Two star crossed lovers.
Nations divided by blood and power.
A war to end all others.
She is heir to the brutal Darkling kingdom and daughter to the most vicious king ever known, Vlad the impaler.
He's the Demon prince ru...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I lounge back into my seat at the head of the mapping table, staring up at the soot stains on the roof of the barracks. My general and spymaster speak intently about the latest siege and the next possible course of action.
The attack on Northa had taken place three days ago, and the whole empire was now in an uproar because of it. Because of my decision. And hers.
While Inphramundus had sustained minimal damage, we still lost lives at the north, and thus families were now in mourning and new recruits were already being selected for training. However, the most difficult thing now was the surmounting tension that Northa and the Night Court stood poised to attack Inphramundus at any moment. A full on attack, the likes my nation had not seen since the first years of the war.
I sit forward, still listening and gazing intently at the maps set before me, studying the ranges and plains in hopes of miraculously finding a secure route to navigate the troops from this point onward. When my eyes begin to swim, lost in those lines and shapes, I stand up and brace my arms on the table.
The general of armies, my uncle and Second, stops speaking mid sentence. "Cassian, are you even listening to us?"
I look at their weary faces, both of them just as worn and tired as me. "Yes, I was ... I am. I'm just—"
"Would you rather hear some news of your little Darkling Princess?" Azazel asks, his expression amused.
"Azazel."
The reprimand is calm, quiet, and threatening. Azazel's smile doesn't drop and he nods, daring to meet his father's eyes. My uncle and his son were the thesis and antithesis to one another. Foils. While Nero was a stone plateau, rigid and unmoving, Azazel was an ocean that beat against it, ever-changing and hasty.
"Status report, Az."
"Well, cousin, the med witch-"
"The healer." Nero corrects.
Azazel grins. "She has examined her; Says she's shockingly fit, most certainly unharmed."
I blink once. He wasn't my spy master for nothing. "No burns or scars? No injury sustained in the siege?"
"None whatsoever." His topaz eyes stray form mine as he flicks something from under his nail, a bored movement, I note.
"You seem almost disappointed?"
Rolling his shoulders, Azazel leans forwards and places his hands on the table. "Contrary to the opinions of our neighboring kingdoms, I'm not actually so depraved as to wish death upon an innocent girl."
