The Sinuous Bargain of a Cowardly Prince (book one, The Shadowed Throne Chronicles)
Chapter Thirty-Three - Ramiel

Mornings are now cooler—summer is ending.

The past few weeks of training have been ruthless. Ronan has taken over guiding me where needed, and Ether has strictly focused on training me. I’m almost certain she’s made peace with the terrible destruction of her village; her core glows more easily, and she’s highly complimentary of my progress. But she doesn’t laugh anymore, which makes me wonder if she’s simply sharpening her focus, or if she remembers the king’s ridiculous decree that silences the way magical beings express their happiness. I’m hoping for the former.

I stretch my arms and shudder as goosebumps prickle along them.

Ronan groans next to me, then his hand falls on my foot. A guttural snore erupts from his throat.

Slowly, I drag my foot from underneath him and slide back into the rock. I turn my head toward the fire, where Ether’s core is glowing.

When we’d first started training with magic, she’d passively asked if I could control the earth. I wasn’t sure what she meant at the time, but after learning how to channel ice, fire, and air, and I can now wield an array of weapons, I think I finally understand what she was talking about.

Lately, I’ve felt a constant pull to the soil; a tingling in my arms. When I decided to no longer rely on the power in my left arm, it became clear to me that my right arm wasn’t without magic after all; the dark magic in my left had simply been too overpowering to notice it.

I’ve tried to ignore the sensation, the draw to the earth, but it grows ever stronger. Even when I spar with Ether, the strange energy vibrates beneath me like a slow, long heartbeat.

I spread my palm over the cold, hard ground and breathe in. The energy is beneath me, but it’s independent; I can’t absorb it, nor can I use it in any way.

So what had Ether meant by “controlling nature”? It doesn’t seem like it wants to be ruled.

“Good morning,” Ether says quietly, her tone reserved.

“Morning,” I call back, pressing against the ground to bring myself to my feet. My arms stretch once more to the sky and my jaw hangs open as I yawn, then my hands swing back to my sides. I walk to the elf and take a seat next to her. “Will you let me win today?”

She makes a small sound, almost a hum—not quite a laugh. “And lose you your genuine reaction to claiming victory at the Feast? I don’t think so.”

“Come on, I need to know I’m at least capable of winning.” I nudge her with my shoulder, and I realize it’s been a while since we’ve touched one another. Despite the cold air hanging around us, my skin goes hot. “Please?”

Ether breathes in deeply, then clears her throat. “I’m sure Qor or Ronan would love to spar with you. Also, losing against you would damage my reputation as Nwatalith’s best-in-class elf warrior, especially since you’ve just started using magic and fighting with a sword.”

Her tone sucks the warmth from my body, and I shudder again as the goosebumps return. Her refusal is understandable, but could it be that there is truly something wrong? She hasn’t used this excuse before.

Qor grumbles from the other side of the fire, making his presence known to me as he addresses Ether. “As his master, you ought to give him the chance to defeat you, if only once. He won’t be satisfied with winning against either of us, since he’s used to sparring with—and losing against—you.”

“But he can’t sense you,” she bites back. “You’ll pose an unfamiliar challenge to him that he deserves to experience.”

The elven warrior laughs, deep and rough. “Young one, I am no longer the man I once was. Prince Ramiel wouldn’t enjoy fighting the elderly; he’d win too quickly.”

I sense Ronan’s core stirring behind me; he’s awake.

Ether doesn’t respond as the fairy takes a seat to my right.

“Why must you avoid the inevitable?” Ronan mumbles. “You know the prince is fully capable of defeating you with little effort.”

My jaw clenches as I attempt to smother a smile, and my core swells in my chest at his affirmation. I inwardly thank my friend for his confidence.

“But I am not who he needs to defeat. And besides...” Ether trails off without finishing.

“There’s only a week until the Feast,” Qor bellows, “which means you’ll have to leave in a day or so to arrive on schedule. I think it’s time you two had a real fight.”

A... real fight? What does he mean?

“No,” Ronan and Ether say in perfect unison. They groan at each other after.

“Why should we have to fight with the intention of harming one another?” Ether asks incredulously. There is a profound respect underlying her tone that I’ve noticed only appears when she speaks to Qor—though she strongly believes we shouldn’t fight one another for “real,” it’s easy to tell that because it’s Qor’s suggestion, she might just agree.

The warrior holds a lot of power over her. I huff out a frustrated breath.

“We won’t harm one another,” I say matter-of-factly. “Not if we set rules. For example... the first person to fall loses. Easy.”

