Текст книги "Bound to the shadow prince"
Автор книги: Ruby Dixon
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Bound to the Shadow Prince
RUBY DIXON
Copyright © 2025 by Ruby Dixon
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Cover Design: Kati Wilde
Edits: Aquila Editing
Proofreading: Fortunate Books
Interior Art Vectors: Depositphotos.com @vitalygrin, @seamartini, @bigjoy, @tan_tan, @prosymbols, @dkvektor, @webadgood, @denispotisyev, @alenakaz, @krisdog, @alekseimakarov, @danussa, @ring-ring, @alexblacksea, @marinka, @ursus@zdeneksasek.com, @alexanderpokusay
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Contents
Bound to the Shadow Prince
A note about this book
Content Warnings
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Chapter 71
Chapter 72
Chapter 73
Chapter 74
Chapter 75
Chapter 76
Chapter 77
Chapter 78
Chapter 79
Chapter 80
Chapter 81
Chapter 82
Chapter 83
Chapter 84
Epilogue
Want More to Read?
Bound to the Shadow Prince
In order to protect her kingdom from the wrath of a vengeful goddess, Princess Candra must remain locked inside a tower for seven years. Seven long years without a friend―or a lover―by her side. And shut inside the tower with her? A Fellian, the enemy of her people, a fearsome warrior race complete with wings and claws and fangs. Nemeth is terrifying, cruel, and disturbingly magnetic. Candra should kill him for his supplies, but she’s desperate for his company…and his touch.
As time inside the unchanging tower rolls on, Candra uncovers the man behind the stony facade. And when their tenure hits an unexpected snag, Candra and Nemeth are forced to make a difficult choice. They’ll need to face an outside world they no longer recognize, one that threatens their lives and their surprising love.
A note about this book
If you read Bound to the Shadow Prince on the Yonder app or in print, please note that while this cover is different, the book is the same. No changes have been made to the content.
Ruby Dixon
March 2025
Content Warnings
This story contains explicit sexual content, violence and depictions of murder and death, chronic illness, disease, plague, starvation, war and subsequent conquest, sexual harassment, rape, pregnancy, abandonment, infanticide, and slavery that may be upsetting for some readers. Reader discretion is advised.
Chapter
One
The moment I hear the palace messenger is looking for me, I hide in my closet.
It’s completely childish. I know it is. It’s just that any time someone has a message of “grave urgency” to give to me, something terrible has happened. The first time, it was my father’s death to bandits. The second time, it was that my mother had died of the sweating sickness. The third time, my sister Erynne was told it was time for her to marry my nemesis, Prince Lionel, and I still haven’t forgiven her for agreeing.
So any message that’s for me and me alone? It cannot be good news.
My maid enters my quarters and looks around, frowning. “Lady Candromeda?” She takes a few steps forward, her dark blue skirts swishing as she strides.
I chew on my nail, hoping she doesn’t look in the heavy wooden wardrobe, and if she does, that she doesn’t look behind the huge, embroidered pink panniers that I wore thrice last season. They’re incredibly stupid skirts, but they’re easy to hide behind, at least.
Riza gazes around my quarters, her eyes narrowed. “She was just here. And she has to come back soon for her medicine.”
Wincing, I wrinkle my nose. Riza’s right. I hate that she’s right. I can never get very far because I’m tied to my nurse, who has to administer the potions I take daily, or else I’ll get sick and die. It’s the curse of the Vestalin line to have tainted blood. My mother’s sister had it. My sister Erynne has avoided it, and thus she’s the valuable one. Our youngest sister, Meryliese, was spared the family curse, but because she’s the youngest, she must be dedicated to the gods. She left when I was a toddler, and I barely have any memories of her. The Vestalin family is down to myself and Erynne.
And I’m tainted.
It’s…inconvenient.
The Vestalin line dates back to the first kings of Lios. There has always been a Vestalin dedicated to the gods. There has always been a Vestalin family to bring fortune to the people of Lios. We are the blood of heroes. The first Vestalin, Ravendor Vestalin, sacrificed herself to save our kingdom and ever since, we have been held and revered as the best of humankind.
Well, the non-tainted ones are.
