Prologue
Prologue
“You gotta be kidding me...” I huff, my breath fogging the cold air.
The chains around my ankles and wrists clink as I shift, biting into raw skin, yanking at what little freedom I had left.
Stone walls pressed in around me, damp with moisture and stained with years of other forgotten souls. A single torch flickered just beyond the iron bars, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts across the floor.
This wasn’t the first time I’d been thrown in a cell. I knew the scent of mildew and rust far too well.
But it would be my last.
On the second moon, I was to be beheaded—put to rest for my crimes. I tilted my head back, letting it rest against the wall, the stone cold enough to sting. Above me, a sliver of moonlight crept through a narrow grate, silver and soft, as if the sky mourned what was to come.
Damn that Goldheart.
~*~
“A new day, a new crime,” I mutter as good old Jack Mary coasts into the port of Elsalon. It’s been a while since I last set foot here. The city hasn’t changed. Still smells like sea salt, spice, and rot. Still split between rich silk and gutter rags. Still trashy in all the right places. I hop down from my perch, the deck groaning beneath my boots. My hand finds my dagger—cold, familiar—and I slip it into its rightful place on my hip.
“Are you ready?” Raspin asks, tugging his worn hat over a mop of fluffy black curls. He grins. “Let’s go get us a crown. I do look good in one.”
I smirk, fingers wrapping around the rail of the Mary before I vault over it, landing with a thud on the weathered dock. Raspin lands beside me, boots crunching on damp wood. I’ve always been a bit of a troublemaker. A little theft goes a long way for a man like me. If I had a mother, I imagine she’d be disappointed—but that’s the perk of having dead parents: there’s no one left to let down.
And still... I made something of myself. Not something good, maybe. Not something clean. But something. I carved my name into this crooked world with the edge of a blade and the weight of a lie.
Here, it’s take or be taken. Kill or be killed.
And I’ll be damned if I end up on the wrong side of that deal. There’s something about it...
Maybe it’s the thrill. The adrenaline rush that kicks in when things go sideways. Or maybe—just maybe—it’s because being bad is what I do best.
“On your left,” Raspin whispers, sliding the plug from the sleeping gasket and casually rolling it toward the guard’s feet.
“And I’m your right,” I chime in, tumbling out from the hedges like a devil in boots. I brush the dust off my shirt, straighten my collar, and strut right up to the half-dozing guard.
With a grin and a bow, I pluck the keys from his belt.“Thank you, good sir.”
This wasn’t my first castle break-in.
Nor my second.
Can you tell?
You see... stealing is a love of mine. A true passion. The pursuit of gold, the dance of shadows, the heartbeat in your ears when a sword’s an inch from your neck—it’s all so harmonious.
A symphony of sin.
And the best part? The riches, of course.
I don’t know why I love it.
Maybe I never will.
But I do.
And I doubt I’ll ever stop.
Well... unless I die. Which, to be fair, might not be far off.
I push the door open and waltz inside like I own the place. Raspin follows close behind, boots soft against the marble floor.
We pause.
Gold-lined pillars, velvet drapes, crystal chandeliers. Riches stacked from ceiling to floor—chests cracked open, jewels spilling out like they were begging to be stolen.
I breathe it in.“You smell that, Raspy?” I ask, eyes still scanning the room.
He rolls his eyes, smirking. “Smells like money,” he replies, popping a small smoke bomb from his satchel. He tosses it. A soft hiss. Fumes rise, hazy and sweet, dulling the sound in the room.
“Let’s make this quick,” he says, sliding a dagger into his belt. “You take the East wing, I’ll take the West.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice~,” I grin.
We part ways without another word.
See, my father was a good man.
A pirate, yes. A thief, sure. But good all the same.
Why he was killed, I may never know. All I remember from that night is the man in black... and the symbol stitched into his cloak.
A Mariposa. A butterfly.Elegant. Silent. Deadly.
I was just a boy then. But the image is burned into me—clear as the moonlight that night. And one day, I’ll find him. The man in black.
I don’t know if that night is the reason I turned out this way. Maybe it is.
Maybe it broke something in me that never quite healed.
I know I’ve disappointed him...
But he’s not here to judge me.
Sometimes I wonder—would things have been different if he’d lived?
Would I have walked a straighter path?
Would I even be standing in this palace, ready to steal a king’s crown?
But you can’t change an already ruined heart.
It wasn’t long before I found the throne room.
