly, like a pent-up dog. “Love. Liking someone. It makes me sick.”

Mockingly, she shook her pretty head. “You’re pathetic, Amos. Love doesn’t exist. It is a lie humans tell themselves to feel closure. It’s disgusting. And you certainly do not love your wife.”

He balled his hand into a fist.

“Because why would you secretly visit another woman every month? Why would you stare at my naked body without averting your gaze? Why would you lie to your wife? Why, Amos?” Her icy breath caressed his face. “Tell me why.”

He wanted to answer but couldn’t find the words.

“That’s why you’re mine now,” she hissed. “You’ve been wanting to kiss me for months. Well, kiss me, then.”

And she pushed him closer with her shadows. The shards of ice adorning her evil crown blinded him. Amos struggled. He heard the bones on her dress rattle and caught the wolves howling outside. He thought of his wife, about the way she laboriously bent over to clean the house every single day. He thought of his children and the owl they had saved that kept the vermin at bay. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “I just want to see my wife and children.”

“Oh, but you will,” Sybella replied. The next moment, she opened her black mouth and the shadows slipped down his throat before she pressed her lips on his.

The kiss tasted of ash and death.

1.

On the day the prince died, everything changed.

All day, Slate had been standing dead still in front of the enormous gold-lined palace doors. His back and feet ached, as they did every time, even though the other guards had told him it would become easier once he’d gotten used to it.

After three years, that still wasn’t the case.

Every evening, he retired to his small room, which he shared with Taron, a palace guard who’d been serving for at least fifteen years. At night, Taron snored so loudly that Slate had already rammed a few tissues into his nostrils, which the older man had kept blowing loose with a trumpeting sound, but his snoring hadn’t diminished even a little in all those years. Slate wanted to sleep with wads in his ears, but he couldn’t. He was a guard after all, meaning he had to be alert at all times, ready to fight the evil that threatened the royal family.

Unfortunately, he would become the danger.

“You need to rest.” He pricked his ears when he caught the voice of the court healer. “You’ve been out all day. Your father wouldn’t want—”

“My father is ill.” Prince Orion appeared in Slate’s field of vision. He shook his long and tousled golden-blond hairs out of his eyes and pushed the court healer away from him. “He’s dying.”

“And that’s why it would be better for you to be near him, instead of running off at random, Your Highness.”

“You dare to speak to me like this?” The prince raised his eyebrows and spat out the question like a fish bone.

Slate had to give it to the court healer for not flinching. Instead, the man bowed deeply, causing his white robe covered in scales and bones to rattle over the tiles of the palace. “My apologies, Your Highness, but as your healer I merely tell you what my experience and study have taught me. I’m sure it would do the king good to see you again.”

Slate felt his heart shoot in his throat at seeing the reaction of the prince. Something inside of Orion seemed to snap, as if the court healer had told him he had no right to the throne. The prince balled his hands into fists. “I know what you want: you want to make sure I become ill as well. You very well know we must stay away from him, so this curse will finally cease to exist. You’re working for my aunt, aren’t you? Or my mother? She probably can’t wait for all of us to die so that she can take the throne.”

––––––––

The court healer stumbled backwards. “Your Highness, I...”

But Orion stomped past him and ran toward the palace. Slate noticed that he had unconsciously clasped his hands more strongly around his lance, as if preparing for a fight. He raised his chin when the prince passed him and nodded curtly.

Right at that moment, Orion tripped and fell against Slate. The guard reacted immediately. He let go of his lance to catch the prince, who came to rest on Slate with his full weight. Slate’s gloved hands pushed Orion up again before the prince could fully pull him along to the ground.

“Th-thanks.” Prince Orion hurriedly stepped backwards. He was panting as if he had just been running. There was nothing left of his pugnacious attitude, which he had used to challenge the court healer. Unexpectedly, Slate noticed the prince’s face was as white as milk. Dark bags hung under his blue eyes, in which black spots caught the sunlight like pebbles under water.

“I have to go,” the prince said. “Thank you.”

