Page 2 of A Court Bright and Broken

Winding through the rows of booths were dirt footpaths scattered with straw to help cut down on the mud and hazardous divots. I’d seen many an unaware shopper turn an ankle after encountering the uneven surface.

Though the food was far from royal standards, it woke my appetite. The scents of roasted hare and fried river fish wafted to my nose, making my empty stomach growl.

I wouldn’t be buying anything though. I never did.

If I wanted to be able to continue my routine, I couldn’t allow the food sellers or any of the other merchants to get too close a look at my face or hear my voice.

As usual, I’d stopped along the path to rub some dirt on my hands and face before entering the Rough Market and pulled up my hood, but still, I stood a foot taller than most humans, and there were other differences that set us apart.

Thankfully many of them were invisible. I was already pushing it by returning to the same place so often.

If someone were to recognize me as Prince Stellon Randalin, firstborn son of King Pontus Randalin, my enjoyable respites from the palace would come to an abrupt end.

I’d no longer be able to anonymously observe and sketch the people here. Instead I’d be bowed and simpered to–or be murdered. We weren’t exactlypopularwith the human population of Marinus.

As I settled into an out of the way, shaded spot with my pencils and parchment in hand, I wasn’t truly concerned about the latter possibility.

My superior size and strength made me an intimidating match against most human men, even without my armor and weapons.

Besides, I’d seen other Fae here at times, and no one bothered them. Of course they were all lower Fae and had much more in common with the human peasants than I did or ever could.

My brother Pharis said he couldn’t understand why I’d even be interested in mixing with them, much less capturing theirimages in my drawings, but then I didn’t understand a lot of his choices either.

“They’re fascinating,” I’d told him the last time he questioned me. “So much more varied in appearance than we are. Some are short, some are frail, some are fat, some are old—”

“All of them are ugly…” he’d drawled, lifting then dropping one of my recent sketches as if disgusted.

“I don’t think so. I think their differences are intriguing, beautiful even.”

He’d rolled his eyes. “If you see a beautiful human, please do send her along to my bedchamber. Just don’t let Father find out about your littleoutings.”

“I don’t intend to,” I’d said. “And as long as you keep your mouth shut about it, he won’t.”

Pharis’ expression had grown serious, a rarity for him. “I’d never betray your confidence. You know that.”

“Yes I do,” I’d answered, and it was true.

As difficult as my relationship with my father was, my brother and sister made life in the palace tolerable. It was good to have them to commiserate with and share the burden of being the offspring of King Pontus, though not quite equally.

I was heir to the throne after all—and Father’s most valuable weapon, thanks to my particular glamour.

If only I’d been born with a less shameful one. Musical glamour for instance. There was no way he could abusethatand twist it for his own purposes.

Or exceptional artistry. That one would have been nice. It would have enabled me to fully capture the lively scene before me, which I was woefully failing to do at the moment.

Using my sleeve, I rubbed out the charcoal pencil lines I’d already laid onto the paper. I looked up and around, seeking a new subject.

There—a group of young men walking down the main aisle. Strutting actually. I’d seen them here several times before.

They were not shoppers, but thieves. I wasn’t sure if anyone else realized it.

Perhaps they did but felt as if they had no recourse against the rampant criminal activity here.

Maybe they didn’t even notice it anymore. A bit of thievery seemed to be part and parcel of the daily goings on at the Rough Market.

As my father said, it was simply “human nature” to lie and cheat and steal and attack one another.

The gang had first caught my eye because of the bold way they moved through the marketplace aisles, as if they owned them. The leader was a bit older and rougher looking than the others, with several prominent scars on his face. Burn scars, perhaps?

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