I’m the tainted one, so I’m more or less forgotten. The taint in my blood, the Vestalin curse, means that I’m useless as a bride, because I’m barren. Those with the curse cannot have children, and those without the curse that bear Vestalin blood have a chance of giving it to their children. My mother bore six children to my father, but only three of us survived childhood, and I am the only one that was tainted.
Luck was not with me then, and it’s not with me today. As Riza looks around, my nurse enters my chambers, the hated silver tray in her arms, vial of medicine still steaming from its preparation. She sets it down in the usual spot next to my chair by the fireplace, and begins the preparation of the potion.
Dragon shite.
“Princess?” my maid calls out again, heading over to my adjoining bedchamber in case I’ve appeared there. She glances back at the messenger, who lingers in the doorway, straightening his livery. “Your medicine has arrived, right on time.”
Pursing my lips, I decide to give up on hiding. I kick open the door to the wardrobe and tumble as gracefully as I can from behind the mess of skirts and silks. I throw my hair back and straighten my clothing, lifting my chin as the messenger gapes. “Have you seen my red silk corset, Riza? I was looking for it,” I lie.
Riza just snorts and moves to my side. “Let me help you with your sleeve, my lady.” As I sit gracefully into my chair, she mutters just low enough for me to hear. “Hiding in the closet like a child and you a lady of four and twenty. For shame.
“No one asked you,” I mutter back as she pulls on the knots of my oversleeve, removing it from my gown. Nurse sits across from me, busy at work. My arm is bared, and I lay it out for my medication, not looking as Riza ties a tight band of golden cord around my upper arm.
I can’t look at the needles. They make me feel faint to see them shoved into my arm, so I always turn my head. I use this opportunity to glance over at the messenger, who’s gawking as my ladies prepare me for my daily medicine. “What?” I snap, knowing that I’m being unfair to him. “Haven’t you ever seen a potion administered before?”
He swallows hard, staring at my nurse.
I glance over just in time to see her lift up a large syringe and a needle as long as my finger. Oh gods, I had to go and look, didn’t I? I clench my jaw and keep my face focused on the messenger as my nurse taps my arm, looking for the vein. “You had a message for me, didn’t you?”
“Yes!” he blurts out, wincing just as the needle pricks my skin. His face goes pale and he fumbles with the letter, showing me the wax seal. “It’s from the Alabaster Citadel.”
“War foolishness, most likely,” Riza comments, holding my removed sleeve. “It’s all anyone wants to talk about now.”
She’s not wrong, yet why would someone send war correspondence to me? It should go to King Lionel, and if not him, then his advisors. Or my sister Erynne, who rules at Lionel’s side (or around him when she can). Truly, I’m too far down in the pecking order to be bothered with war updates. “Are you certain it’s for me?” I ask the messenger. “I’m Princess Candra, not Queen Erynne.”
“It is for Princess Candromeda. Others were sent to the queen and the king.”
Well, that’s not good. He holds it out for me to read, but I’m too busy getting my daily stabbing. Plus, I’m not much of a reader. That’s Riza. She handles all my correspondence. “Read it out to me.”
Looking uneasy, he breaks the wax seal and unfolds the thick parchment, scanning the contents. My arm burns and pinches with the influx of medicine into my veins, and then Nurse presses a towel on my arm to stop the bleeding. Done for this day, at least. “To Princess Meryliese’s family. The esteemed princess set sail upon the Northern Light as was commanded by King Lionel last month, with her destination the Tower of Balance. I regret to inform you that the Northern Light ran into a sandbar—” He chokes upon the words as Riza gasps and Nurse goes still. “—and the hull of the good ship was destroyed. There were no survivors. Please inform the king that we await news of the Vestalin line and advice as to whom shall take Royal Offering Meryliese’s place. Yours sincerely, the Archbishop of the Alabaster Citadel, First of his Line.”
I swallow hard. I’m speechless.
At my side, Riza begins to weep quietly even as Nurse rubs cream into my arm so I won’t get an infection. I have no tears. I don’t remember Meryliese. But only myself and Erynne are left in the line of Vestalin. And one of us has to be the sacrifice to the tower.
I suddenly want to hide in my closet again.