Slate didn’t say a word. It wasn’t his task, but he did cast a look at the court healer. The man was standing still, with a frown on his fat face. He bared his arm and pressed his fingers against his skin while he sucked on his lip, lost in thought.

As soon as Orion had disappeared through the double doors, the man hobbled after him. Slate suppressed the urge to stop the healer.

***

As evening fell and Slate took off his clothes to wash himself with a bucket of cold water, he let his hands slide into his jacket. His fingers bumped into a piece of paper.

Frowning, Slate pulled it out. It was sealed with the royal seal—a gold seal on which a black saber-toothed tiger had been printed, since these animals were sacred in the kingdom of Wicca.

“What’s that?”

With a jerk, Slate turned around. Hastily, he hid the letter behind his naked back. “Nothing.”

Conrad, a guard who’d been in service for five years, grinned crookedly. “I think Slate has gotten his first love letter, if you ask me.”

The other guards started laughing. “Read it to us!” they yowled. “Romantic, sensual dreams, Slate?”

“Yes,” Conrad laughed while raising a hand. “Show us.”

“It’s nothing.” Slate felt his cheeks run red. “It’s—it’s a letter from my mother.”

Now, everyone started laughing. Of course, they would. Palace guards didn’t think of their parents, and they certainly didn’t talk about their mothers. They took the job to earn money to send to their family and at night they drank and enjoyed the few free hours they had, even though they secretly dreamed of their life at home. Slate did so too. He missed his mother and sister greatly.

They lived at the edge of the Monster Massif, which was a huge mountain range that split the east and west side of Wicca in two like a jagged wound. Everyone talked about magic and darkness, about monsters and curses, when they mentioned it. Although Slate’s family lived at the very edge of it, they had never been bothered by it, but their lives hadn’t been easy.

Slate remembered clearly how their mother had practically taken food out of her mouth to feed him and Eira. To still her own hunger, she’d been chewing on everything she could find.

His father, Amos, had sometimes traveled as far as the foothills of the Massif to hunt game. In the mountains lived magical creatures, such as white wolves as big as rocks and bears with silver, white, and black fur. There were even whispers that the animals there could talk, that they were as smart as humans, that they were waiting for a moment of revenge, though no one really understood why.

Amos had caught a few animals there. They had brought in money. They had sold the pelts at local markets, as well as the claws and fangs. However, no one in their right mind wanted to eat the meat, since it was cursed, or so people said. Luckily, the rest had provided them with enough money to live an almost-comfortable life.

But one day, Amos had not returned.

Slate still remembered it clearly.

It had been a beautiful day. The air had been as soft as snow and as blue as the Cristal Lake. His father had put on his fur hat of fox skin and his gloves with the bear claws. He had buttoned up his boots filled with duck feathers and put his spear into his belt. Then he had placed the strange, white bow over his shoulder.

He had stood in front of Slate, who’d been sixteen summers old by then and had been eager to go with his father.

His sister, Eira, was fourteen. She was playing with their tame owl, which Slate had once rescued out of a hunting net someone had left in the branches of a tree.

“I know you want to come with me,” his father had said, “but you’ll have to wait a little longer.”

“I’m old enough.” Slate wrapped his arms around him. “And you know that as well as I do.”

“Next summer,” his father replied. “Promise.”

Slate had been furious. He had run to his room and had seen his father walk toward the Massif until he had turned into a little dot that had dissolved into nothingness.

The hours after that he’d been thinking about everything he wanted to say to Amos when he returned. He would tell him that he was old enough and wouldn’t listen to what his father told him anymore. He would steal the bow and kill an animal to become important to the family as well. Two breadwinners would live in their house, not just one. His father would be proud of him.

Then, the weather had changed.

Summer storms happened frequently, but never without a warning. Out of the blue, in less than an hour, the sky had turned black and gray like a wolf’s pelt. Everywhere, lightning bolts had pierced the loaded air and from the Massif came persistent and ominous rumbling.

“Avalanches,” Slate heard his mother whisper. She pressed a hand to her mouth. “Oh, spare him.”

