A Prince trapped in a contract with a revengeful goddess must track down the missing heir of a neighboring Kingdom in order to fulfill his part of a deal, but things get complicated when he has to work alongside a human spy and a dying elf.
-
Sinda...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Pain only lasts a second.
The unspoken words crowded the empty spaces in Sindarin's head. It was a statement he clung to throughout the haze of his childhood, repeating the single phrase in times of suffering. The little sentence pushed him through the Trial of Nightmares, the clipping of his crooked wings, and the death of his mother.
Pain was one thing that was consistent in his life—a shred of familiarity that bled over into adulthood. In the Kingdom of Soviel, the suffering of the body and mind was a part of life, just as death. A reminder of how fragile immortality can be. How brutal the world that surrounded them could become.
The agony he felt seconds ago burnt. The sharp edge of the dagger as it entered his chest was incomparable. The apology that was repeated over and over echoed in his head as he fell into Nadir. Blood replacing the fear that rested in his throat, suffocating Sindarin as Nadir held him close.
The guards gathered began to slaughter the fae that didn't take flight, silverswords tearing flesh and bone. Servants and dryads were pleading, begging for their lives to be spared. A sight Sindarin watched as Nadir laid him against the marble floor, tears streaming down his cheeks.
Then it faded. The pain lasted but that single second before it vaporized into nothingness.
"Sindarin Onasis." A raspy voice broke through the veil, the raspy tone pulling him from the cold void.
With a sharp breath, Sindarin jolted upward, his hands frantically running down his chest in search of the dagger. Nothing. Not a wound or bloody mess. It was gone.
Looking around him, Sindarin took in the view. Dying cypress trees craning downward, crooked limbs hanging desperately from flakey bark. The cloak of nightfall blanketing the scene in shadows, the scent of smoke lingering in the air.
A woman stood before Sindarin, pale skin glowing beneath the moons splotchy light. Black hair framed her face, a crown of silver thorns formatted against her forehead. "You're safe, sweet child." She spoke, sharp teeth revealed.
"Who are you?" He whispered. "Where am I?" He added, looking back around the forest. "Where is Nadir? Calix? Sahil?"
The woman rose a dark brow. "You're generation as lost sight of their gods," she whispered. "Mm, I'm Mavka, Mother Goddess of your people."
Then it clicked. The woman that stood before him wasn't the goddess of light and prosperity. She was the goddess of everything he was accustomed to misery and pain.
"I'm being sent to the Isles." He whispered more to himself than the goddess. It was the reason he dreaded death. He broke laws and morals. It was only probable that he'd be sent to her realm and home.