The doors creaked open to reveal a chamber fit for gods. Grand and imposing. Draped in the colors of the Elsalonian crest: rusted red, deep emerald green, and—my personal favorite—gold. So much gold it gleamed from the walls, the trim, the very air.
And in the center of the room, atop a marble pedestal, encased in flawless glass—The crown.
The royal crown. The symbol of the king. Legend said it was forged in dragonfire, blessed by old gods, and passed down through blood-stained hands.
It was beautiful. Regal. Dangerous. And it would sit perfectly among my collection of stolen treasures. I strode forward, my reflection glinting in the glass.“Oh, you’re beautiful...” I murmured, my voice a low purr. “It’s time to come to papa.”
“Not quite.”
A voice, smooth and cold, chimes from ahead.Female.
I look up—and there she is.
Red hair, wild and striking, like fire licking at moonlight. Porcelain skin scattered with freckles across the bridge of her nose. And her eyes... icy blue and burning with resolve as they bore into me.She raises a sword—steady, unflinching—pointing it straight at my chest.“Step away from my mother’s crown.”
Mother?
Well, well... this just got interesting.“Mother?” I echo, cocking my head. “Oh... you’re one of them princesses, aren’t you?” I flash a grin. “And what’s a dainty little thing like you doing with a sword?” I take a slow step forward, brow raised. “I’ll have you know—I’m quite popular with the damsels.” I throw her a wink.
Bad idea.
Her expression hardens, and a second later, steel’s slicing through the air toward me.“Whoa there, Princess!” I chuckle, hopping back and drawing my own sword in one smooth motion. Steel meets steel with a ringing clash. “I didn’t even get your name~.”
Her eyes narrow, her blade pressing harder into mine.
“My name doesn’t matter,” she spits, every word laced with venom. “What matters is that you’re on a very thin line.”
Her gaze could cut deeper than the sword between us.
“Feisty, aren’t you?” I grunt, locking blades with her, the steel trembling between us. “Maybe I want to know the name of the woman trying to cut me in two.” With a sharp shove, I push her back. She holds her ground better than I expected—strong for a princess.
We both slide back a pace, never breaking eye contact.
She straightens, chin lifted like a queen already. “My name is Porsha Goldheart. Daughter of Darly and Katherian Goldheart. And that—” she gestures to the glass-encased crown with her sword “—belongs to me.”
Goldheart...?
Of course. Of course, it’s his daughter.
She shifts into a low, practiced stance—blade poised, balanced. She’s done this before. I raise my brow, amused. “My gods. What are they teaching you in princess school these days?“A teasing smirk spreads across my lips. “And here I thought you said it was your mother’s crown.”
She doesn’t flinch.
I lift my sword to mirror her, the edge gleaming under the chandelier light. She swung at me again, the blade slicing through my vest, leaving a ragged hole. Damn, she was good. What kind of princess gets taught to fight like that? I snapped my sword back, steel clashing against hers with a sharp ding that echoed off the chamber walls.
“This would be a lot easier if you just let me take the crown,” I huffed, circling her like a predator stalking prey. “I’m sure you won’t miss it.”
Her eyes flashed with fury. “You want me to let you steal a family heirloom? Are you insane?” “Maybe,” I snarked, “but you can’t deny it’d be easier.” Our blades met again, ringing out in a relentless rhythm.
She leaned in, breath heavy, voice low but fierce. “You know you’re going to be beheaded for this, don’t you?”
I smirked, wiping sweat from my brow. “That’s if you can catch me.”
She lunged, swinging hard, and I barely dodged, feeling the rush of air as her sword hissed past. I dodged quickly but stumbled, tripping just slightly.
“How about you put the sword down, princess...” I grinned, breath catching between my teeth. “I’m sure you wouldn’t want me cutting your pretty face.”
She shot back, sharp as a dagger, “How about you shut your pothole? You talk too much.”
Rude.
“Well, princess, you asked for it.” I swung, my blade slicing through the air—grazing her shoulder, tearing the sleeve of her satin nightgown. The fabric slipped down, revealing a flash of pale skin and a hint of cleavage. Blood dripped gently from the cut.
Enticing, if you ask me.
“Stripping for me already? Where are your manners~” I teased, cocky as ever. She charged again. Her sword swung, just missing my face and leaving a shallow cut along my cheek.
“Bloody hell, woman,” I growled, briefly distracted. That moment was all she needed—she landed another strike, this time just missing my chest. The fight had lasted minutes—long enough for us to both be gasping for air, clothes torn, bodies streaked with blood and dirt.
