Not Quite Human

Prologue

It was a normal night — or at least, as normal as nights got in a country ruled by a tyrant. The sky was dark and cloudy, and a light drizzle had ensured the streets were nearly deserted. Nearly, but not quite. If one looked hard enough, shadowy figures could be made out huddled in corners, alongside the rats and other things that would send chills down any nobleman's spine. Sailee had seen better days. The country had once been called warm and welcoming — a far cry from what it was today.
The boy huffed, tightening his cloak — an action that served both to keep him warm and to signal his annoyance at having been made to wait so long. He couldn't have looked more out of place if he tried. It wasn't his expensive clothes that gave him away, but rather the way he carried himself, with an air of quiet importance. He wasn't often one to wait, nor was he the type to agree to meetings in places like this — but he knew that any hardship was better than getting on the Shadow's bad side.
By this point, the Shadow was very much like its name: without a solid form, at least to those not a part of it — assuming it was not a single individual. Whether it was good or evil, and what its objectives were, remained unknown. The restless streets only knew that change was coming. Common folk could do nothing but huddle in their downtrodden homes and pray it would be for the better.
He glanced down at his watch for what felt like the hundredth time, only to find the second hand completely still. One might assume the battery had died — but his watch wasn't battery-operated. He couldn't suppress the shudder that ran down his spine. He wasn't superstitious by nature, but given the circumstances, he couldn't help but take it as a bad omen. Anyone would have, in his shoes.
He knew he hadn't had much of a choice in this — not when it was his father who had done wrong. His dead father. He didn't even know the nature of his father's crimes, and under normal circumstances, a son might have trusted in his father's innocence and fought to protect it. But Neil knew his father well. He knew how vile the man had been, how he would resort to almost anything to feel in control, how deep his greed ran. When his father had died — stabbed multiple times in a dark alley — Neil had felt not one shred of grief, only relief. He could only hope that whatever his father had done, whatever had led him to stand here in the cold waiting for someone so obscure, would not come to affect him too greatly. Even as the smallest functioning part of his brain screamed that his hope was in vain.
He felt hot breath on the back of his neck and something brush lightly against his shoulder. Startled, he scrambled backwards with a screech rather unbecoming of him, which drew a low, sinister laugh from the large figure behind him. The man was a sight, certainly — but that wasn't what made the breath catch in Neil's throat. It was who the man was: the tyrant's brother, his younger twin, the heir presumptive, given that the king had no sons. Neil dropped immediately to one knee, murmuring something along the lines of "Your Highness," all while the full weight of the situation settled over him. The implications of a prince being part of — or perhaps being — the Shadow left him deeply unsettled.
He was still visibly shaking by the time he was told to rise. The prince was well aware of the effect he had on the boy — the fear that clouded his thoughts and rattled his composure. His original plan had been simple: lure the boy out to the middle of nowhere and give him a swift, painful death. He was, after all, that disgusting fool's son. But looking at him now, the prince reconsidered. There were far more interesting ways to make someone suffer than simply ending them. And despite the fear etched across his face, there was a small, defiant spark in the boy's eyes that the prince found he rather liked. He decided the matter could wait — better dealt with somewhere else, in the daylight.
Neil stood in silence, watching the prince, quietly praying that whatever came next would have nothing to do with a short drop and a sudden stop. That was simply not the way he intended to go. Instead, he was told something to the effect of "you'll be summoned." All that waiting. All that worrying. For this. He decided on the spot that he didn't much like this prince — especially since he now had to walk all the way home in the cold, like some thief skulking through the night.
He arrived home rather out of breath. It was not a short walk, and the rain had not let up. He didn't hate the rain exactly, but there was little joy in being soaked through in the dead of night. He felt considerably better the moment he stepped inside, into the warmth and safety of his home. He smiled at the guard who held the gate open, whispered a quick thank-you, and slipped quietly into the house, careful not to wake his mother. She knew nothing of his father's dealings, and he intended to keep it that way. The man had caused her enough pain in life — there was no reason to let his shadow linger over her now, not if Neil could help it.
He climbed into bed, and Spot leapt up beside him, turning three times before settling into the covers. Neil fell asleep with his dog curled against his side, sparing not a single thought for the day ahead — deciding it wasn't worth losing sleep over something that revolved around a fickle shadow.