That night, they ate alone. Killis, as their owl was called, was looking out the window in silence. It seemed as if it could hear their father with the little plumes on its head, or maybe it could see him with its strange orange eyes. Slate laid a hand on the soft feathers of the owl, under which he felt its tiny heart beating strongly, and followed its gaze outside.

His own heart had abruptly pounded hard in his throat at what he saw. Yellow, slitted eyes glistened in the shadows. A figure had appeared, a black spot in the moonlight that painted the mountains in silver. The figure was as tall as Amos and it wore the same clothes, but it no longer was Slate’s father. Its eyes were those of a cat and black dots reached out across its skin like raindrops.

When Amos stepped into the light, Slate saw every bone through his skin. His fingers had barely any flesh on them, as if someone had removed all the fat from underneath them. It reminded Slate of the cadavers he occasionally found in the river, the skin eaten away by fish.

Killis screeched warningly.

Amos took another step closer, and another one.

Suddenly, he was standing in front of the window, but it wasn’t fogged up by his breath. He tilted his head in a way that was completely unnatural before opening his mouth. Living shadows crawled out from between his lips, pressing themselves like tongues against the glass. Screaming, Slate flinched, stumbled backward, and landed on the ground.

When he looked up, his father had disappeared.

And after that, Slate had never seen him again.

***

As soon as Slate got the chance, he escaped. He hurried back to his shared room, followed by the howling of the guards, and ducked under his covers. Hastily, he took out his glowstick and shook it a few times. The fireflies trapped inside of it flared up immediately. Under their greenish light, he tore the seal to pieces and unfolded the letter.

What he saw, confused him. He had expected anything but this. There were no more than two words in the letter, written in an elegant handwriting of someone of nobility:

Kill me.

2.

That night, Slate barely closed an eye. Again and again, his thoughts crept back to those two simple words. Words written by the prince. Words written by a man who was his superior. Prince Orion had given him an order and orders weren’t to be ignored, yet Slate felt no need to obey him.

It must be a mistake, he thought. It surely isn’t from the prince. It’s probably a lame joke by Conrad, or one of the other guards. They’ve teased me enough in the past.

Maybe it had something to do with the court healer. What if he’d given the letter to the prince, who in turn had unwittingly passed it on to Slate so that he could kill the prince now that the king was ill? Then, only Princess Nesrin would be in the way of Orion’s aunt. And if it were true that the court healer was conspiring with that woman, Slate couldn’t just let that happen.

But still...

He shook his head, pressing it into his pillow. He would sleep on it overnight, and then see if the prince might give him some sort of sign. It would be horrible if this were some kind of joke. Then he would hang anyway, for he would lead Wicca to its doom.

But, even it wasn’t a joke, why would the prince ask this of him?

***

As the hours crept by and Slate couldn’t fall asleep, he put on his clothes and walked out of his room.

For hours he wandered through the corridors. The guards he came across cast him questioning glances but didn’t stop him. Shadows crept up the stone walls like erratic, dark thoughts. Slate felt himself being watched and his breath left his lips in shallow and quick gulps. The longer he walked, the more sweat beaded on his body.

The moment the sun appeared just above the horizon, painting the sky pink and soft like roses, he heard loud footsteps behind him. Slate turned, looking straight into Taron’s face. “The prince wants to speak to you.”

“The prince?” His voice shook. He swallowed to regain composure. “Why?”

“We don’t ask questions, or did you forget?” Taron looked at him crossly. “Come on, Slate. We’ve been looking for you for quite a while now.”

Slate suddenly wished he’d had some sleep after all. While following Taron, he felt his legs shaking with fatigue. His mouth was dry of thirst. He shook his shoulders to loosen up the muscles, even though his neck still felt tense. 

They walked right into the heart of the palace, after which they took one of the four stairways that led to the top of the building. There, they walked through a long, marble hall that glistened on all sides with golden statues and majestic chandeliers covered in diamonds. Slate’s family could live off just a single piece for months.

