Prologue

 

Where there is a Darkling, there is a Forsaken in her wake.

Where there is a sinner, there is a saint.

Where there is life, there is death.

 

She who is born a Darkling will destroy a life.

She who is born a Forsaken will succumb to destiny’s path.

 

Tied together, they will loathe.

Drawn apart, they will despair.

 

Where there is a royal, there is a commoner.

Where there is darkness, there is light.

Where there is a Darkling, there is a Forsaken in her wake.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PROLOGUE

 

 

 

Screaming, that was what I could hear.

Standing in a shadowed, achingly long corridor, I listened in terror to the feminine shrieking occurring all the way to the door at the end of the corridor, the only evidence of its existence being the flickering light coming from beneath it. The screaming sounded distant yet deafening at the same time, and I wanted to desperately reach it, to help the poor soul suffering, but my feet wouldn’t leave the ground. Instead I stood paralysed, fear clenching in my gut like a fist.

After what felt like hours I began to move, edging towards the terror despite the need to run fleeting through my veins. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t belong here. There was danger here, too terrible to imagine, yet I continued to move like an unescapable force pulled me forward. I might as well have had bounds of my wrists, pulling me like a prisoner towards my impending execution.

The screams grew louder, more desperate, pleas for mercy becoming audible in my ears as I drew closer. Tears pricked my eyes and my blood ran cold, like a sheet of ice had embraced me in a secure hold. A sharp pain erupted in my head, more unspoken advice that shouldn’t approach any further, yet I continued to move. The skin of my left temple began to sizzle, burning ferociously, but I managed to ignore it with a hiss through clenched teeth.

I was at the door, the wood made of what looked like pure oak. Carved within there were markings, swirling impressions exploding all over the door’s outer boarder, while in the middle was that of a Sigel, one that was unrecognisable to me; the body of it was that of an infinity sign while lines swirled from it in a tangle, reminding me of a flurry of snakes.

The screaming was ear splitting, and with a shiver I opened the door. The golden door knob was scorching beneath my hand, and my mind told me to yank my hand back from the pain, yet I only proceeded to push the door open and peer inside. Sweat moistened the skin of my neck and line of my spine, dripping, and a scream of my own lodged itself in my throat.

A girl, no older than fourteen, was tied tightly to a wooden chair in the centre of a room. Her hair, wet with sweat and a gold as the midday sun tumbled over her shoulder in a mass of knots and matted with blood, most likely hers. Golden eyes were wild as they darted around the room, her frail form desperately straining against her bounds; the rope on her wrists and ankles had rubbed at her skin so terribly that they had torn away the flesh. She wore only a thin white gown that looked like something for nightwear, barely falling halfway down her bloody thighs. Sweat coated every inch of her skin, making her glisten in the candle light. From here, she looked like a tortured angel in the depths of Hell.

“Please!” she shrieked, straining once more. “I beg of you to release me!”

“Shut up!” a male voice barked from somewhere in the room, and suddenly the girl was blocked from my view when a figure stepped before her. She choked of a strangled sob, and I could see her hands clench on the arms of her chair. The figure made a swiping motion towards her with his fist, knuckles connecting with the bone of a jaw, and the girl cried out once more. The man chuckled, and I suddenly felt a fierce hatred bubble in my blood.

“Now,” said the stranger, pacing in front of the girl. “Tell me what you have seen.”

I watched as the girl seemed to slump at last, her chin dropping to her shimmering chest. I could only watch in horror, a need to run to her suddenly strong within me yet my legs would not obey my command to move. “The Marked Ones are coming.” The girl whispered, and the stranger grabbed a fistful of her golden hair, forcing her head up. She met his gaze, glaring in her own defeat, and the stranger laughed again.  “Good,” he said, the back of his head bobbing up and down as he nodded. “Very good. Thank you, Your Highness, thank you very much.”

And then he did the diabolical; he yanked out a knife from his belt, and the girl didn’t even have time to scream before he sliced her throat from left to right.