Now, she had me on my knees, her sword pressed just inches from my throat. I could feel the cold steel against my skin, and I knew what this meant. And judging by that gleam in her eye, she did too.
“Now...” she huffed, voice low but teasing, a wicked smirk playing on her lips. “Let’s talk beheading...”
I spat blood at her feet, scoffing. “Bastard... I hope it’s a long beheading. Maybe I’ll ask my father for it. My special request.”
She smiled, sharp and snarky. Typical.
This was pathetic.
I groaned as the pain finally hit me in full—raw and relentless.
“Suck it, princess,” I muttered, tasting blood and defiance.
Suddenly, heavy footsteps echoed sharply through the hall. The door burst open, and two guards stormed in, flanking the king himself.
“Porsha! God help me...” the king sighed heavily, his gaze dropping to the state of his daughter—torn clothes, bloodied skin, and fierce eyes.
He let out a long breath, weariness lining his features.
“Seize him,” the king commanded, voice cold and unyielding. “Throw him in the dungeon until trial and fate.”
The guards moved swiftly, gripping me roughly by the arms as Porsha stood, sword still in hand, watching silently.
“You ought to be kidding me...” I whisper under my breath as rough hands strip me of my sword and haul me away. The clang of the cell door echoes behind me, swallowing the king’s voice and
Porsha’s sharp words into the cold stone silence.
This wasn’t my first time behind bars—far from it—but this time felt different. Heavier. Final. I spent two bitter, sleepless nights waiting for my beheading. The damp chill of the cell seeped into my bones, the rough stone walls pressing in on me like a cruel reminder of my fate.
Then, on the morning my life was supposed to end, the door creaked open, and there she stood—Porsha, that damn princess—holding out a plate with the scraps of her dinner. Her pale fingers trembled slightly, the flickering torchlight casting shadows across her freckled face.
“For a princess, you’re surprisingly lowly...” I sneered, barely able to hide the bitterness as I kicked the meager food away. It landed at her feet with a soft thud.“I suppose your father gave you a good scolding?” I murmured, settling back against the cold wall, the rough stone biting into my skin. My eyes never left her.She chuckled, low and amused, a sound that somehow cut through the suffocating gloom. “You look pathetic, you know that?”
Her icy blue eyes locked on mine, and despite everything, I could feel a flicker of something beneath the surface—curiosity? Sympathy? Or just another challenge.
“So, who are you?” she asked, a mischievous grin tugging at her lips. “We’ll need to know the man who’ll be written on the list of beheadings for this month.“There was something devious in her tone—odd for someone who was supposed to be a holy and kind princess.
Then again, it wasn’t every day you met a princess wielding a sword.
“Are you asking for my name?” I replied, looking up at her tiredly. Did I mention you can’t get comfortable chained to every limb?
“I told you mine,” she said, leaning back against the rail, eyes sharp and amused.“And what exactly are you getting from this, huh? Power trip?” I sighed, dropping my head low for a moment before shooting her a glare. “It’s Zaltan Cobble... You’re welcome.”
Her eyes widened, flickering with something like shock, as if she’d seen a ghost.
“Cobble...” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
What the hell was wrong with her? Sure, I knew my name had weight—it triggered reactions in people. But usually because I’d stolen from them.
“You’re that bloody thief... I should’ve known.”
Before I could think of a snarky comeback, the royal alarm blared through the halls, sharp and urgent.
The princess shot me a sharp glare before sprinting out of the cell, her footsteps fading quickly down the corridor.
I yanked at my chains, the cold iron biting into my wrists and ankles, but they held firm. “Damn...” I huffed, frustration bubbling beneath my breath. Above me, the distant pounding of guards’ boots echoed like thunder—thousands of hurried footsteps pounding against stone floors. Whatever was happening, it had to be serious. At that moment, I found myself wishing for the beheading to come already.
Waiting for death was a slow poison—far worse than the act itself.
~***~
I had finally drifted into a restless sleep, the weight of my impending doom pressing on me like a stone. Suddenly, a hard object struck the back of my skull. A sharp groan escaped my lips as I squinted open my eyes, blinking against the dim light.
Leaning over me was a guard in olive-green armor, his face grim and unreadable.
“Get up,” he commanded, gripping me roughly. “You have a trial with the Magistery Court.”