Finally, they reached a double door inlaid with black onyx. In front of it stood two personal guards of the prince, looking at him grimly. They clearly didn’t understand why the prince had called for an ordinary palace guard and they certainly didn’t seem eager to welcome him inside.

Soundlessly, their faces stern, the men opened the doors. With a wildly pounding heart, Slate walked into the room. To his surprise, the guard disappeared outside, leaving him alone in the huge chamber which had various corridors leading to other spaces.

On the other side of the room, the prince was seated on a velvet sofa close to the window, staring outside. He wore his long hair in a tousled ponytail full of tangles, low against the back of his head.

Slate could remember he’d noticed that immediately after seeing the prince for the first time. Everything about prince Orion seemed wild and untamed, and perhaps even a little nonchalant.

He dared to come outside in clothes that had rags of cloth sewn on them, or with the stench of beer still on his breath. Even his chin and cheeks weren’t smoothly shaved, as was the case with Slate. The prince was one big question mark.

Prince Orion slowly turned and again Slate was shocked at how he looked. He tried his best to keep a straight face, but the corner of his mouth was trembling a little. He knew the prince had noticed it too.

The young man smiled wearily. “Beautiful, isn’t it?” he asked while making a big arm gesture.

Slate tried to say something, but he was lost for words.

Orion stood up and stretched like a cat. “You’re probably wondering why I’ve chosen you,” he began.

“M-me?”

“Yes, you.” He frowned. “You got the letter, right?”

So, it really was true. Slate nodded reluctantly. “Yes,” he managed to say. “Yesterday.”

“Then you know what you must do.”

“Your Highness, I do not understand.”

Orion heaved a sigh. “What do you not understand?”

“I—You want me to kill you.”

The prince nodded as if it were a simple matter. He tapped against a golden cage in which sat a figure of a gilded bird. “Do you know why we don’t keep any animals? Why the ones we do have are made out of gold? Do you know why my father never rides horses? Why he’s never successful at hunting?”

“No...”

“Because he’s cursed,” the prince articulated slowly. “There’s a curse in his blood and bones. Animals don’t like it. They sense it. They either flee, or they attack him.”

“Cursed, my lord?” Slate hated the squeak in his voice.

Prince Orion smiled crookedly. “Oh, yes. Our royal house is cursed. The queen didn’t die, little guard. She cursed the king.”

“Why?” Slate hastily pressed his lips together, but the question had slipped from his mouth too quickly to take back.

“I don’t know exactly,” Orion replied. “I’ve never known her very well, you know. As soon as my sister was born, my mother ‘died’.” He made quotation marks in the air. “After that, my father never managed to find another wife because he was cursed. He sent her away thinking he could forget about her and choose someone new. Not so.”

“But what does this have to do with you?”

“Everything.” Orion balled a fist. Now, Slate saw something strange: there were black veins under the prince’s skin, and he saw...bones.

His body became as cold as ice.

“Never again did my father touch anyone. He lived without affection, while fighting the curse that slowly overtook him. The monster inside of him waited and slumbered, tried to force him to touch others. But he never did. Even the healers weren’t allowed to touch him. Until he finally did touch someone, not so long ago.”

Slate wanted to run. He wanted to strike the prince down. He wanted to turn around and never look back. He saw Amos in front of him. The shadows flowing out of his mouth.

Then the prince was standing before him. He extended a hand but pulled it back. “Kill me,” he spat, “because I cannot do it myself. The curse doesn’t want it. It doesn’t allow it.”

Amos. The prince. Black eyes. Black veins.

“You can try it yourself, can’t you? With medicine, or with—”

“I have tried that, believe me.” His eyes danced in their sockets. “I tried everything, little guard. I tried to drown myself, but the water changed into shadows. I tried to stab my own heart out, but my rib cage became like a shield of bone. I took medicine, but the curse pushed it out of my throat. The curse doesn’t want to die, guard. It wants to live, take, and rule.”

“But why me?” Slate repeated stubbornly.