I hold my hand out for the message. The man hands it over to me and I stare at the important looking parchment, as if it somehow holds answers to the very real problem of my sister’s death. I want to feel something for Meryliese, but I don’t. I have vague memories of a toddler with ebony curls like Erynne’s and bright green eyes. I remember my mother’s relief upon hearing that Meryliese wasn’t cursed. I remember my mother waving her handkerchief bravely as the Alabaster Citadel sent monks and priestesses to come and take my sister away, and I remember Mother crumpling the moment they were out of sight. She’d cried for three days, and then dried her tears, never to cry over it again.
A Vestalin must always do her duty, she’d told me and Erynne. But her focus was on Erynne as she said the words, because I’m cursed and useless. I remember that, just like I remember Erynne’s brave smile.
Poor Erynne. She’s just as trapped to her destiny as Meryliese. I’ve been the only one with a modicum of freedom because of the curse that makes it impossible for me to carry on our bloodline. I’m too weak, too fragile for childbirth. With the curse in my blood, I must eat regular meals and avoid strenuous activity, lest the bad blood go straight to my heart. My sister Erynne has always been the important one. She spent her childhood preparing to marry a king while I spent mine trying to avoid my nurses for the inevitable needles. Erynne learned to speak four languages and how to ride a horse. I learned that I get headaches if I sit up too quickly after taking my medicine, and it’s best to take a brief nap afterwards. Erynne can read and write, draw and sing.
I read passably, but can barely scrawl my name. No one cares, because I’m the cursed one.
At least, no one has cared until today. But now that Meryliese is dead, I worry what this means for myself and Erynne. I stare at the letter in my hand and then crumple it and toss it aside. “You said this was delivered to the king and my sister a short time ago?”
“Aye, my lady.”
Dragon shite. That means they’re going to want to see me soon. I jump up from my chair and then immediately get dizzy, the concoction racing through my veins with painful heat. Immediately, I sit down again, pressing my fingertips to my brow as I break out into a cold sweat.
“My lady,” Nurse chides. “You know you must rest for a few minutes after your medicine.”
I nod absently, rubbing my brow. “Riza, I need to change to see the king.”
“Something elegant, my lady?”
“No, something garish. Pink, I think. And get the panniers.” I hate those things, but they do make quite an entrance. “And the yellow chemise that normally goes under the rust-colored gown. Let’s pair the two of those together.”
“That is…quite a choice, my lady,” Riza murmurs.
It’s a hideous choice, loud and obnoxious and wholly unbecoming of the Vestalin line, but that’s exactly the point. I mean to show the king in very small, subtle ways, that I’m not right for his plans. That Meryliese’s death means he should call off his war. That no Vestalin is suitable to go to the Tower of Balance and we’ll just have to figure something else out. “Get my jewelry, too,” I tell her. “And cosmetics.”
I aim to be as unpalatable as possible when I see my dear brother-in-law again, just to remind him once more that Candra Vestalin is a disappointment to all. That no one can depend on her to serve the gods, and that the entire matter should just be forgotten.
Chapter
Two
While I’m not the most diplomatic of princesses, I have to admit that I excel at petty court aggressions. Some people are good with lutes, I’m good at getting under King Lionel’s skin. He’s an absolute twat and doesn’t deserve to be on the throne, but such is fate. I flick a hand over my wide, heavily embroidered panniers, and adjust the puffy yellow sleeves of my chemise. They poke out between the cuffs like lemony tufts and look garishly bright on such a solemn occasion. Wholly inappropriate and absolutely perfect. Sitting by the window in my room, I toy with the jewel-encrusted belt at my waist and wait to be summoned.
I don’t have to wait too long. The king’s official messenger arrives and I pretend to be very interested in the embroidery upon my cuff as Riza harasses him on my behalf. When she finally lets him in, I feign surprise that the king wishes to see me. My sister has been married to Lionel for all of a year now, and other than official holidays in which he cannot avoid me, Lionel avoids my presence. It suits me quite fine, as I loathe the boor.
