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

Chapter Two - Ramiel | edited |

When I was five and Xavelor seven, he was worse than me at riding. My mother had been so proud of me then, happy that I bested my pureblood brother. I try in vain to smile at the memory.

Leaning forward, I gently nudge the side of Claude's face with the remainder of the apple. He swings his head around and swallows it whole. I chuckle and he whinnies.

Then, with a sharp kick to his sides, we burst forward.

Arioch's castle town, Bellmane, surrounds the outer walls of the courtyard and bends around in one large semi circle. Little stucco houses cram together around busy streets where merchants and farmers sell their goods.

Once I'm in the thick of the bustle, I dismount Claude and tie him next to a merchant's caravan.

The air sours from freshly butchered meats and vats of bubbling chili oils, scents hanging in the already-humid air. Though it is early in the morning, sellers are enthusiastic about selling their goods.

I visit, not just for the delicious peasant food, but also for the prospect of finding a master. Rumor says that elves and fairies of the Aldorin forest often attend festivals under other guises to claim food and good fortune; how favorable would it be to receive the innocuous presence of a magical being to serve as my master and mentor? I'm doubtful, since their presence is outlawed. My main goal is to find a stray mage, cloaked in black and wound in cloth to cover their magical wounds.

This week has been rather unfruitful; markets are filled with black and brown-clad peasants clanging beers together and swallowing pig and cow meat from the bone. Seeing no sign of a black-cloaked mage anywhere, I begin to glance around for the sagittate creatures with ears that stick from their hair like daggers. Aldorin is a sizeable distance away, but I'm sure elven villages near the forest's edge can hear the yelps of joy and smell the seasoned meat in the air. Though I'm not sure they'd risk it, despite how great these festivals tend to be.

I've not yet met an elf, nor a fairy. Years back, before I or my father was born, magical creatures were erased from the kingdom's center, banished to the dark wood, Aldorin. When needed for healing, a particularly skilled elf would be plucked from his or her home and then be enslaved until the sickness vanished, but otherwise a heavy bounty would be given to any who captured a magical being outside of the forest.

When our kingdom—Arioch—was established, kings would venture into Aldorin to hunt the best elves, fairies, trolls, and pixies for sacrificial offerings to our ancestor, Arioch Faundor. Since my grandfather Augustus's reign, however, a treaty was established that prevented humans from entering the forest. Thus, we can only spot them here if they decide to venture out.

My spine twitches at the memory of the few elves and fairies that I have seen; they were already dead by the time they'd been brought to the tainted altar.

I saunter past children with paper pinwheels who huff at the sails with a violent energy. A cold rushes over me; a magical child gifted with remarkable talent would've been stolen from the forest and sacrificed. I don't see how elven children or fairy children can be so different from our own. Frowning, I stride past.