“Easy,” Ronan repeats, his pitch rising. I realize my phrasing likely undermines Ether’s integrity when she growls at his mockery, then sighs.

“Fine. We’ll fight. But I won’t let you win. I’m going to give it everything I have. Okay?”

I nod. “Perfect.”

We go to an empty area of forest just outside of Hearthstrom.

My foot anchors in the ground; I dig my heel into the hard dirt and lunge my other leg forward. The dagger is cold in my hands, made of pure ice from my core. I think this is probably the coolest thing about magic—creating temporary weapons from my own magic supply.

We have agreed upon one weapon each; Ether always chooses a dagger, so that’s what I’m going with this time as well. I know that no matter which weapon I choose, my odds of winning will remain the same anyway.

I spin the blade in my hand; as it melts, it becomes more difficult to wield, so I have to constantly adjust my grip. As far as I know, there’s no way to prevent the ice from melting. But this isn’t necessarily detrimental—our training sessions have been both challenging and encouraging as a result.

Ether’s core is pulsing about fifteen feet from me, its bright glow impossible to ignore. I wonder if she’s nervous? Surely she wouldn’t hurt me, not after we’ve been so careful, and certainly not when we’ve only a week before the real test.

“She looks horrified,” Ronan chuckles from behind me. Then, he lowers his voice. “You have to defeat her. You know that, right?”

I bite my lip. What could he mean? Why do I have to win? Is there some bet I’m unaware of? Are Qor and Ronan casting lots?

“Are you ready?” Ether calls. Her voice echoes off the trees like a bird’s song, and the leaves rustle on their branches, whispering their admiration of its beauty.

I flick my head toward her, bend my knees, and take a deep breath.

Her movements are light and nearly undetectable, but I can sense her fighting intent in the air— it whizzes under the swoosh of her blade. Just before her weapon reaches me, I lift mine to block it. The knives lightly touch, and Ether glides back a little, giving me space to recover.

So far, this is just like any other sparring fight we’ve done. She is calm and calculated, her attacks predictable and familiar.

I leap to my right, slide across the dirt, and focus on her core. The dagger angles down in my hand; I adjust it melts and drips cold down my arm. With a sharp breath in, I lunge toward her and jab my blade low, aiming for where I’m guessing her gut is. Just like she taught me.

When my blade hits nothing, I whip around and sense her core behind me, in the air. I quickly switch my dagger to my left hand, then lift my right and call the fire from within my core. The energy sizzles up to my wrist, then heat engulfs my hand. I wave it once and hot water splashes onto my face.

I’ve melted her dagger.

There’s no time to delight in this victory. I bend forward and curses fly from my mouth. Dropping my dagger, I wipe away the burning from my eyes.

She doesn’t allow me to recover for long—her arm wraps around my neck and her body swings around me. She presses her chest to my back and I feel her heartbeat fluttering at a pace twice that of mine.

I gasp as the friction from her elbow rubs into my neck, and I nearly fall to the ground. My feet manage to root themselves beneath me and I stand, slightly off-balance.

A flash of heat approaches me, and luckily I can feel Ether’s desperation tied to it—I’ve grown used to sensing even the slightest emotions tied to her magic. Ether is truly giving this her all; normally she’d talk to me about her next move, but she’s throwing everything she has at me. I lift my hand and receive her fire easily. The energy spirals around, slows, then extinguishes.

She appears to my left, faster than lightning, then grabs my right arm and attempts to tug me downward, but I plant my foot sturdily beneath her and jerk my arm back. To my surprise, she easily falls toward me instead of resisting. My heart sticks to my throat for a moment as I realize that she’ll use this opportunity to push me back and declare victory.

Time seems to slow as her body collides with mine; she’s feather-light, yet I can feel her strength gradually pressing into me as though she has a mass external from herself. She intends to push me into the ground.

Just as my heels rock backward and her pressure goes stronger, I wrap my arms around her, sense the air buzzing around her body, and demand its obedience. The particles whiz toward me and assist me in twisting her body around. I quickly pin her to the hard dirt ground.

She lays beneath me, huffing heavy breaths as I loom over her, and any sense of victory I may have felt quickly converts to embarrassment. Her breath choppily reaches my nose; it smells of earth and roses. I forget for a moment that Qor and Ronan are watching us, and I try to imagine the expression on the elf’s face as we stay frozen like this.

With my hands pressed to the ground, I can feel the heartbeat of the soil increase to match that of Ether’s. Its rhythmic pounding startles my arms and hikes my own heart to my throat. Before I can do anything I’ll regret, I scramble to my knees and allow her to sit up.