“Because you must do it.” Orion looked at him sternly. “I’m the prince. My word is law.”

“Surely not when it comes to murder,” Slate hissed. “You will declare disaster on me. I will hang.”

“Yes,” the prince panted. “That’s true. But you’ll save the realm. When my father dies, Princess Nesrin will rule. She is pure, untouched by the curse. She will save our world.”

“I shouldn’t be the one sacrificing myself...”

“Am I not making the greatest sacrifice of all?” the prince snarled. He pointed at himself, pressing a finger against his chest. “My death will change the bloodline of our royal house, for I ought to be king. I’m sorry, guard, but you are no one. If you kill me, you’ll be locked up and be put to death. But that will be all. No one will think of conspiracies, or rebellions. They will believe you were mad.”

Slate balled his hands into fists. “You cannot ask this of me.”

“Your purpose is to serve the royal family.”

“But you aren’t the king. If I were to ask him for permission, he would refuse. You know that too.”

“The king is no longer thinking rationally,” Orion replied. “The curse answers through his mouth.”

Slate took a step back. He had to get out of here. He should do everything he was ordered to do, but the idea of killing the prince went too far. It was wrong.

“Perhaps the curse is speaking through you right now,” he tried.

Orion laughed mockingly. “The curse would never let itself be killed, little guard. That would be stupid.” He held out his hand toward Slate’s weapon belt. “Take a dagger and do it. Now.”

“You aren’t only punishing me but also my family. They live off my work.”

“A small sacrifice for the greater good.” For a moment, Slate noticed something that almost resembled regret in the prince’s eyes. “Such is life, guard. Some people just get more done than others. It’s no different. Don’t think I’m enjoying this.”

Slate felt a lump in his throat. Silently, he stared at the pale bone-like fingers of the prince, pulling the simple dagger from his belt. For a while, they just faced each other like this: prince and guard. Someone and no one.

Then Orion pressed the weapon into Slate’s hand.

He slowly closed his fingers around the hilt, which felt icy cold after the prince’s touch. Slate tasted something metallic on his tongue, as if he’d just run very hard and had a taste of blood on his lips. “This is an impossible task,” he whispered.

“I know.” Shivering, the prince closed his eyes. A single black tear glistened in the corner of his eye. “Now, Slate.”

Slate took a deep breath. He spun the weapon around in his hand. The prince stepped closer until they stood chest to chest.

“And don’t touch me,” he added softly.

As soon as Slate exhaled, he thrust the dagger forward. The weapon sliced smoothly through creaking bone, muscle, and sinew. The prince made a soft sound, a sob almost. His body became heavy and fell against Slate, who desperately tried to avoid any kind of touch. Slowly, they sank to the ground, together.

With a thud, their knees hit the floor. Prince Orion groaned and stared wide-eyed at Slate. “Good job, little guard.” He smiled with blood on his lips and teeth. “Thank you.”

Slate felt hot tears run down his cheeks. Instantly, the feeling spread to his hands. He looked down; hot and sticky blood streamed over his fingers. It was pitch black and burned like fire on his skin. Slate gasped, recoiling as shadows shot out from the wound and poured onto his body.

“Run!” the dying prince groaned. “Run!”

Slate scrabbled away and spun around. He hurried toward the double, closed doors that held him captive in this horrible room. He fumbled at the lock, but it didn’t open. Panting, he turned back. The prince lay moaning on the floor while a pool of unnatural dark blood spread across the tiles. “Idiot,” he groaned. “Flee!”

But Slate had nowhere to go. His gaze slid to the wide-opened window, the curtains flowing with the breeze. Maybe that was what he had to do: jump.

What he’d just done would certainly become the death of him, so then he had better do it himself. He rushed toward the window and crawled onto the spotless couch with his dirty boots.

Before he took the jump, he looked back one more time. Black, almost touchable, sticky shadows shot toward him. Slate flinched with his hands clasped around the window frame. The black eyes of the prince stared at him as he bared his sharp, animal-like teeth. The next moment, the shadows hit Slate squarely in his chest.

