Day 0 Hour 9 minute 04 second 52
The Golden Griffon was meant to be a refuge for the men of the castle. Tonight, it felt like an echoing cage of polished mahogany and heavy leather, its high-backed tan chairs mostly empty.
In the tavern's deep rear corner, four Lord Servants—attendants to the princes—were enjoying a brief respite from their never-ending duties to the crown. They had claimed a table near the flickering hearth, their voices conspiratorial and low. The string quartet was a faint, moody sigh in the background, a luxurious backdrop for their indulgence. This allotted leisure was theirs only as long as their Masters didn't require their services.
They were deep in gossip, their conversation lubricated by aged spirits.
"...she slapped him, they say, some of the supreme guards witnessed the brazen assault." The Lord Servant Finley spoke, his eyes darting to the others. It was hard for the shades to find many whispers on Princess Daniela. She was very well protected by her Prince. As a shade, he prided himself on his ability to learn what others chose to hide, but no shade could get close enough to her. Evenings like this had become very important in the gathering of information.
"The Demon Prince? He just stood there? I've heard he has a pension for killing maids! This passing attraction will not save that princess from his wrath." Pablo felt like he was missing all the excitement he had expected to see on the Marriage Market. Considering his Master had chosen his Princess on the first day, he had not had much time to experience the tumultuous nature of a Marriage Market. His dark gray stone skin snagged on the soft leather of the chair, his back shredding the material with ease.
"It's Princess Daniela. She's always been more viper than woman. They say the King might have her executed. The Royals cannot allow anyone to shame the crown." Morgan did not have a favorable opinion about the Princess. She had offended his Master too many times. Worse, she had made him seem undesirable to the other princesses. In days, Princess Daniela had managed to tear down the carefully crafted façade that Prince Eric had been cleverly cultivating his entire life. It was an assault he was not willing to stand for.
"She's a dead woman walking." Blip felt remorse for what would become of Daniela. She had been quite kind to his Master's brother. He knew that Prince Landon would definitely mourn her loss, though his Master Linden would be eager to celebrate.
A collective, knowing chuckle rose around the table, a sound of small men finding cruel pleasure in the downfall of the powerful. The downfalls of their Royal counterparts were the greatest joys to those who were at the whim of such people, their fates decided by the mood of their Masters.
The chuckle died instantly as the heavy, brass-bound door did not open—it was slammed open. It slammed into the wall, leaving dents in the stone. Princess Daniela entered in a wash of cold, focused fury, her simple black silk gown absorbing the light, making her a silhouette of elegant, uncompromising rage. She wore her onyx choker and the heavy, linked bracelet—pieces that looked less like jewelry and more like shackles.
The room's air instantly congealed. The string quartet played on, oblivious, but every other sound—the clink of a glass, the scrape of a shoe—vanished. The four Lord Servants, drinks still in hand, went from relaxed, gossiping men to statues, staring, frozen, at the back of her head. Each of them scrambled to their feet, abandoning their drinks to take up a more subservient pose, knowing that if Daniela was around, the princes would not be far behind, and it was not appropriate to sit in the company of your betters.
Daniela ignored them all. She moved straight to the bar—a crescent of black marble gleaming under expensive candelabras—and pulled herself onto a tall, wooden stool. Even without support, her back was as straight as a rod.
Her face was a mask of cold, hostility. She lifted her wrist, exposing the heavy bracelet, and offered a curt, contemptuous flick toward the bartender, who was already bowing low.
"Pour me a drink. Anything!" In this moment, Daniela didn't care what they served her. She just knew she wanted to escape reality for a while. She felt like a prisoner again. The gifts from Jasper, the jewelry that hung around her neck and wrist, felt particularly heavy—less like protection and more like shackles.
The servant was quick, noting the agitation in every movement of the Princess. He had never served a princess before. He had never even seen a woman in this tavern. Grabbing the glass that they normally served sweeter spirits in, he set the long-stemmed glass in front of her. It held no more than an ounce of liquid. He poured a bit of sherry into the delicate vessel before pushing it toward her and bowing once more.
Daniela smiled as she rubbed two fingers between her eyebrows in frustration. She picked up the pathetic excuse for a drink and laughed. "I will ask once more. Pour me a real drink. In a glass you would serve men." She drank the overly sweet liqueur, then smashed the glass on the bar. The servant flinched as he stepped back. "And if I have to ask you for a third time, this sharp little thing will be shoved in your eye," Daniela spoke softly as she looked at the sharpened edges of the crystal. In this moment, Daniela was furious. Not at the servant, but he was the only one in her face. Her mind kept replaying the viciousness of his ruthless punishment. Even as she sat on this hard chair, she felt it: the pain, the intrusion. It was a lack of autonomy that she had forgotten. When she came to this world, she still had the shackles of her previous life—the feeling that she had no control. And it was as if the moment she felt free, those cuffs tightened on her, a ghostly reminder that she was still someone's puppet.
The servant did not disappoint. Grabbing a stout glass, he poured her the strongest liquor they had in stock, its deep color speaking to its robustness. He slowly pushed the glass toward her, stepping back in fear and anticipation, bowing lower than before.