Gathering my skirts, I follow the herald through the enormous keep. Castle Lios should be a place of enlightenment, of learning and joy like it was in the time of my ancestors. But Lionel has taken to ruling things with an iron fist, and he picks endless fights with the rocky borders of Darkfell. Now, instead of courtiers and musicians, Lios is filled with tense advisors and soldiers. They give me uneasy looks as I swan through the halls in my garish clothing, as if my cheery presence offends their war-leaning sensibilities. Lionel is going to drive this kingdom to ruin, I just know it.
And he will drag us all down with him.
“The Princess Candromeda Vestalin,” the herald cries as I enter the throne room.
I feign more surprise to see the throne room full of courtiers and ambassadors, and blow kisses and wave at the gathered men as if they’re all here to see me. The men in their armor and wearing their war-cloaks look less than thrilled at my antics, but I don’t care. I beam at everyone and then sink into a low, perfect curtsy before the paired thrones on the dais.
When I rise, I glance over at my sister, who sits at King Lionel’s side.
I shouldn’t have looked. Erynne’s face is blotchy with tears, her eyes red. She dabs at them with a silk handkerchief that matches her dress, and a woeful expression is on her pretty face. Her other hand caresses her heavily pregnant belly, and I’m stricken with guilt. Here I am, acting the jester and my sister is weeping over the loss of our sister. I’m filled with a hint of shame that I don’t have the same memories of Meryliese that she does. I was too young to remember much, but Erynne is four years older than me and probably remembers a great deal more.
I bite my lip, because a princess shouldn’t cry in public, but Erynne’s tears can be blamed upon her pregnancy at least.
“Greetings, my queen,” I say sweetly, and then add, “and my king.”
Lionel’s jaw clenches and I just know he wants to say something unpleasant to me. I brace myself, ready for it. We’ve gotten into such spats in the past—he thinks he gets final say in all things, and I think he is a dreadful louse, and so we’ve squabbled in front of courtiers many a time. He can’t do anything to me as I’m Erynne’s sister and I clearly have the cursed blood of Vestalin in my veins, but I know he’d love to bring me down a notch if he could. He glances over at his bride, frustration clearly written on his face.
I dislike Lionel intensely. I dislike his florid face and his blond beard and the way he laughs so loud so as everyone will look over at him. I hate his jovial manner because it’s fake, and I hate that he married poor Erynne when Erynne is in love with her maid, Isabella.
And I really hate it when Lionel looks over at me. “Who would have thought that plump, silly Candromeda would suddenly become important to the court?” He gives me a scathing smile. “Today truly is a day of precipitous events.”
“Why, whatever do you mean?” I ask, fluttering my lashes and feigning ignorance. “What has happened, Your Grace?”
Lionel’s eyes narrow on me, and for a moment he looks just like his father. King Balnor was an unpleasant man with cruel eyes, and he came perilously close to marrying my mother to secure his claim on the throne. Luckily for all of us, Mother was penniless (and already married, but such things are unimportant to a king), Balnor had an heiress wife and a marriage was arranged between Erynne and his oldest son, Lionel, instead. Lionel has the same aggressive, cruel streak his father did, and he’s determined to have a glorious war, again, just like his father.
Which is why we’re in the situation we’re in. He wants a war with Darkfell and he won’t stop until Lios is fully embroiled in a new conflict.
I keep the dumb smile on my face as I rise to my feet and wait for him to tell me the news.
“As you know, the Golden Moon is rising once more.”
I nod. “Praise to the Golden Moon Goddess,” I say automatically. The golden moon—the symbol of the goddess of chaos—appears in the skies every thirty years and remains for seven long years. During those years, the seas are violent, the weather full of madness, and it’s a sign that the goddess is unhappy with mankind. She has been since the First War, when Ravendor Vestalin defeated her champion and established the first kingdom, Lios. To appease the prickly goddess, when the Golden Moon arises, a Royal Offering of bloodlines from both Lios and Darkfell must both be given to the Tower of Balance. There, the best of both kingdoms’ bloodlines must remain for seven years, until the Golden Moon Goddess disappears from the skies.
To step foot out of the tower is to anger the goddess once more.