Gasping for breath, Slate stumbled. He grabbed around in desperation, but he couldn’t grasp anything to hold onto. Crying out in fear, he staggered backward and somehow the world disappeared from under his feet.

He fell while desperately waving his arms.

So, this is it.

Slate closed his eyes.

3.

“Father.”

Everything felt like darkness in the enormous throne room. The once white walls were now covered with sticky, black streaks and thick stains. The marble floor was full of cracks, like roots that had broken through the stone. Heavy sheets had been hung in front of the windows to keep out prying eyes. Not that those would be able to see much, for along the inside of the room housed a constant twilight.

Nesrin shivered as she stood with her back against the wall. “Father,” she repeated. “It’s me. Nesrin.”

The king didn’t answer. His body lay in the center of the room, like the beating heart of the darkness. His blond hairs had turned gray and drab, as if he’d bathed in ash.

Nesrin shuffled forward. As befitted a princess, she carried no weapons. No visible weapons, at least. A dagger sat hidden in her boot. Between her breasts hid a razor-sharp claw she’d had for years, stolen from a wolverine who’d dared to attack her.

Nesrin shook off her fear and stepped even closer. She avoided the strange shadows on the floor, as well as the cracks, which was quite a task. When she finally reached him, it took her a terrible effort to look at him.

Her father had his eyes open, though they were no longer there. Instead of bright-colored irises and the whites of his eyes, two black holes from which darkness rolled out gaped back at her. His mouth was open, so she could see his black tongue and sharp teeth. His skin had the color of the sea on a stormy day. Sickly. Virtually dead.

“Father?”

His body shook. He turned to face her. “Nesrin.”

It had been ages since he’d last said her name. She had looked forward to it for months, but now it felt wrong. His voice was that of his own, though everything else about him seemed like that of a stranger. Of a monster.

“Yes,” she whispered with difficulty. “I’m here.”

The king groaned and raised a hand, under which bones shimmered, to her. Nesrin recoiled, for she had learned from childhood to never touch her father. Sometimes her heart longed to do so, yet she knew she was strong since she had been taught that she could never really miss something she’d never had before.

Her father coughed up blood. It splattered on the ground. Nesrin avoided the drops and pressed the palms of her hands against her dark dress. Her head was pounding, and it wasn’t from her black braid decorated with big jewels or the bombastic earrings dangling from her ears.

It was because of him.

“Orion. Where?” the king gibbered.

“I don’t know, Father.”

He shivered. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

Nesrin pricked her ears. For a moment, an emotion glowed in her father’s eyes—was it regret?

“Father.” Slowly, Nesrin felt an unprecedented, piercing fear close itself around her body. It crawled over her shoulder and folded its cold fingers around her heart, squeezing her neck with its other hand. “Father, what are you sorry for?” she pressed.

Black tears rolled down the king’s cheeks. He coughed—again, thick blobs of blood filled with clots splattered on the tiles. “Oh, Nesrin,” he wailed. “A disgrace!”

“Father!” Nesrin suppressed the urge to shake him. She felt so cramped that breathing became increasingly difficult. Black dots forced themselves behind her eyelids. “Tell me, Father. I need to know.”

It took him a long time. Too long.

He squirmed on the altar, groaning and wailing and moaning, while his body moved in strange, jerky movements. The dark wisps and shadows thickened, covering the walls a little more as if growing in strength at witnessing his suffering.

With a piercing scream, the king arched his back and uttered the words as if he were puking them out, as if he wasn’t allowed to say them: “Orion! I killed him.”

“Wait, what?”

“I touched him!” Her father’s face contorted into a mass of grief and self-hatred. “I touched him, Nesrin. He fell against me. He’s doomed to die. You—you will be queen. I’m sorry.”

The world sank beneath Nesrin’s feet. She staggered, recoiling as the king’s words descended upon her. “No,” she whispered in a broken voice. “How could you? How could you do this to me?”