“You win,” she whispers. I can’t tell if she’s happy, sad, or maybe a complex combination of both.

“Ether,” I whisper, and I hear her quietly gulp. My left arm lifts to feel for her face. Her soft cheek is warm under my palm. A few loose strands of her silky hair drift over my knuckles. My throat goes dry—it’s been too long since we’ve touched like this. I wish this moment could last forever.

She doesn’t speak, though her jaw trembles.

“I need to tell you something,” I say with haste as I drop my hand. My heart hammers in my throat and along my arms, taking hold of me. She needs to know how I feel about her.

“Please, save it until after the Feast. I will hear whatever you have to say then. For now,” she says, her voice shaking, “we must focus.”

She’s right. I pull my arm away and sigh. “Do you promise me?”

It’s very light and brief, but her fingers gently brush against my knee. With a nod, I let her know I understand her wordless pledge, then I stand.

“Shall we go again?” I ask, smiling.

Ether moans softly, then sighs. “We must. This time, I really won’t let you win.”

The next day passes rather quickly; it’s filled with more sparring. To my disappointment and relief, I don’t win against Ether again.

In the evening, Qor rests a large, heavy hand on my shoulder. His tone is low as he speaks to me, careful not to disturb Ronan and Ether as they bicker about something frivolous.

“I cannot go with you, Your Highness. I must remain in the forest.” The elven warrior gives my shoulder a squeeze. “You have greatly improved, Sire. Your father will be proud.”

I ignore his last bit of praise and nod. “Thank you, Qor. I will remember you and how much you’ve helped us.”

“Thank you, Sire. I hope we can meet again when you sit on Arioch’s throne.”

I chuckle nervously; everything is starting to feel surreal. In a few days’ time, I’ll be crowned the heir to Arioch. The kingdom will know my face. I will be next in line to take my father’s place as king.

“We will surely meet again,” I say confidently. “You mean so much to me and to Ether. I’m sure Ronan also appreciates your help.”

Qor laughs heartily. “You’ve all grown on me, Your Highness.” He then starts speaking a bit louder, cutting into the elf and fairy’s bickering. “You two better watch him. He will do great things.”

There’s silence for a moment, and then Ronan starts laughing.

“Of course he will. Haven’t you seen his improvement?”

“Don’t steal my words from me, fairy,” Ether hisses.

“Can’t both of us support him?”

I laugh at Ether’s lack of response.

“Farewell, my young friends,” Qor says brightly. “You’ve all inspired me to use my experience to help others, and so I shall. May you do well in your battle, Prince Ramiel. I will be thinking of you in three days’ time, and I’ll also keep my ear out for a coronation decree.”

We all say our goodbyes, then Qor leaves us. His heavy footsteps gradually disappear, leaving just us three to chatter through the night.

I will miss Qor even though I’m sure we will meet again soon. I try not to dwell on his fresh absence and instead focus on the days to come.

We leave for the palace in the morning.

Pally’s is the only place we stop on the way back. Sylvia greets us with her grainy laughter, lets us stay a night, and sends us off again, gifting us with her unleavened bread squares. The magic in them revitalizes us for the remainder of our journey.

Our horses have had plenty to rest, so we make it back to the palace earlier than planned, though it’s still in the evening. Before we get to the palace gates, I ask Ronan to give Ether a pill to hide her identity.

I sense his core shrinking—he must have changed his appearance to guard his identity and conceal his core. I chide myself for thinking his core had been the magic pills he carried around with him. Even at its small size, it’s still clearly the energy of his fairy center.

I don’t sense Ether’s core dwindling, though, but perhaps this is because she’s not using her energy to conceal her identity, as Ronan does.

The smell of manure is prominent and the muddled sound of voices echo from within the palace. Nobles from estates within the kingdom and even royalty from ally nations are to be present for the entire Feast, as they are required to witness the coronation of the new heir of Arioch.

My heart swells in my chest. The end is just around the corner, but it still feels unreal. I’m not sure how to react, or whether my reactions would be appropriate or not. My thoughts overflow with the burden I’ll soon have to bear once the crown meant for Xavelor rests atop my head.

Ronan’s hand replaces my back, then he gently helps me off Claude and orders a palace guard to stable him. His hand remains flush with my back to direct me around the walls of the palace. Ether’s core follows behind us; she’s been silent for most of our journey back.

I wonder what she’s been thinking about, if anything. Is she worried? No, she hasn’t given me that impression. I’m sure she’d tell me what’s on her mind if it was important. With this thought assuring me, we make our way to the back gate. Ronan releases me to unlatch the heavy door. It squeals across the ground as he opens it.

