Page 1 of Bonded Chaos

Chapter One

Ryker

I stepped into the wide street of the marketplace, and the smell of piss assaulted my nostrils. As my boots connected with the cobblestone, a loud splash met my ears, and something wetseeped into the fabric of my trousers. My upper lip curled, and I had to force myself to contain my snarl.

That better not have been piss.

While I loathed the Seelie Court at all times, it was the fact that they insisted on pretending their kingdom was more elegant, more pristine, more superior, that truly irked me. Once you ventured outside of the palace walls, their streets reeked of piss and other filth, the same as everywhere else.

“Ryker,” Malesh called, jutting his chin toward a man lounging against the wall of an alley.

He hid in the shadows, pulling the hood of his cloak low over his face, obscuring his features from anyone passing by. He was a bulky man, easily six feet tall and almost as wide. The broad span of his shoulders and the thick limbs masquerading as arms made him appear vicious and lethal.

The nervous glances over his shoulder and the unsettled way he shuffled his feet told me he was the man we had come to meet.

I tilted my head toward the man, signaling for Malesh and Eamon to follow me as I strode toward him.

The market buzzed with activity, its air heavy with the aroma of spices and something sweet. Animated conversations surrounded me, but the moment they glimpsed our trio, they moved as though they were fleeing the Wild Hunt.

They could sense the danger lurking in their midst. Their primal instincts flared to life, urging them to seek safety… far away from me.

I pulled my hood lower over my head to avoid being recognized. Being the Crown Prince of the Unseelie Fae, my presence in the Seelie Kingdom wouldn’t go unnoticed. I needed to be quick, cautious, and, most importantly, invisible. My eyes scanned every face for any sign of recognition as I moved with purposeful strides toward the alley.

Ahead of us, a young boy, maybe twelve years old, pulled a cart full of vegetables. He peered over his shoulder and jumped when he saw the three of us following him.

I supposed we didn’t exactly give off welcoming vibes with all three of us dressed in black and our faces hidden beneath our cloaks. Not to mention the array of weapons we each carried. I had my longsword sheathed at my waist, my hand resting on the pommel as if expecting a need to draw it. There were also a dozen daggers concealed beneath my cloak, not that the boy could see those.

On my right, Malesh wore twin blades across his back, a battle axe hung from his hip, and he was casually using one of his daggers to clean beneath his fingernails. Eamon, who was on my left, had a lethal-looking crossbow hanging over his shoulder, already pulled taut with a bolt just waiting to be unleashed. He too had a longsword strapped to his hip and, unlike me, he wore his daggers proudly, sheathed in his thigh holsters and within reach, should the need arise.

So it was little surprise when the boy darted to the side, leaving the path in front of us clear.

When we reached the man awaiting our arrival, we took three steps past him, moving further into the shadows, and gestured for him to follow us.

“Your Highness,” he said, his voice low and rough. “I have news of the Crimson Enclave.”

“Lower your voice,” Malesh hissed.

“Apologies, Your Highness,” the man whispered.

I gave him a curt nod, encouraging him to continue.

The man wiped his meaty fingers on his tunic, the only sign he was nervous about what he had to say.

“Word is, they are no longer focusing their efforts on the King.” His gaze darted to me, and I caught the hint of green eyes peeking out beneath his hood.

It had been damn near impossible to get any solid information on the remaining faction of the Wraith Borne. Those who survived the Cleansing had disappeared, staying hidden for years. The Crimson Enclave, as they now referred to themselves, had only started to retaliate in the last decade or so.

Their sole purpose was to bring about the death of our King, my father, and it was my duty to ensure they never succeeded.

They had first attacked our outermost villages in an attempt to draw out my father. Initially, it was only minor incidents: raids on food supplies and livestock, and the destruction of roads and bridges. When those tactics failed, they slowly escalated until they were slaughtering entire villages.

The attacks had become more frequent and more gruesome in recent months. The people were terrified, but my father and the council ignored the problem. Instead, they made me responsible for suppressing any unrest.

It didn’t help that my father continued to host extravagant events at the palace, a demonstration of exorbitant wealth and gluttony while others starved and were forced to flee their homes.

“It appears you have garnered their attention, my Prince,” the man said, drawing me back to the present.

“What does that mean?” Eamon pressed.

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