She thought of her brother—her support and refuge. She thought of him with black eyes and a black tongue, with shadows all over his body. How he would sit on the throne with a golden crown on his head, slowly being swallowed up in darkness.

Evil wearing a crown.

Her entire body cried out but in silence. Orion was everything she still had. She’d always known she would lose her father—like her mother before him—but her brother had been the only anchor that would never disappear, that would always be with her.

Until now.

An unprecedented anger now surged through Nesrin. At once, she hated her father. She hated him for the fact that, for years, he’d forbidden her and her brother from touching him. That he’d instructed them to be emotionless, to not desire human touch, when in the end he was the one who’d ruined everything and flouted the rules.

When they were little, she and Orion had screamed, wailed, and cried because they needed the affection of a father figure. When Nesrin had run up to him as a game to touch him, he’d had someone hit her hands so hard her fingers had still been blue and swollen three days afterwards.

“For your own good,” he then said. “You must understand, child.”

It had been Orion who’d rubbed healing cream on her hands or cheered her up with stupid stories and silly jokes.

But as the years went by and they understood things would never change, Nesrin learned to hide her hunger for touch in order to avoid a beating. It was strange how the person who hurt you so much could still mean so much to you—that one could still love them so much.

Orion had changed, too. As the physical distance between them and their father spread out like a silent, unspoken cliff, Orion sought refuge in stimulants. He began drinking, smoking, and gambling. Boys and girls came and went. He grew his hair out as an outward display of what was going on internally.

Although their father was disgusted by Orion’s behavior, he never once mentioned it. And Orion, so hard and indifferent on the outside, melted only when he was with Nesrin. They only had each other, even though their father was still alive. Their silent bond was unbreakable.

Until today.

“You’ve ruined everything,” Nesrin stammered. She walked away the moment loud screaming erupted from somewhere outside the castle walls. With a pounding heart, Nesrin turned toward the double doors, which slid open just then as if on a silent sign. Two guard stared at her with so much fear on their faces that her stomach turned.

“What’s going on?” She was glad her voice didn’t shake. She straightened her back and strode toward them.

“It’s...” One of the men briefly closed his eyes. “It’s about your brother. He’s...he’s dead.”

Nesrin started running.

4.

She didn’t know where she was going, but it seemed as if she could sense where she needed to be.

Blindly, she stormed through the hallways, following the guards all heading in the same direction.

While she was running, it all began to dawn on Nesrin. And as soon as the familiar room of her brother appeared, she knew everything would change. With buckling knees, though she didn’t let it show, she walked inside.

Her eye immediately fell on the limp figure in the middle of the room. He lay stretched out, his hands spread, his mouth opened in a strange, distorted grin. His chest was bare; at once she saw the stab wound that had most likely gone straight through his vital organs. Although the black blood no longer spurted out, the amount that lay across the floor said it all: he couldn’t have survived this.

Nesrin tried not to shake as her legs turned wobbly and she knelt next to Orion. She held out a hand to him.

“Your Highness,” sounded the warning behind her.

She quickly withdrew her fingers and pressed them against her mouth. She wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. But she did neither of those things. She was queen now—or almost so. She had to be strong.

The only sign of humanity she could still see where the black tears on Orion’s face—and even those had been corrupted by the curse. But it was something, and Nesrin burned them onto her retina never to forget them.

“Did he do it himself?” she asked after a long silence. “Stabbing the dagger into his heart, I mean.”

The answer took too long. With a jerk, she spun around. Anger flared within her and hungrily licked at her heart. One of the guards, Taron was his name, shook his head. “We found a body outside. That of a guard. He jumped out of the window.”

“Where is he?” Nesrin hissed. “Tell me.”

“The healer is with him.”

Nesrin ran to the window and looked down. Below her was indeed a body. Many guards and the healer thronged around it, speaking loudly and they were clearly panicking. She ran downstairs.

As soon as she saw the men, she started screaming. “Let me through!” The guards bowed. “Your Highness, we...”

Nesrin pressed herself between them until she had only the broad body of the healer in front of her. She laid a hand on his shoulder and pushed him aside. “Let me through,” she said in a harsh tone. “Now.”

