The Sinuous Bargain of a Cowardly Prince (book 1) - undergoing edits

Chapter Two - Ramiel | edited |

A sepia velvet cloak weighs on my shoulders, pressing my body forward. The hood conceals most of my face, but I also wrap a dark cloth over my nose and mouth to make sure no one glimpses my identity. I check myself in the long oval mirror near my wardrobes. Nothing about my appearance is remarkable, thanks to the dull blend of colors; I've even managed to tuck away stray curly strands of brown hair within the hood. It's a bit unnerving how much I resemble the mages of the king's court—those who have cast aside their humanity to use magic for the benefit of the Faundor line. A shiver bends my spine until I'm standing straight, and I turn from the mirror.

No one accompanies me as I briskly exit my chambers and head for the servants' quarters. No one offers a disturbed glance when I stumble into the large kitchen and reach for a glossy apple from a heaping burlap sack. No one watches as I depart.

Triumph rises in my chest as I turn around the stone wall, my hand gliding along the steely rock corner. Behind the servants' wing, chickens bawk and horses whinny at my arrival. Derryl, the young stablehand, gives me a wary look. The boy is quite young, but like many of our servants, he's inherited the indentured duties of his father. His eyes travel from my dark boots to the hood covering my face.

"Prepare Claude for me, Derryl," I say, whirling into the large brick building. The boy responds with a quick nod and moves to the stall where my black steed neighs. The air smells of manure and dew and fresh grassy hay; a pleasant contrast to the overpowering floral scent wafting throughout the castle's corridors.

On a large, dusty window sill, white lilies turn their heads toward the yawning sun. I face it, too, then pull my makeshift mask down and take a large bite of the crisp red apple.

I stare out the glassless window, out across the fields beyond, where servants till fertile ground with long rod hoes and shovels. Many are older men, but some women wipe sweat from labored brows as they drive metal into the soft earth. A sigh drifts from my nose.

Once I completed my specialized classes in history, science, and literature, my days grew stale. Most of my time was either spent sprawled on a bench in the castle library to read a stolen book from a neighboring kingdom, or practicing archery on my own in the training grounds. After a year and half of poring over the same boring stories and failing to hit my targets, I have long since been ready for something else to do.

As exhilarating as blending in with servants is, I'm more anxious to journey beyond the boundary of the castle's courtyard, into the bustling human village that clings to the walls of Arioch's center.

I grit my teeth against the papery skin of the apple. If only this excitement wasn't brought about by my brother's death.

Derryl clicks his tongue and I turn around. The boy looks at me behind wispy waves of brown, his expression bored. He pulls Claude toward the opening of the building and I follow behind to take the reins.

The boy passes the thick brown straps to me, then shoves a pair of worn leather riding gloves into my other hand. He offers a quick, awkward bow before turning back to attend to the other horses.

I turn my attention to Claude. A majestic beast, and the largest of the horses in our stables. He has a sleek black mane, trimmed short over his neck. Glistening coal-colored fur covers the length of his muscular body. The saddle and stirrups are black, too. No gilded buckles or patterned straps indicate the wealth of his rider. Perfect.

My foot finds its hold in the looped stirrup and I swing myself over the saddle, adjusting my weight evenly. Before this week, I'd never used this saddle, and I'm not sure others had either. It's clean and stiff; my thighs remember the sturdiness from the day before. But with the pain comes nostalgia, and I can't refuse recalling fond memories of the past.