Prince Sorem knew of two truths—women were always in need of rescue, and women were all liars.

That was his reason for securing the Jvalan. Though he regretted how he came about this little dark-skinned Fae he carried in a bird cage affixed to his belt, he appreciated it.

Ironically, it was female.

With such a gloomy atmosphere, the castle appeared abandoned. That wasn’t the case, he found, though no one looked him in the eye or spoke. The path towards his cousin’s chambers held no one.

As he made his way down the empty stone hallways, his heavy boots echoing with each step, he unhooked the Jvalan and held her up.

She was so strange to look at. Most days, she fluttered in a sitting position, legs tucked under her, and eyes closed.

That was her defiance, but no matter, he held her captive, and therefore, she did his every bidding—almost every.

“Illuminate us,” he ordered.

Fire shot from her black wings then dulled into an amber glow. She was quite useful.

Pity he’d have to kill her once he was done with her.

Upon reaching the door at the farthest end of the hall, the groans and cries of agony made him come to a stop.

It was worse than he’d feared. Cousin Orm, Prince of Wisen, still suffered these four years.

There’d been stories, terrible ones. Sorem hadn’t the heart, or power, to visit. But now, as the Divine Thinkers Order’s newest high priest, he could go and come as he saw fit.

It was a prestigious title for a twenty-eight-year-old, so Sorem boxed his light brown hair from his eyes and stuck out his chin.

He’d go into this hell chamber, and he’d present the Jvalan to his dear cousin with a promise, to end his suffering.

A gentle push of the door had it creaking open.

Orm’s fevered cries dulled.

Turned on his side, he continued to weep.

“Who’s there?” he demanded.

Sorem’s heart felt heavy, weighed down with the stifled sobs.

“It’s me, cousin, Sorem.”

But Orm gave him no acknowledgement.

It was perhaps cowardly to inch into the room so slowly, but Sorem feared the sight of him. The stories to reach Sorem in his journeys in search of the Jvalan were…less than appealing.

A small whiff told him that the whispers of Orm’s incontinence were true.

Still, Sorem persevered. When he came to his cousin’s bedside to see the man, dripping with sweat, eyes shut tight as he wept, something came over him. He felt cold.

“Cousin, tell me what has happened. Tell me how to heal you.”

But Orm, long brown hair plastered to his face, merely cried harder.

“I will do anything necessary.”

Despite Sorem’s solemn promise, Orm couldn’t calm.

The Jvalan drew Sorem’s focus—her eyes were open for a change.

When she leaned forward, examining Orm’s face despite the distance, Sorem turned his attention to her.

“Do you know what is wrong with him?”

It was rare that she spoke of her own accord but, as always, whenever he addressed her, she was compelled to answer.

“Yes.”

Sorem’s heart fluttered. “Then tell me.”

The Jvalan studied Orm for a long minute before she floated up, looked up at Sorem and confessed, “I am not allowed to. But he is afflicted. He’s slighted the Fairy King.”

Shocked, Sorem nearly dropped the cage. He regained his balance in time.

“The Fairy King? But…but how? He’s a king of war and chaos. He’s aligned with our cause.”

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And it was true. The Divine Thinkers Order served the Fairy King…to a point. Lately, however, something had felt off about the spiritual energy of the Fairy King.

“How do I save my dear cousin?” Sorem demanded. When the Jvalan said nothing, he shook her cage, knocking her off balance. “Speak!”

Despite the anger exuding from his words, she took on her calm posture, legs under her, eyes closed, and slowly said, “The Fairy King is forged in chaos. He’s baptized in it as well. Therefore, he grants those to shower him with the blood of battle good fortune. But he’s…changed.” She tilted her head, perhaps listening to some voice from beyond. “He’s been quieted by the Fairy Queen. Therefore, he no longer caters to the warriors or their plight.” Once she finally picked her head up, she opened her pale brown eyes and said, “He’s abandoned all warriors and all who serve him.”

Everything inside Sorem ground to a halt. He felt broken.

How was this possible? What would they do without might? Till now, it was always very easy to appease the Fairy King. A small battle brought luck and good fortune right away. Battles always ended in their favor. The women were plentiful, the food unending, and the women were plentiful.

“What can we do?” Sorem asked.

But the Jvalan didn’t answer—even after he shook her cage with such force that she slammed into the bottom of it.

“Kill…him,” Orm wheezed. “Kill the Fairy King.”

“Kill?” Sorem stared ahead and the words came to him. “Right. Of course. The Fairy King is immortal. If he’s been captured, pacified, or corrupted now, once dead, he would reincarnate with his bloodlust yet again.” His eyes settled on his cousin, and he beamed. “And then you’ll be free from his curse.”

“No. No reincarnation,” Orm bit out, face creased in pain. “Kill him once and for all.”

Kill him. The words rang in Sorem’s ears as he exited that room ten minutes later, forever changed.

He’d tried to entreat his cousin, to beg him to think of another way. It was no easy task to kill a being of magic. All magical creatures could be made mortal and executed, that was true. But a permanent death, and one to a Fae, to their king? No one was that brave…or that stupid.

Every slight visited on a fairy would come back to the perpetrator tenfold.

No. Sorem couldn’t do this—not directly.

He needed to find some moron to do it on his behalf.

With no other recourse, he exited that dank palace, readied his horse, hoisted the Jvalan up so that he could see clearly, and demanded, “Do you know where to find the Fairy King?”

Once again, she sat in her usual position, eyes closed. “No.”

She could not tell him a lie—or that was the legend—but he trusted no woman, regardless of species.

“Are you capable of helping me find him?”

She hesitated then confessed, “Yes.”

“How?”

He waited until she opened her eyes which took some time.

“The Fairy King is not allowed to hide directly. When he flies, the waves of his wings leave a ripple all Fae, even my kind, can follow. The ripples are weak…but there. Each time he passes by a mortal, he will leave a marker.”

Sorem held her up. “Show me.”

Her glowing wings fluttered faster and a streak of yellow fairy dust floated then collected in one area much like leaves in running water. Then they faded.

“West,” Sorem concluded. “That will help.” He mounted the horse and hooked her cage to his belt. “How am I able to permanently kill the Fairy King?”

The Jvalan held the cage bars and peered up at him. “You have the means to kill him.”

Sorem looked down at her. When she smiled, a sharp row of white teeth gleamed.

“Good.” He steadied the horse and said, “I cannot set you free directly to do the deed.”

It was morning before he reached another village. The plan was simple, inquire everyone he met, man or woman, if they were the Fairy King. By the laws of magic, he could not deny it. And besides, the Jvalan meant all was guaranteed.

The town closed in, but something else greeted them on the road.

A little man on a donkey came to a stop before him, pleading, “Could you move aside?”

Sorem stared down at the little hunchback. The nerve.

Instead of affording the poor wretch even an answer, Sorem stared the man down. In time, the hunchback gave the mule a jab and attempted to go around Sorem’s horse.

The donkey wouldn’t move. In that moment, Sorem wondered if there weren’t other truths in life—some people were simply meant to be unfortunate.

After a gruelingly embarrassing battle, the hunchback slipped off his mule and struggled to pull it.

It was to no avail.

Sorem had important business so he held his reins tight and said, “Ayah!”

The horse darted around the hunchback and Sorem was off. It was another hour before he arrived at his destination.

Upon reaching the inn, Sorem came to a new conclusion.

A face flashed before him and a wave of calm came with it. The fates were truly smiling on him this day. The hunchback. Why hadn’t he thought of this sooner? That wretch could be of some use and even die a hero rather than a lonely, scorned pariah. “Bring me to the hunchback,” he told the Jvalan. “Now.”

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