Camelot's Crow | ✓ [BOOK 3]

PROLOGUE

A MAN STOOD IN the mirror before the King, a man he did not recognize. Long ago, his hair was a dusty brown, his jaw strong, with full cheeks and passionate amber eyes. He was a noble man, a respectable one, dressed in elegant robes and a confident countenance. Once upon a time, Connor was a man of purpose. He was beloved by his people, charmless but handsome and responsible, unlike his reckless younger brother that he once despised so much.

But now, he only envied Kristofer.

Looking at him had been like sticking a knife into his own side. Every time he saw how golden and fierce his brother was, he looked down at his hands, gray and cracked and covered in black veins. He'd ruined himself forever, and for what? He'd ruined so much. He would never be Connor again. If his father were here still, he would look at him like he looked at Kit, he wouldn't look at him like the son he was so proud of. If his father were still there, Connor would be the disappointing son.

Never once had addiction tempted him with its cold, vicious call before. But now, staring up at his sharp, unrecognizable reflection, Connor realized he'd become addicted to power, enough so that he dared make deals with Faerie Queens and Gods, and no matter how terrible the consequences were, he would never learn. His father, King Wylan, was dead, because Connor made a deal with Titania. Like an idiot. And now Connor was as good as dead, and so was half the kingdom, because he made a deal with a man who told him that death was power.

The mirror shattered into a million pieces as he drove his fist into his own reflection, letting the pain flood his knuckles. Black blood trickled down his fingers, and there was no trace of red anymore. He was all-consumed by the shadow, an irreversible Hell, and he had no hopes of ever seeing his own crimson blood again. His flesh was nothing but a memory now.

"You're having second thoughts," said a man's chilling voice, and a shiver ran up his spine.

"I told you to stop doing that," Connor grumbled, knocking the mirror to the floor. Nursing the ache in his fist, he turned to face the tall figure, eyeing him up and down. "It's too late for second thoughts now, it always has been. I'm having regrets."

The man stepped closer to him. His body wasn't real, just a projection accompanied by the voice that often flooded his head, but his hands were steadying as they rested on his shoulders. "I understand you, Connor. But what could be regrettable about power? About strength? Why do you regret being able to defeat your enemies without fail, every time?"

Connor shoved his hands away. "Because I don't want enemies at all. I wish I could've just been a king. I wish I hadn't been poisoned by greed, but I supposed I had this coming when I bit that apple, didn't I?"

"There is nothing wrong with wanting what you deserve," the man assured, voice snakelike and echoing over the walls of his father's room. He couldn't bear to say it was his own. It was the King's room, and Connor was no king.

He sat himself down on the dusty mattress. Connor had no need for sleep anymore, but he longed for the feeling of it, to be whisked away into nothingness for awhile, awakened by the bright hope of the sun in the morning, bringing with it the promise of a new day and new beginnings. "What makes you think I deserve this?" he asked, brushing the embroidery of the bedding with the pad of his middle finger.

The man sat beside him, but Connor wished he wouldn't. His shadow made him feel uneasy. "You were born for this. You are a son of Arthur, it is your birthright to be the most powerful man the Earth could ever know."

"That's a shitty birthright," he muttered, but he could feel the desire burning in his bosom. As much as he knew it was a terrible thing to want, he did want it. And if he did everything right, one day, this man would give him exactly that.

Thankfully, the shadow vanished from his side, leaving him only with the voice. "It is a better birthright than being powerless, you and I both know this. You will never know weakness, Connor, and that is what you deserve."

But in this moment, as he stared at the ceiling, thinking about his brother and his companions with a pit of dread in his stomach, he knew that that was the biggest lie he'd ever heard.