Page 2 of From Frost to Flame

“Seems that way.” A group of fae walked by in sheer, pastel slip dresses and floral tunics. Like all the other nonhumans tonight, they weren’t wearing masks. Nonhumans didn’t care if they were spotted doing sinful things. Unfortunately, he didn’t see Arden or his gray speckled wings among the chatty group. “Arden’s not an average fae. He’s a cunning prince with experience in espionage and battle. I bet he’s avoiding the main roads.”

Castor scowled. “Why are you being like this?”

“I’m not being like anything. There’s just nothing else to say, and finding Death’s Compass is my focus. I thought you saw the importance of locking it away.”

For years, Silas searched for the elusive artifact. It was believed to be a myth, but every few years, whispers of its existence flared. No one who wore the compass was ever found alive.

Silas had his own reasons for hunting for the mythical compass, but at the top of the list was ensuring Orion’s safety. He wouldn’t let his kingdom fall to a power-hungry nonhuman if he could help it. So, when he heard rumors that the fae prince, Arden, had it in his possession, he immediately set off after it.

“Of course, I see its importance.” Castor plucked a piece of confetti out of Silas's silver laurel wreath crown. “I wish I could solely focus on the mission at hand, but I know you won’t talk about this at the castle. The walls have too many ears. This is my only chance to address my concerns. Silas, I’m worried about you. This isn’t an advisor’s concern. I’m telling you this as your brother. In all our centuries together, I’ve never seen you so closed off.”

“For fuck’s sake. I promise, I am fine. I like being king. I like working. That’s it. So, please, please, let’s focus. If I stay here all night, I may end up mauling someone.”

“Fine.” He threw his hands up in defeat. “Shall we split up? You head east toward the alleyways near the lounges. I’ll go west to the square since you can’t handle the noise. We’ll meet near the docks in an hour.”

“Sounds perfect,” he said, relieved Castor relented.

Dozens of nonhuman lounges, tucked away from human eyes, promised a break from the monotony of eternity. All nonhumans had their exploitable weaknesses and could be killed with great effort. However, unless they had ruthless enemies or threw themselves into battle, most were doomed to live endlessly. This nearly never-ending life meant they suffered from agonizing boredom. Drinking, fucking, and gossiping were how a majority of nonhumans kept themselves entertained as time crawled on. It was an excessively lucrative business to create spaces where they could indulge in all three.

Silas passed by dozens of colorful establishments with indifference until he came upon one that made his heart lurch into his throat.

The door was made of iron, twisted into delicate, spiral patterns. Glass filled with swirling pastel-purple clouds backed the metal curls and blocked the view inside. Glowing violet letters floated over the door, spelling M-A-G-E in cursive.

With a bang, the door swung open, and sultry music spilled onto the street. For a moment, Silas expected to see Lex strolling out with his dreadlocks decorated with gold charms, dressed in a pretty corset. Instead, a trio of water nymphs stumbled onto the street, arm in arm.

I’m wasting time.

He forced himself away from memories of Lex peering up at him with a coy smile and focused back on his search. He found an opening into the narrow network of alleyways between two boarded up lounges and slipped into the shadows.

There was no color here, only walls stained with soot, dust, and time. Silas’s only light came from dim lanterns hung sparsely throughout the alley and the moon. It didn’t matter, though. Like all werewolves, he was best suited for hunting in the dark.

The cobblestones were uneven and stale rainwater collected in puddles that splashed under his boots. Being alone and wrapped in darkness soothed him. The tension in his shoulders and jaw dissipated. No longer overwhelmed with noise, he sifted through the more distinct sounds of the alleys—humans bolting their homes shut, a vampire drinking from a vein, the drip of leaking pipes, and the fast flapping of papery wings.

His ears twitched, and he followed the light flutter around multiple twists and turns. As he drew closer, he picked up the rustle of leather armor as someone dug in a pocket.

Only one fae would fly around dressed for a possible attack on festival night.

Hugging the wall, he rounded a corner and spotted gray wings with black speckles sprayed across their edges. Years of royal dealings with the kingdom of Wisteria made the fae prince instantly recognizable.

Fae were molded to spend their days slicing through the wind, and it showed in all Arden’s features. He was lean, and his facial features were sharp. His skin was pale, with undertones of carnation pink, and his hair was a dark green that reminded Silas of the seaweed at the bottom of dirty ponds.

Arden hovered a few inches off the ground instead of walking and muttered angrily to himself. A silver compass on a chain glinted in the moonlight as he shoved it into his breast pocket.

On silent feet, Silas stalked Arden, waiting for the right moment to attack. His heart hammered in his ears as he approached. A rogue gust of wind shot around the corner, making the fabric of his toga rustle faintly.

Arden spun around and locked eyes with Silas.

“Please,” Silas said firmly. “Don’t do this.”

In an instant, the fae prince vanished behind his cloaking magic. A transparent blur, as if Silas was looking through warped glass, shot down an alleyway.

But once in the sight of a wolf, there was no escape.

The hunt was on.

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