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Prologue

They often say ignorance is bliss. Veiled truths and unspoken words - this is the life of Malachite's inhabitants. Until it is not. Once one eye sees, the other cannot ignore the truth. A violent truth. A gut-wrenching truth. Secrets that are buried in the palace's gardens, adorned with golden lilacs and oak trees, look good from afar. They call to be opened; they chant in ancient dialects to be freed. Once a secret is free, they all follow, like sickness, like war, like death.

Calen looks at the earth underneath his muddy business shoes. A smear paints his face as he lets go of the shovel. It hits the ground with a muffled sound.

"There are no copies of the accord. It's the real thing," a voice coming from right behind the man startles him. He does not show it. Perhaps that is when his pride installed and never left. His regal brown eyes pierce the darkness around him, searching for the shadow with the sweet voice.

"It's safe here, Astral,"

"I believe you. However –" the shadow turns into a feminine figure, clothed in black, darker than the darkest Malachite nights. Her features are illuminated by an unnatural dim light, coming from under her cape. "One day the people will know, and when that day comes, I do not wish to partake in the consequences,"

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"You won't. If the day comes while I walk the earth – you will be protected,"

"And when you do not? You humans are so easily... done for." Her voice turns from mild honey to chokingly sweet. Calen snorts.

"My firstborn will continue the deal, and so on,"

"What if you're blessed with a girl?" The man's features twist in disapproval. 

"Then Malachite will have a female heir," his tone is strict. Astral smirks.

She moves gracefully around the man, like smoke, like silk, like everything she is – inhuman.

"The Fae are forever in your debt, Calen." She smiles once more and gives him a tiny kiss on his cheek. Her smell enters his nostrils, and he curses under his breath, knowing the odor will keep haunting him for the next year. These creatures are vile and manipulative, but they always strike a good bargain.

The figure curtseys and dissipates into the night. There are regrets, but he decides against calling after her. Young Calen returns home. 

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