Daniela took a large swig of the drink, finally satisfied. "Smart man!" As if it were an exchange, she slid the broken glass toward the servant so he could clean up the mess.
The room fell silent. Daniela noticed that the string quartet was no longer playing its melodious music. Looking over her shoulder, she waved for them to continue playing. She enjoyed the melody.
Looking around, she noticed the men who followed around the princes, standing at attention as if they were permanent fixtures against the wall. She knew that they would soon tell their Masters that she was here alone, an opportunity for all of them to once again bother her with their presence.
"Leave!" She didn't really want anybody's company at the moment. She needed to think about what she would do. In her previous lives, she always had a plan. Whether it worked or not was another thing, but she had a plan of some sort. And now she was tied to someone possibly far worse than what she was running from, and she was lost for a solution.
The four men bowed slowly and respectfully before leaving the tavern in haste. No longer wanting to sit at the bar, Daniela walked over to the once-occupied seats. Her eyes stared at the string quartet. She kicked her feet onto the chair across from her, her actions lacking the regal grace that this body had been taught.
It hadn't been three minutes before a shadow on the floor writhed and billowed, not expanding, but folding inward. From the heart of the deepest black, a form coalesced like ink rising from parchment. The shadows did not simply dissipate; they were snapped back, leaving Deacon standing perfectly still, fully formed, and bathed in the candlelight, his salesman's smile already in place. She had never seen how his power worked firsthand, but there was an interesting, intensive quality to it.
"May I?" Deacon asked, pointing to the chair her feet were not on. He sat down before she had even spoken a word.
Daniela bowed her head in respect, the smallest gesture of civility she could offer in this moment, before going back to watching the string quartet.
"I don't wish to have a flowery conversation about commitment, love, and all the nonsense that neither of us care about!" He grinned, hoping that his dispassionate approach would be pleasing to her. If there was anything he noticed while having his shadow trail Daniela, it was the dispassionate way she approached life. She didn't seem excited about anything or swayed by emotion. In fact, most things about her seemed fake and inauthentic, an act meant to entertain.
Daniela continued to sip her drink. It was times like this she wished she had a cell phone. It was one of the great flaws of this realm. They could lift mountains and drain seas, but a simple cellular device was outside the realm of possibilities. Even a TV would be preferable—something to break up the monotony of this irritatingly unnecessary conversation. Between Deacon's nonsense and the thoughts of Jasper's betrayal, she could find no peace.
Deacon wasn't discouraged by her lack of response, but he knew this opportunity wasn't something that would come often. It wasn't just that Daniela was alone, but she was not on good terms with Prince Jasper. It was the perfect time to slither in her ear. "My kingdom is quite powerful. We have everyone's allegiance. We own all secrets. You would be a very powerful woman in all Kingdoms." Deacon paused long enough to gauge a reaction, which seemed as stoic as before as she continued to drink her spirits quietly. "My land is home to over ten magical mines. As my Queen, I would not require much from you. A son, of course. Beyond that, we do not need to be connected. That will allow you to live your life as you choose, whether it is overseeing any project or resource of the Kingdom, or just living as a very wealthy woman." He smiled, his hands lowered, no longer gesturing with flourish to sell her on his image of the future.
Daniela blinked, trying to clear the fog in her eyes. That was the most boring, unsatisfying plea for marriage she had ever heard. It was more of a brag than it was an agreement. Nothing he said sounded enticing to her ear. Lifting her glass in the air, she shook it, indicating to the servant that it was empty and she was in need of a refill.
Deep frown lines began to appear on Deacon's forehead the longer she sat there in silence. The servant came over, filling her glass once again. The rattling of the ice was the only response before the man bowed quickly, running off to hide behind his bar. "Am I so unappealing as a prospective King?" he asked, his hand clenching beneath the table.
With the alcohol in her system, Daniela was feeling a bit loose-lipped at the moment. "Do you think you'll survive the battle? A Shade? Has a Shade ever won?" she asked in an uncaring fashion, her words biting in their cruelty and truth. She knew there was no way any Shade had ever survived the battle for the crown. Their ability was not offensive in nature.
"A Shade has never died in the Battle. Something you should not know or concern yourself with." He felt irritated that Jasper had given her such information.
"So you bargain your way to mediocrity while trying to convince me that you are from a formidable Kingdom. In the Battle of Kings, you are no better than a merchant squabbling over coins!" She wasn't in the headspace to have these types of conversations.
Deacon's shadow detached from his body as the anger rose inside of him. His shadow gained its own will. It took form as another version of himself, completely made of darkness. His obsidian fingers reached for her throat at lightning speed, only to come in contact with the same barrier as before. Inky black mist swirled around her form, denser than before, instantly shredding his shadow into wisps.
"Do not take offense. We are quite the same!" Bargaining for freedom, instead of fighting. She wondered at what moment did she lose her spirit. But she already so tired!
Deacon grimaced as a sharp pain lanced through his form, which he tried to hide. Standing, he quickly walked over to the corner of the room, sitting at another set of tables.
Daniela's uncaring gaze swept over Deacon, who spoke in the corner as if he was speaking to himself. But she knew it would be his parents. Deacon didn't take a single step without their approval. She couldn't imagine being married to someone who lacked autonomy.