Chapter One
Prince Willoughby’s Diary,Wednesday September 4th 2017
WILLOUGHBY
The cursed silk winds around me, crushing the air from my lungs.
I gasp. I can't breathe, and my magic is trapped.
Brother, please don't betray me.
But then, I killed father.
Another royal blue snake slithers from my younger brother, Darby's, hand and winds around me to create a gossamer light suit.
Round, and round, and round…
It's scented with Darby’s magic of winter grasses, but it makes me shudder, rather than feel safe. It glimmers in the light like the silver shackles at my wrists and the collar at my neck.
My magic screams at the unnatural cage that binds it.
I'm a collared prince dressed in silk. A fallen king. Deposed.
Why am I surprised that I'm on my knees before the throne, which I'd been destined to sit on?
Darby sprawls on the frozen throne. He wears the Ice Crown, which is as high as antlers, like he craves to gore me with it.
I shiver because it's like looking at my younger self in the mirror: large sky-blue eyes, which match the cascade of silky sky-blue hair. Yet have I ever been flushed with such hate or ambition? He watches me with a ravenous expression like my every flinch and gasp feeds the darkness within him.
Had I merely missed it before, clouded by love?
Father raised a kingdom, but I raised Darby. I dragged him away from his musty books and out to explore the mountains, rivers, and woods of our Other World. I crouched with him in the mud, as we cupped frogs in our hands. Then we swam under the freezing thunder of waterfalls to explore hidden chambers and dream of dragons. When we clasped hands and blew the fuzzy heads off dandelions, screwing shut our eyes to make a wish, I'd never known that as the seeds scattered on the breeze, I was blowing away my last moments with my brother.
A king who now watches the life in my eyes die.
Yet were Darby's wishes back then different to my own? Had he always desired my crown?
I shudder, and my mind grows hazy. My powers are forced down, dangerously deep inside. Yet aren't they what's dangerous? I'm deadly. That's why I'm in chains.
I sway, and my vision blurs.
In the name of the Other World, don't restrain my magic...my mind...my body in this enchanted straightjacket.
Kill me.
Did I scream that out loud or did it only echo inside my mind?
Don't condemn me to this slow death.
My brother's lips curl into a cruel smile. He's always been a talented sorcerer. I'd been proud of his talent. Once, I'd been puffed up about my own skills both as a warrior and a sorcerer. Now I know that I've never been able to control either power.
As the last length of silk slithers around my chest, I choke.
Help me.
But I deserve this: my sentence and salvation. If I can't control myself, then perhaps, this cursed suit can.
I wrench at the shackles, fighting the panic.
Don't struggle. You're a prince, act like one.
The palace chamber is dim in the evening light. How long has this curse been woven? How long have I knelt on this sapphire floor as a prisoner, which once I'd played on? I battle to lift my head and look through the arched window out at the palace gardens beyond. The lattice of oaks, which form bowers for fountains, are beaten by a snowstorm.
All around me, servants who I've known since I was a child and would once have bowed and waited on my orders, bustle to their work like I'm invisible. They drop silk banners across the wooden columns.
Why are they hiding my father's palace? They are burying its simple lines under extravagance. Does Darby wish to bind it in his magic as much as he's binding me or to hide it away...?
Will he imprison me in the dungeons?
I press my nails hard into my palms. An elf's life is too long to live without touch, life, and light...
Kill me.
I stare defiantly up at Darby, who glowers back.
"Stop this, brother." I wet my dry lips. "It's enough."
"You think to tell your king when it's enough?" Darby arches his elegant brow.
"Since when were you the king? Or mine?" I tilt my head. "You're my younger brother. It’s I who father sat on his knee and told stories of our ancestors. One day, it’ll be my turn to add a sculpture. You know how hard I studied for that skill." When Darby shifts, I raise my shackled hands to point at the frozen ice sculpture of a dragon on the back of the throne. "Every king adds their own legacy. Yet I only cared about the feel of father's fingers between mine, as he'd traced them across each one: warm against the cold."
Sitting on that throne with father, I felt that he could protect me from anything. But he couldn't protect himself from me.
Darby clutches the dragon's wing like he wishes that he could break it off. "Well, he's dead now. So, his fingers are only cold, and it's mine that get to hold the throne."
When I flinch, Darby's expression darkens like it's a personal victory.
I swallow. "I didn't mean—"
"No more lies, traitor." Darby leans forward on the throne that I'd been brought up since birth to inherit, wearing the Ice Crown on his head that’d only been meant to grace mine.
I clench my jaw. "Where's mother?"
"Weeping."
Who was lying now?
For the first time, rage bubbles through me. The tips of my hair sharpen with ice. The room becomes chilly.
Not again, not again, not again...
"I'm still her son," I hiss.
A sly smile creeps across Darby's face. "Are you so certain, killer?"
The hurt flashes across my face, before I can mask it.
Under my breath, I hum the calming lullaby that mother taught me, when I was plagued with nightmares of Dark Elves and unable to sleep. She’s skilled in magic but only to heal, unlike Darby who uses his to harm. I possess merely a spark of her talent. Her songs are like being dragged down into winter waters, sliding into sleep.
When Darby leaps off the throne and prowls towards me with predatory danger, I stare at him in shock.
The throne room falls to a deep hush. The servants huddle together, scared. My hum echoes through the ancient chamber like calm waters beneath the deadly ice of my brother's rage.
The crack of Darby's slap across my cheek, silences me.
"Shall I spell your murderous lips unable to sing our blessed songs again?" Darby circles me.
The hairs on my nape rise. I stiffen my shoulders, and my expression becomes shuttered.
Would he truly do that? It broke every elven belief.
Don't take my music.
Still, I don't move.
"Yet that wouldn’t solve the problem of the elves outside this palace who hold vigil for their dead king and call for your execution." Does he wish me to beg for my life? Let him take it. He blinks. "Won't you say anything?"
"It's hard to be the one with the power," I answer, softly. "I shan't make the decision for you."
Darby's eyes widen. "I wasn't...I mean..." His gaze slides from mine. I can see him then: the boy who climbs trees with me and charms the horses to gallop faster than the fall winds. "I believe mother weeps because she's worked out that you're not a Light Elf at all. In fact, you're nothing but a Dark Elf from our nightmares. You're a changeling who was swapped at birth...the reason that my true brother and prince was killed."