“Oh, Rami!”

My breath catches in my throat and my eyes moisten with tears at the sound of Bear’s shaken voice. I reach blindly toward her and the woman pulls me hastily into her arms.

“The Feast is fully underway, my boy. His Majesty has been entertaining guests since this morning,” she says hurriedly. Her arms tighten around me, and she trembles despite gripping me so roughly. “I’ve been worried sick! But I am relieved you’ve returned, for your father has moved the day of your battle to tomorrow, instead of two days after.”

“What do you mean? What if I hadn’t returned by then?” I ask, my throat going dry. If I’d returned tomorrow or the night after, what would be my fate?

Bear shakes her head against my chest and breathes shortly. “I know not what he would’ve done. I am just glad you are here. I’m so glad you’re okay. You look...”

She begins to sob, unable to finish. I have to assume she’s referring to my horrid appearance, or perhaps the length of my hair—it’s grown longer since she last saw me. Or perhaps I look a bit malnourished, though my heart feels strong in my chest. My newfound reliance on magic has strangely replaced my hunger for food.

I seem to be right about the latter because her worried hands drift down my arms and hold my palms stiffly. “Let’s get you something to eat. You two as well.”

She ushers us into the kitchen and feeds us. The meal is not like the sausages and rice and organs we’d eaten before our training, likely because the more extravagant foods are meant to be eaten by the guests of the Feast.

Instead, we eat loaves of simple sourdough bread. It’s stiff, but filling. She offers us fresh fruits and vegetables and encourages each of us to drink at least one glass of milk. After weeks of eating bugs and whatever else Qor had made for us, I’m surprised when I don’t scarf down actual food.

Bernadette’s small, wrinkled hands replace mine.

“How I’ve missed you,” she says, her voice straining to stay steady. I have to work hard not to get emotional.

“I’m doing wonderfully, Bear,” I say with a smile. “You needn’t worry. Whether the battle is today or tomorrow or the day after, I’m ready. Just watch. I’ll make you proud.”

Her fingers curl around mine. “I’ve always been proud of you,” she says so quietly that I almost can’t hear her.

I take a deep breath, drink the last of my milk, and set the glass on the table. My eyes moisten but I remain strong.

Soon after we’re finished eating, a knock comes at the wooden door. Bernadette grants the knocker entry.

“Prince Ramiel,” a male voice says stiffly. It must be one of the king’s soldiers. “His Majesty has been informed of your arrival. You are to come with me and stay in Xavelor’s quarters tonight.”

Gulping down my nerves, I nod and hold my hand out for Ronan to lead me.

“You must come alone,” the soldier says, disapproval distinct in his voice.

I drop my hand and smile in annoyance.

“My dear boy, I’m blind, as you can see. If my own aid cannot lead me, you must guide me there in his stead. I’m unfamiliar with my brother’s quarters.”

The soldier’s footsteps grow nearer to me, then he grabs my elbow with a gloved hand. Before he can take me away, I reach for Ether. Or Ronan. Whoever grabs my hand first.

To my delight, it’s both of them. Ronan holds onto my wrist and Ether grips my hand. Both give me a gentle squeeze, and my heart stirs.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, at the Feast. You are going to do great,” Ether says, her voice smooth as silk even though she hasn’t spoken much recently.

My chest tightens and I nod.

“I believe in you, Ramiel,” Ronan says softly. Each of his words is weighted with genuine confidence. I nod at him, happy that I’ve had such wonderful people at my side for the past few months.

“You’ll see me tomorrow, dressed as a prince and ready to fight a dragon,” I say with pride. Tears bud in my eyes. The next time we speak, I’ll be the Crown Prince of Arioch.

Ether’s hand is the first to leave mine; Ronan’s is more reluctant. But the soldier gently pulls me away, and we’re quickly separated by the large oak door.

The soldier informs me that he and a few others will be on guard throughout the night, but I should be able to rest easy before the big day tomorrow.

He ignores my requests to send for someone—even Bear—to help me out of my clothes and navigate the unfamiliar bed chamber belonging to my brother. I’m left to clumsily and very inefficiently undress myself before stumbling into the large, unused bed.

My thoughts are wild, filled with doubts about fighting a beast the following afternoon, and with concerns about the Feast being a day earlier than it was supposed to be. Why would the king change the date after centuries of rigid tradition?

As I continue to think, my brain tires and I begin to drift to sleep.

I dream of many things, but the common theme surrounds defeating the dragon, and then telling Ether I love her.

To my disappointment, I wake up before I can hear her response.