Page 1 of Crown of Light and Ashes
Chapter One
The Blood Debt
Kaan
THERE IS A certain artistry to execution that most people fail to appreciate.
I lounge on my obsidian throne, one leg draped casually over the armrest, examining my nails with feigned disinterest as the prisoner continues his tedious begging. The courtiers who line the vast chamber watch with bated breath, their faces a delightful mix of fear and morbid fascination.
"My lord, please," the prisoner sobs, his Light Court robes now filthy and torn, "it was an accident. I never meant to—"
"Never meant to kill Advisor Malik with uncontrolled light magic in the midst of peace negotiations?" I interrupt, flicking an invisible speck of dust from my sleeve. "How clumsy of you. Ihate when that happens. One moment you're discussing border taxes, the next—whoops!—you've incinerated someone's heart."
Laughter ripples through the court, though it quickly dies when I glance up, my gaze sweeping the crowd. Even my most loyal subjects know better than to laugh too enthusiastically at my jokes. It might give the impression that I am entertaining rather than terrifying, and that simply won't do for the reputation I've so carefully cultivated.
"I wish to appeal to your mercy," the prisoner continues, his chains rattling as he prostrates himself before me.
I sigh dramatically and finally deign to look at him properly. He isn't particularly impressive—perhaps thirty years old, with the soft hands of a diplomat and the golden eyes typical of the Light Court nobility. What is his name again? Something predictably virtuous and boring.
"Emir," I call to my Shadow General who stands just to my right, perpetually alert despite the relaxed atmosphere I prefer to maintain. "Remind me who this is?"
"Lord Zoran of House Lumina, my lord," Emir replies, his voice as steady and reliable as always. "Son of Councillor Taren. Killed Advisor Malik yesterday during the border discussion. The circumstances were... somewhat unclear, my lord."
"Ah, yes. Zoran the Incandescent, they call you, don't they?" I smile, showing just enough teeth to make him flinch. "Though I've found your light rather dim today. Perhaps confinement has dampened your... spark?"
More nervous laughter. I truly am wasted on this audience.
"It was an accident," Zoran repeats, his voice cracking. "My magic reacted to a threat—"
"Was my advisor threatening you with his extensive knowledge of tax law?" I ask innocently. "How terrifying that must have been for you."
"No, I sensed a—"
"I don't actually care," I cut him off, finally swinging my legs down and sitting up straight. The movement alone is enough to silence the entire hall. "The fact remains that you, a Light Court representative sent to discuss peace, murdered one of my most valued advisors."
I stand, and shadows immediately gather around me, coiling like living smoke. This, at least, never grows tedious—the way fear blooms in their eyes when confronted with my power. The darkness responds to my will, condensing and sharpening into a blade that extends from my hand.
"Under the old laws, your life is forfeit," I say, my voice carrying effortlessly through the hall. "Blood for blood, or a life of service in exchange. It's all very primitive, but tradition does have its charm. Four centuries of conflict between our courts, and we still cling to laws written when the first Shadow Lord and Light Sovereign divided these lands. Like decorative throw pillows or public executions. They really tie the kingdom together."
I descend the steps from my throne, the shadow-blade trailing beside me, leaving a trail of frost on the polished black marble floor. The courtiers shrink back, creating a perfect pathway to the prisoner.
"Any last words, Lord Zoran? Something poetic, perhaps? Your kind usually prefers to exit with a flourish. A limerick might be nice—I do enjoy a good limerick before breakfast."
"I beg for mercy," he whispers, trembling as I approach. "In the name of the treaty between our courts—"
"The treaty you violated when you turned my advisor into a smoldering corpse?" I laugh, the sound echoing coldly. "Try again. Though I must admit, Malik did look rather dashing as a pile of ashes. Really brought out his cheekbones."
Several courtiers choke on surprised laughter. Others look horrified. I love that combination.
"Then in the name of my family," he says desperately. "My father—"
"Is not here," I finish, now standing directly before him. I lift his chin with the tip of my shadow-blade, careful not to pierce the skin. Not yet. "And frankly, I'm growing tired of this conversation. I had a late night planning a particularly devastating tax increase—tedious work even after decades of rule, but someone must maintain the Shadow Court's coffers."
I raise the blade, shadows swirling more intensely around us both. The prisoner closes his eyes, a single tear tracking down his dirt-stained face. Pathetic. Most Light Court nobles at least attempt to maintain their dignity in death. If you're going to die, at least do it with the poise your kind is known for. I make the effort to look fabulous while killing people; the least they could do is die interestingly.
The doors to the chamber burst open with a sound like thunder.
I pause, blade still raised, irritation flaring at the interruption. Who would dare?
