Chapter 6: Preparations For The Ball

Prince Acheron

Thankfully, Count Thorn’s complaints about the raiders’ possible presence in the city were cut short. A servant needed his help with the ball arrangements, and the meeting was over.

He left the office and headed towards the garden where General Lark, his second in command, joined him as soon as he stepped out.

“Hey, Acher! We’ve got everyone mostly settled. I hope this count doesn’t care too much about his lawn,” Lark said, catching up with Prince Acheron. “It’s not going to look pretty.”

The rain had muddied the lawn and what had been a green carpet was now a reddish-brown mess of trampled grass.

“Thank you, general,” Prince Acheron said, emphasizing the last word. Between themselves, they called each other by their first names and nicknames, but when they were on the battlefield and among their soldiers, they had to address each other by rank.

He enforced this more strictly with Lark because not only was he the second in command, but he was also the only Fae of high rank in his battalion. There was no need for Lark to prove himself anymore -his fighting skills and innate leadership had more than convinced the Hova soldiers that he was possibly the best general in the Hova army- but Prince Acheron needed to maintain a distance.

“Oh, come on, no one can hear us here,” Lark said.

The two were far away from the camp but still too close to the castle for Prince Acheron’s taste. In the distance, the white tents made the castle gardens look like a mushroom farm, with a large pavilion that acted as Prince Acheron’s quarters in the center.

“We need to talk,” Prince Acheron said in a low voice as they reached the camp, and the soldiers nodded their heads towards him as he passed by. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Lark straighten up and nod back too, greeting some by name and commending them for making up camp so swiftly.

They finally arrived at the pavilion, which was just as sparse as a regular footsoldier’s tent, just like Prince Acheron liked it. There was a bed, a large wooden table with benches, a large circular tub, and a folding screen to give him privacy if he had to change. He did have a taste for luxury, but a military encampment was no place for comfort, even if their camp was inside the walls of an enormous, lavish castle.

Lark sat on one of the benches and watched as Prince Acheron removed his sword and weapons from his body.

“Something is bothering you,” he said, eyeing the Prince.

“You mean, other than what always bothers me?” Prince Acheron said, joining Lark at the table.

A tall, round Hova walked into the pavilion carrying a tray with a big glass jug of blood on top of it.

“Mid-morning meal, your grace?” said the cook with a big smile on his face.

“No, thank you, Walt. Make sure the Fae get their food,” Prince Acheron said, and the cook disappeared behind the linen doorway after giving him a low bow.

Lark sighed and focused on Prince Acheron again.

“Maybe some real blood will help you,” he said. “You do look a little pale.”

Prince Acheron scowled at him.

“I’m just saying… You may be royal and strong and all that, but you’re denying your body what it craves. I couldn’t go without meat for more than a few days. I assume it must be similar.”

“How can it not bother you?” Prince Acheron said. “There are men out there, just like you, serving as cattle to be milked.”

“It is what it is. I’m marching off to kill my own kind... I am what I am,” Lark said and shrugged. “Now, what is it you wanted to talk about?”

Prince Acheron was glad he had changed the subject. No matter how hard Lark tried to hide it, his eyes always betrayed him. The usually jovial Fae seemed to lose his inner light whenever the fae issue was raised. Prince Acheron didn’t know if it was because, deep down, he wanted to be Hova or because he resented the fact that his people were enslaved by the ones he served.

Lark’s face went from amused to horrified and back to amused as Prince Acheron detailed how his night had gone. The Prince didn’t mention the part where he tasted Ara’s blood or how much it had affected him. He only mentioned feeling sorry for the girl who was clearly under Count Thorn’s orders.

“And there you had me believing you had finally caved into at least one of your instincts,” Lark said, raising an eyebrow and smirking. “I certainly did.”

Prince Acheron rolled his eyes.

“General Lark. What should our course of action be?” he said.

“Well, since you’re asking so formally… Ignore the uppity count. Play along tonight, and tomorrow we leave. The network down at the city sewers is becoming increasingly unsafe, from what I heard, so they’re going to stop using it for a while until things calm down. The raiders pose a threat to the Fae too.”

“How soon can you warn them to abandon the sewer network completely?”

“Well, I can go now, I guess. They’re very organized and have planned for an occasion where they’d have to evacuate on short notice.”

“Go,” Prince Acheron said, getting up from the bench. “I’ll see you tonight at the ball. And for heaven’s sake, please take a bath before going. You still smell of cheap women’s perfume.”

With that, he left Lark alone in the pavilion as the general laughed his head off.

Ara

Princess Lila found Ara a few hours later, curled up in a ball on her bed, her hair and clothes still damp. She had barged into the room with two maids behind her, carrying two large white boxes.

“Ara?! Are you all right?” she said, climbing over the big bed and caressing her friend’s head. “What happened to you? Did he… Did he hurt you?”

Ara knew who she meant, but for a second, the image of the assassin, or Prince Acheron, came to her mind. There in the office, sitting on the chair so carelessly, the spitting image of power and wealth and everything she hated about the Hova. She hadn’t felt hatred towards him initially, but after he had laughed at her for sneezing, she regretted not exposing him and saving herself from the pain the Count would surely inflict on her when he called her back to his office.

She had gone to her room to wait for him to summon her, but thankfully, she never felt the tug. It seemed unusually dormant, which meant Count Thorn was probably busy with something else.

“No, I stayed behind to do some work at the brothels last night and had to hurry home in the morning. I cut through the woods because he was calling me and tripped on a tree’s root,” she lied, smiling at Princess Lila. Another half-truth.

What she really wanted to do was to shatter the collar that hung to her neck, burn Count Thorn’s castle to the ground and destroy the Hova. She was bone-deep tired

Princess Lila looked at Ara quizzically, as if she didn’t quite believe her, but she shrugged and smiled.

“Well, it’s his fault anyway. But I have good news that might make up for it,” Princess Lila said, leaping from the bed. “Tonight, we’re going to have fun.”