Before I could protest, he yanked the chains off my wrists and ankles, hauling me to my feet. His grip was tight, dragging me out of the cell without mercy. I was lucky I hadn’t eaten in days; my body was weak and trembling. If I had any strength left, I would’ve broken free by now.
“You’d best hope this isn’t the work of your goons, Zaltan,” the guard growled, his voice rough as stone.
I tried to keep my balance, wincing as pain stabbed my right eye—the aftermath of whatever had hit me moments before.
“May I ask... what happened?” I murmured, my voice tired and raw.
The guard’s voice dripped with annoyance as he spat out, “The Book of Aldornia has been stolen from its casing.”
The Book of Aldornia? Sounds like a dusty old tome, if you ask me.
“As if I’d care about some book...” I yawned, dragging my feet down the gold-plated hall. The walls were lined with portraits of royal snobs and trophies—trophies for what, you ask? Probably some royal butt-sitting competition.
Who can sit on their throne the longest before their backside goes numb?
I stepped through an unnecessarily enormous golden door into the grand Magistery Courtroom. I’m positively thrilled... can’t you tell?
Chained to a small, elevated stand in the center of the room, I looked up at the cluster of highborn faces glaring down at me—faces I’d probably stolen from once or twice.
“Zaltan Cobble, your crimes have finally caught up to you,” the King of Jabiea announced, a smirk playing across his lips as his dark brown eyes bore down on me. His salt-and-pepper hair fell in grey and black strands over his shoulder, lending him an air of weary authority.
“I suppose they have,” I replied coolly. “Honor stealing jewels and daughters’ virginity—nothing like royal entertainment—”
“Enough!” interrupted King Goldheart, the ruler of Elsalon, his voice sharp and final. The courtroom fell silent as all eyes turned to him. Beside him, a man leaned in and whispered into his ear—most likely his royal sycophant. Goldheart sighed heavily before addressing the magistery. “I have come to learn that you are a pirate of great skill.”
“Seems my reputation precedes me,” I quipped with a smirk.
The other kings rolled their eyes and turned impatiently back to Goldheart, awaiting his final judgment.
“It seems we could use your skill,” King Goldheart said, fixing me with an intense gaze, “as something precious to all of Aldornia has been stolen.”
“Ah, that book? Don’t see how some old paper could be so important,” I shrugged, feigning boredom. That little act seemed to tick everyone off instantly.
“That book holds every secret, every spell that has ever existed!” King Waldon shouted, slamming his hand on his stand. “It holds this world together! If it falls into the wrong hands, who knows what horrors await us!”
Aren’t kings just so uptight?
“Great,” I snapped, smirking. “So what does that have to do with me? Sounds like you should’ve done your job better.”
“It has much to do with you,” King Goldheart said, his golden quill pausing midair. “You will be the one to retrieve it — for the price of your life and freedom.”
My eyebrows shot up in interest. All I had to do was get some stupid book, and I could walk away scot-free? Now that was a deal worth hearing.
“Perhaps... early payment for the job,” I began, eyeing the parchment as a servant set a contract in front of me. “Let’s say... 10,000 gold coins.”
The king’s eyes didn’t flinch. “5,000.”
I rolled my eyes. “5,500.”
A smirk tugged at my lips as I picked up the quill and signed. The chains around my wrists clinked with the movement.
The servant whisked the contract away to King Goldheart, who stamped it with the royal seal, sealing our deal.
“5,500,” the king said firmly. “Your sentence of death will still stand if you do not return with the book. You have twenty sunrises and twenty sunsets to bring it back.”
He waved for the guards to unchain me. I rubbed my reddened wrists, aching from the tight iron. “To ensure your return, you will be placed under a tracking spell,” a mystic woman announced, stepping forward. She forced a small vial into my hand, its contents a thick, purplish liquid—like snail mucus in texture.
“Drink,” she commanded.
I hesitated but took a cautious sip. The potion tasted like herpeeberry—an awful purple fruit shaped like a human heart—its sour, bitter tang making me grimace.
I let out an audible, disgusted “Yuk” before the mystic roughly slapped a heavy, ornate watch onto my wrist, the cold metal locking tight with a satisfying click. The weight of it pressed down, a constant reminder of my ticking time.
“When your time is up,” she said, her voice low and serious, “your fate will be sealed.”
~*~
I stepped out of the castle, the heavy doors shutting behind me with a deep echo. Suddenly, a soft chime rang out. I glanced down at my wrist— the watch’s hands were already moving, ticking away the precious time I had left.
Let’s get this over with...
