Of Spirit & Fire

Eleven annum later since the War of the Crown

Rule number one in the art of torture?

Be creative.

You’re an artist. The body is your canvas.

You can do whatever the hell you want with it, whatever gets you off.

Carve, scoop, slash, cut.

Have fun with it and take your sweet time.

You have all the time in the world.

But only if you’re me, of course.

Sounds a little extreme right?

Go cry to someone else about it. This is my story.

A snicker escapes from my lips.

I really should write this stuff down.

The story of my life would be the greatest story ever told.

Hold the once upon a time phrasing. This story isn’t for the faint of heart.

Hi, I’m Levi Alaris. Prince of the realm called Annwn. I’m among the most powerful in—one of the elite, if you will. Upper echelon type shit. And if you’re me, you likely have damn near forever to live your life. But since you have the misfortune of not being me, why not live vicariously through me for a bit?

I’m brilliant, really.

The muffled cries from the Coraniaid chained to the cell in the corner of the room are reminiscent of the irritating squawks Sayer, my mother’s familiar, used to make when he’s hungry and tired as fuck of me and my twin sister’s games. He’s irrevocably tied to her, through magic and selective bonding.

I sigh and raise a brow in the direction of the incessant noises.

And unfortunately if you’re this Coraniaid...well, you have forever too.

See, a Coraniaid is what I am. What my prisoner is.

We’re the long-lived, fanged, better hearing result of an angel and Fae coupling. The superior beings of the realm. Angels no longer live in Annwn. They’re in Elysium—or heaven, with God, of course. But Annwn is still a realm that consists of Fae, Elves, Coraniaid, Nymphs, and Sylphs. Tylwyth Teg is the blanket term for all the beings of Annwn.

You’ll understand that part later, but what you need to know is...all the fairytales are fucking real.

Enter the story’s antagonist. Though it doesn’t really make sense you coming into his part of the story already being captured. Such is life, I guess. Just know that he deserves this reckoning.

I shoot him a carefree wink, followed by my infamous, cruel smile.

My father’s smile. The very King of Annwn himself.

I’m pretty sure my prisoner just shit himself.

He’s had a bad division. What you would call a month in your lingo.

Here he is thinking he’s been forgotten over the past annum. Then I arrive to shake things up a bit. To remind him why he’s reduced to the worthless piece of trash he is.

No kidding. He often sleeps in his own excrement.

I snicker darkly, shaking my head at the Coraniaid’s cowardice and filth.

I can feel your judgement already.

Look, this male has taken so many lives. Tortured many a soul.

Suffice to say, he had it coming. Ten times over. And even then, his torture wouldn’t be enough.

Never enough.

This male stole my youth. Or maybe what little innocence I had left.

He stole my family.

My empathy.

I may just have him to thank for who I am now. I suppose this is where my story begins. The actions I took this period will forever shape my future.

But you?

You get to come along for the ride.

“Pea-sse—” The Coraniaid can’t even form a coherent word. Kind of hard with the absence of his tongue. Courtesy of yours truly.

The Coraniaid thinks I’m my father, his nephew. Being in here for so long as warped his brain a bit. He’s like this every time I visit. He has no idea how wrong he is. He has no idea how much time has passed since my father captured him.

Life has sped by him since he lost to my family in the what is now called the War of the Crown.

It has been eleven annum, to be exact. Eleven human years.

He should feel grateful he was kept alive for this long.

I recently discovered my dear great-uncle was still alive and breathing, albeit in a dungeon of my father’s choosing. Though he deserves far worse. Father pretends he no longer exists. Father grew a conscience and now only aims to please Mother.

I get it, but he’s only lying to himself.

Father is a Dark Coraniaid. A former prince of the Dark Court. His name is feared every where the sun touches in the realm.

And Mother?

Mother is the goddamn ruler of Annwn. The Queen herself who hails from House of Summer. I’m lucky to have both of them in my genetic makeup. I can be driven by Darkness or Light.

I haven’t decided which way to lean yet. Though darkness has a certain pull I can’t ignore.

Luckily, I have zero qualms about picking up where my father left off in the torture.

I roll my eyes at my prisoner as I wipe my bloody hands off on a washcloth.

I feel nothing for him.

In fact, he’s quite boring lately, if I’m being honest.

It is what it is.

Where was my great-uncle’s empathy when he was hurting my mother? He’d raised her himself—hurt her in unspeakable ways. Where was that empathy when he was toying with my father? Dangling my father’s mate in front of him and playing with their lives? He’d hurt everyone in my entire fucking family. Where was it when he was planning, scheming, deceiving? When he made me...no forced me to—

Let’s not go there yet.

I blink the memory away, always burying the past. It’s the only way to move forward.

So he was technically family.

He’s nothing to me now. Never was, if I’m being totally honest.

My first kill was at five annum. This male intruded in the middle of the night. I did what needed to be done to protect my House, the Summer Court. I killed a Druid that night. Their ancient elemental power was no match for my own, even as a youngling.

I did not cry.

That first kill sparked a desire that fed a flame, spreading like wildfire until it made its home inside my heart. A shield of dark obsidian, wrapped in crystallized hematite like the stone of the Dark Court, a raging fire at its center.

A shield hewn from revenge and disconcert. Hidden; buried deep in the recesses of my mind until I dig it up, let the leash go, and set the beast free.

I’d be lying if I told you it was my last kill. Sure as hell, wasn’t.

Mother would cry if she knew who her son turned out to be. Beneath my carefree smiles, my silly jokes and amiable personality, immorality lurks, ugly and slimy. It’s the exact opposite of my shell.

Quite a shell that is, by the way.

If only you could see me.

Seriously, I’m the shit. Just being truthful. Hell, I’m fucking sexy. I can have any female I want. Even your own mother if I so choose.

I’m a Prince.

What do you expect?

I’ve taken full advantage of that. The pleasures and luxury I was afforded was nothing short of a status symbol. I dress in finery daily, act like a royal, inherited the good looks of a royal; confident and I’m really....a complete asshole.

I’m not apologizing for it.

Think what you want about me. Call me spoiled. Call me arrogant. Call me cocky. You can even say I’m selfish.

You’d be absolutely right.

I am my father’s son.