“He needs rest and care,” the healer protested.

Nesrin didn’t listen. She wriggled past him and looked down at the young man lying in the grass. He had dark hair, and his eyes were closed. A groan escaped his lips and a small stream of blood flowed from between his teeth.

Nesrin bent forward to grab him, but at the same time her eye caught his chest. A tiny black spot was staring straight at her. It looked like an evil eye. Dark and menacing.

“Did anyone touch him?” she asked without turning around. She made her voice sound as firm as possible.

“No,” the healer replied. “No one.”

“Good.” She took a deep breath. “Make sure nobody does. When they take him to his cell, use gloves.”

“Your Highness?”

Nesrin stepped aside to give the healer space. For a moment, his eyes hopelessly slid over the guard’s body until they came to rest on his chest. “I understand,” he said softly as the realization dawned on him.

She wanted to hit or kick him, but the black spots spreading across the guard’s body prevented her from doing just that. Besides, she needed answers; she wanted to know why he’d killed her brother and jumped out of the window. Had it been a setup? Had he known what had awaited him?

She shook her head. A thousand and one possible answers raced through her mind and Nesrin had the feeling she couldn’t share them with anyone. With a jolt, she realized that she was utterly alone now.

“Tomorrow,” she said, “we will bury my brother.”

“Do you want people to be able to come and greet him?”

She saw the darkness in Orion’s eyes and his black tears before her once more. “No.” She looked up, across the palace walls. “They cannot. He was cursed. We must put him in a coffin and bury him as soon as we can. Even though the words came out of her mouth confidently, they felt like punches to her chest. She sounded cold, cruel, nonchalant, emotionless—like her father. “I’m going to my quarters. Leave me alone and bring someone to me tomorrow morning before the ceremony.”

“Of course,” she heard a guard answer. “As you wish, Your Highness.”

Nesrin pushed her way through the crowd and strode away, but before she could disappear behind the palace walls, she stopped. She turned her head and looked at the men standing around the body sternly.

“What’s his name?” With her chin, she gestured to the victim—or the perpetrator, she didn’t yet know. “The boy?”

“Slate,” a guard answered.

Nesrin nodded as if it meant nothing to her and continued her way to the palace.

***

As soon as she arrived in her quarters, her legs began to wobble once more. Unexpectedly, she was lying in a limp heap on the floor. Hot tears ran soundlessly down her cheeks as she pressed a hand against her mouth to push back the sobs that came from deep within her chest.

Time after time, Orion’s face appeared before her. It didn’t look real—it couldn’t be real—yet it was. Her brother, her support and refuge, had died. Murdered? Or not?

There was no other way. Orion would never kill himself. He wouldn’t leave her behind, he’d promised. They’d promised each other that: although silent and unspoken, they’d both agreed to it.

Nesrin tried to pull herself together, and like an old lady with stiff muscles, she dragged herself across the floor. Her fingernails scratched across the marble like a cat, and it hurt her fingertips, but she welcomed the feeling with pleasure. It distracted her from the pain in her heart.

She finally reached the edge of her bed. With difficulty, she pushed herself up and lay down on the satin covers. The tears kept coming, tasting salty on her tongue, sticking to her teeth, slowly slipping down her body. Underneath it, she also tasted blood—even though she was sure that was impossible. Yet it was so—a bitter taste: the taste of anger, of hatred.

She rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling. Slate, she thought. Slate. Even if he hadn’t killed her brother, there had to have been something going on. There had to be a reason for him jumping out of the window—she didn’t believe in just falling, in a pointless accident. The signs of the curse were proof enough that he’d had something to do with the sudden death of her brother. When he woke, she would pull the truth out of him. The possible blood on her hands did not frighten her. It fueled her.

She lay there for a long time, until her eyes started burning. Her thoughts drifted away, to faraway places, to different times.

It felt like she didn’t blink once, and her breathing, too, was so shallow that Nesrin started to wonder whether she was dying herself.