A hand prodded my chest. The feeling was unpleasant, and I rolled away from the touch. Or at least, I tried to. It didn’t feel like it was working.
“Look at me!” the voice commanded. “You can’t die.”
What was death when one barely lived?
When I accepted Queen Marguerite’s offer, I didn’t fully understand what she was asking of me. The things she would make me do. The power that would run through my veins.
I sat at a small wooden table in the kitchen, eyeing my brother François over the worn chess board. Father had carved each piece by hand, and we played every night.
A collection of my white pieces sat off to the side, captured by François’s black forces. A wry grin danced over his lips, and I could tell he thought he was close to winning. His fingers twisted the rook in his hands, and he tsk’d.
“You made a mistake, little brother,” François said, moving the piece slowly.
I really didn’t think so.
“Oh?” I asked, keeping my eyes on the board.
“You got distracted, as usual.” François placed his rook near my bishop, sitting back as he steepled his hands on the table. “Your move.”
He thought he was so smart, the way he watched me, waiting for me to make a mistake. François was always doing this. Trying to play games, but only ever ones he knew he would win.
I’d spent the last month studying the chess board late at night, hoping a chance like this would come up. Finally, it was here.
I would show him.
Grabbing my knight—the same one I’d been slowly advancing over the past few turns—I moved it across the board. Dropping the piece near from François’s king, I took my time as I pulled back my hands and placed them on the table in front of me.
“Checkmate,” I whispered.
François’s brown eyes widened, and he lurched forward.
His face was inches from the board as he stared at the knight. “But… but… how?” he sputtered. Turning red, he glared at the pieces, as though that would make them move.
“You made a mistake, big brother.” Throwing his words back at him, I smirked. “You underestimated me.”
People were always underestimating me.
When I was Made, I proved them all wrong. No one underestimated me anymore. Power ran through my veins.
I was the Prince of Darkness, and shadows bowed before me. Except, right now, I couldn’t remember why that made me so sad.
“Sebastian!” A hand shook my shoulder. “You need to look at me.”
I really didn’t want to.
“Please.” The voice cracked, breaking on the last word. “Please, look at me.”
Heartbreak and horror and sadness laced the words, and my heart cracked. Something about the plea drew me into the present. I pulled my eyes open; the effort taking far more effort than it should have.
Darkness greeted me. That was unsurprising. I’d spent the past three centuries living in darkness. I no longer remembered what it felt like to be out in the day or how the soft embrace of the sun felt against my skin.
My vision quickly adjusted, and a stunningly beautiful female with wide brown eyes stared at me. A pale violet light illuminated her tan face, and her mouth was pinched in a frown. A trickle of blood ran down her forehead, marring her perfect features.
“Oh, thank Kydona,” she said, gathering my hand in hers and pressing it against her lips.
I got a distinct feeling that I should have known who she was, but I was having trouble gathering my thoughts. Everything was in pieces, scattered in my mind, waiting to be collected. Memories of my life with my family collided with what was before me.
The female asked, “Can you see me?”