Meryliese was supposed to be the sacrifice from the bloodline of Vestalin. Our ancestry reaches back to Ravendor, and no other bloodline in Lios is as pure. Even now, we stand apart from the rest of Lios. My sister Erynne is the swan of the court. The blood of Ravendor runs through our veins, evidenced by our dark hair and green eyes in a kingdom full of blue-eyed blondes. It’s rumored that Princess Ravendor married a warrior of Darkfell, and all descendants of her line have Fellian dark hair and eyes. My sister Erynne is pale and beautiful, her figure willowy and her manner elegant. Her jet-black hair flows down her back like a waterfall, and jewels gleam amongst her tresses like stars in the night sky. She is gorgeous and ethereal, a credit to the Vestalin bloodline.
Me…well, I am more of a plump sort of hedgehog. But a charming one, I like to think. I’m good with wooing people and winning them to my side. Unless you’re Lionel. He can rot in the Gray God’s dungeons for all I care. I’m not charming for him deliberately.
“If we do not send a sacrifice to the Tower of Balance, the land will be in turmoil,” King Lionel continues. “The seas will be impossible to sail, our ships dashed upon the rocks. The crops that feed the people will be decimated. We must send our sacrifice to the tower within the next three days.”
Three days. Three days until the Golden Moon Goddess returns.
Dragon shite. I am in such danger.
My lungs tighten, and I feel a swell of panic, but I tamp it down. “I trust in the king to do what is right,” I say sweetly, all the while mentally flinging daggers at Lionel’s fair head. “You will guide the people properly.”
“Your sister, Meryliese, was to be the sacrifice to the Golden Moon Goddess,” he says. “Her ship was on the way to the tower and was destroyed. There were no survivors.”
His blunt voice makes me flinch. I recover quickly and affect a pious expression. “And I shall keep her in my prayers, poor thing. She would say to us if she had to give her life, that she should give it in the service of the gods.”
“Her death poses a new problem,” King Lionel says, drumming his fingers on the arm of his throne. “The last two of the Vestalin bloodline are yourself and my lovely wife.” Then, he puts a hand on Erynne’s stomach, deliberately touching her very pregnant belly. He goes silent, clearly waiting for me to speak up.
Fresh tears roll down my sister’s face.
And I’m neatly trapped.
Because my sister can bear children and I cannot. She is keeping the Vestalin bloodline alive and I am the useless one. She is also heavily pregnant with the heir to the throne. She cannot go to the tower, and Lionel’s hand on her stomach seems to proclaim that, even as he gives me a challenging glare.
Well, if he’s expecting me to volunteer myself, he’s delusional.
I clear my throat. “It will be difficult, but I am sure the people of Lios will be able to endure seven years of hardship if we prepare.” I smile brightly. “It is good they have a strong and mighty king to lead them.”
A titter surges through the court, and Lionel’s face goes florid with anger. “You would rather have your people suffer than volunteer yourself to the tower?”
He’s calling me out in front of the entire court, just as I suspected he would. But still, I feign ignorance. I put a hand to my breast and gasp loudly. “My lord, I cannot go. I have the blood sickness. I am tainted.” I do my best to look helpless and woebegone. “I must be administered medicine daily and we all know that the one that goes to the tower must go alone.”
“Your nurse will teach you how to dose yourself. And the kingdom will supply you with food and drink so your stay in the tower is a comfortable one.” He leans forward on his throne, clutching the arms and glaring down at me. “If you do not go, the ships waiting to bring our men to the borders of Darkfell will be stranded here. The ships that carry grain to our people from across the sea will be unable to arrive. Cities would starve. Children would go hungry. You would sacrifice all of this for your personal comfort? Are you not the line of the hero? Are you not the blood of Ravendor Vestalin?”
Ugh. I hate his sanctimonious tone. I look at my sister, at her red-rimmed eyes, and I hate the sorrow I see there. She’s going to be so disappointed in me, and yet I’m not going to commit myself to such a terrible fate. Seven years in the tower will be a death sentence for me. Even if I learned how to give myself my medication, I cannot be away from court for that long. I am the eyes and ears for my sister, hearing rumors that she does not. I am busy, too. There are holiday feasts and banquets every month until the next solstice. I cannot go to the tower and miss those. I am…too popular. Yes, that’s it. “I can’t do it. I’m sorry.”
“Very well,” King Lionel says, his expression full of remorse. “Then your sister must go.”
I gasp in shock. So does Erynne.
