Page 65 of Royal Lies

"Why do you guys always suspect my sister for everything? Maybe this is just because she’s been away from Flynn, you know the real one, for a while now. As much as I detest the idea. She needs him unless we want her to get even more unhinged. Speaking of which, are you really just going to let that fake prince stay here?" Lucarious questioned, defending his sister as always. I shrugged at the second part. I honestly don't know. I mean in a way he was blood-linked to me now, which meant he was family.

"Your sister has tried to harm Everetta several times already, as we all know she's even attempted to kill her once. I, for one, don't have the time for her little shenanigans. Besides, with or without the real Flynn, Everetta doesn't just go on a sudden tantrum for no reason. The distance hasn't caused any harm to me so far, I don't see how she would have suddenly gone wild for nothing. Your sister must have done something to make her go bonkers all of a sudden. Now leave, I do need to get some rest and before you even think about killing me in my sleep I'll have you know I'm not so depleted of magic I couldn't end you unconsciously." I growled glaring at the King of Blood and Fire, who rolled his eyes yet again in turn.

To ensure he kept the bloody hell away from me I spelled my door so that no one could enter once Lucarious had left.

From the moment Isaw it—the orange-shaded sky, the dying embers of the sun—I knew this was a memory.

A memory I had wished never to see again. It was a perfect day, to play, to frolic in the tall grass of the southern tribal lands. Unfortunately for me, I never had the chance.

As always, I sat there in my little section of the hut, eyeing the small cubs and their friends playing. I watched, through the makeshift window of my hut, how the mothers would train and teach their cubs the ways of their family trade, whether it be with the spear, sword, or even how to use a simple dagger. I longed for my mother to do the same, to teach me how to wield the weapon posted on my nightstand. No one would give one to me, so I made my own. I looked down at the blank canvas before me. I—I shouldn't think about these things. After all, I was a boy, and boys aren't allowed such things here.

Sometimes though, I wished I had been taken in by my father, a Wolf King, or so my mother had told me. Alas, I couldn't. My mother never told me why, just that I was a bastard son and would never be treated well if I had gone with my father. Yet, I couldn't stop thinking how this life wasn't any better either. I know I shouldn't think about these things. I should be grateful she decided to keep me but I couldn’t help but wonder.

My mother was the chief; she was the leader of our tribe, and someday I will be too. She'll teach me in time, the ways of the sword, even if I am a boy because I was her only child and the only heir to claim the position after my mother. I must be patient. Yes, I will be the first-ever male chief of my tribe. The first male lion to take the role. I smiled just thinking about my future, and how I would change things for the male cubs here. For the rare occasion that a pure male lion cub is born, they are banished from the tribe the moment they turn three. Sometimes if the mother is kind, the male cub is allowed to stay until he is five sun cycles.

When I become the leader, I'll change that, I'll allow for both female and male cubs to stay and go as they wish. I'll permit them to train if they want to, no matter their birth gender. I will never let anyone else be discriminated against like I am. But I should be happy; my mother was a kind fae; she kept me and didn't abandon me. Despite my different skin color and eyes. How I longed to have the same as my mother, as the rest of my pride. Everyone else was far more tanned than I was. They had the golden kissed skin I longed for. I could never seem to change the pale shade of mine. No matter how much I basked in the sun it never changed.

I stared at the small dress decorated with the entwined vines of the forests I read so much about. I liked their green colors, I wish there were trees in the desert. Picking up the golden-brown chalk beside the paper, I was about to start again on a design mymother would never see, never approve of, never love—just like me.

For as long as I can remember, I have always loved drawing and designing new clothes. I just loved seeing the new combinations I could make. It gave me an escape, some control over my life.

I was starting on a new design when suddenly, my maid—or nurse, as my mother liked to call her—barged into my room. "We need to leave no—" I couldn't hear her last words as her mouth blossomed into a bright crimson, like those of the prey we feasted upon as they breathed their dying breaths. Something was off. I looked lower at the glimmering metal that had caught my attention.

"Fuck! You should have waited for her to shift. Now look at what you did," a gruff male voice bellowed.How did I know?Well, everyone here had pretty soft and high-pitched voices, and my nanny always told me male voices sounded deeper, less elegant. She said my voice would get lower too someday, become unruly, but I don't want it to. I didn’t want to be more different than I already was from all the girls.

"Well, how was I supposed to know? Her fuckin' hair looks just like fur. Wild bitches," another male voice spat. His tone oozed malice as slimy laughter echoed around me.

I realized this one was holding a spear, a spear that shone crimson against the light of my window hole. We lived in small huts made of mud, stone, and sand.

Was he the one who stabbed my nanny? Where was my mother?I looked back out the window. My heart raced a rapid beat as I stood on tiptoes to look out the large hole carved into the wall. Everyone was crying. Why were they crying? Screams—some of war, some of pain. People were running, both in lioness form and human form.

I wondered why I couldn't transform. No, Mother told me; I was a bastard, that was why. I was a mixed breed. That was why I couldn’t shift and run with my pride.

Had these men come to kill me too?

I turned back around to see the men still arguing.

"Oh, shut up. Go pack er' with the others. An' when the boss asks how we make such littl' prfit' you tell him it your fault," the other man said with a weird accent and a very peculiar appearance. How do I put it? It was like no one's ever taught him the alphabet.

"Wait, there' a kid. What we do with ‘im?" the one with the bloody spear asked, now holding my nanny over his shoulder. She dangled there her form lifelessly swinging from side to side. Like a doll with cut strings. I would be lying if I said I wasn't a little scared. Where was my mother? Was she ok?

The man’s hands were on her behind. How inappropriate.

Wait, could these men be the hunters the tribe always talked about? The one who hunted us? Who hunted those who could shift? But why? I don't understand, aren't shifters the most powerful fae, only strong fae could shift, right? That's what I have always been told, that's why I wanted to shift too, because I know I'm strong enough. But if we are then why? Why hunt shifters? Why did my nanny die?

"You shouldn't put your hands on a woman's behind; it is very disrespectful, sir," I whimpered, frowning a little at their poorly dressed forms. Why did I just say that? No, I have to stand my ground if my mother were to come in and see me cowering she would lecture me again. I would have disappointed her again. I would only prove the tribe right, that men were weak. I am not weak. They were bulky, much more than my nanny and mother. His clothes were of such awful material, maybe it was straw?

The first man smiled at me, though it wasn't a kind one. I could read his malicious intent from all the way down to my toes.

"Well, how rude of him," the first man said again. His attire was slightly better than the second and his words more refined, I think.

As if humoring me, the first man rearranged the second man's hand from my nanny's lower region to the middle of her back instead.

"Are you going to kill me?" I asked, scowling, trying my best to maintain a brave face, but my will was slowly deteriorating. I could feel a slight discomfort in my lower regions.

They needed a shave. Their skin was also very tanned. But I don’t think they're fae. I’ve heard little of fae hunting tribal women. Most were humans. Weretheyhumans? If they were, why do they seem so menacing, shouldn't-shouldn't they fear us? I felt a wet patch creeping through my pants.

"No, we'll sell you. A male cub is pretty rare, after all. We’ll use you to make up for that one," the first man said, thumbing to my nanny. I nodded, holding my wrists out. After all, I was sure no one else was going to save me. Everyone hated me, except for some newborns, before they really knew anything. I wanted to live, if I didn't go with them, they might kill me.

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