Cursed Prince (Night Elves Trilogy Book 1)

by C. N. Crawford

  Cursed Prince

  Night Elves Trilogy - Book 1

  C.N. Crawford

  Contents

  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

  Also by C.N. Crawford

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Marroc

  Endless solitude. That was my existence. Day after day. Year after year. Decade after decade.

  Sometimes the guards looked in on me, but mostly, they kept their distance. They feared me. Even if they couldn’t see me in the shadows of my cell, or under the smoke whirling around my face, they knew what I was. They felt the evil spilling off me.

  Pale skin, eyes that shone like flecks of ice, my body smoking and smoldering—with just one glance at me, they knew to keep their distance. That I’d been cursed, my soul ripped from me.

  My heart hadn’t beaten in a thousand years. My vocal cords had burned away; I hadn’t uttered a word in all that time. Since I didn’t eat, the guards didn’t need to feed me. I no longer needed to breathe, though I continued to do so out of habit. So I was left here in complete isolation. The only sound was the irregular drip, drip … drip of water from the rocks above me.

  My companions were the granite under my feet, the iron bars, and the rat who slept by my side. I’d named him Gormie, after the elf king who’d locked me away nearly a thousand years ago.

  I’d had all that time to mull over my fate.

  But time had become murky and confusing. Sometimes, it seemed like yesterday that they’d thrown me in here. That first day, I’d hurled myself at the bars, bashed my skull against the stones. Cursed as I was, I’d hardly felt a thing. Only the dull thrill of killing the guards—of grabbing them by the shoulders, pulling them toward the bars, my teeth piercing their flesh. I killed one after another, draining their souls through their blood.

  They never learned.

  So, I waited. My body might be damned, but my soul was intact, far away from me. Bound in gold and magic, it remained hidden outside the walls—waiting patiently for its match.

  The one destined to free me.

  Chapter 2

  Ali

  My muscles were completely stiff, both from nerves and the cold. It was nearly one a.m., and my teeth were chattering so hard that I thought I might chip one of them. Pretty sure I’d been lying on the same patch of roof for nearly six hours, battered by wintry winds. At least I had a faux-fur-lined coat to keep me warm, and boots to match. And being in the forbidden realm aboveground always sent a rush of adrenaline through my veins.

  In any case, cold or not—I had a bank to rob tonight. As one of the chief assassins and thieves of the Shadow Caverns, my jobs weren’t always cushy, but they were necessary. Robbing from the High Elves—killing when necessary—these were the only tools I had to help free my people.

  “Ali, how’s it going?” Barthol’s voice sounded in my headset.

  “Cold up here. Just trying to stay warm.” I pictured my brother Barthol leaning against the wall of the alley on the opposite side of Silfarson’s Bank. Out of the wind and a lot warmer than my rooftop perch. Of course, he’d also be wearing his cave-bear jacket, his hands stuffed deep in its pockets.

  “You ready for tonight?” he asked.

  Not really. “Absolutely.”

  Lowering my face, I peered down the sight of my crossbow and over the tip of the anti-magic-hex bolt. I had the crossbow trained on the window across the street, just above the gold sign that read Silfarson’s Bank. While the bottom half of the old office tower was gilt and ornate, its upper floors had fallen into disrepair centuries ago, iron girders jutting out at odd angles like broken fingers. Icicles encrusted from them, glinting in the faint moonlight.

  The crossbow’s sight was like ice against the edge of my eye socket. What I really wanted, desperately, was to be at home with a hot cup of tea and my collection of ancient romance novels.

  A bit of dread was spreading over me like blooms of frost, and I took a shivering breath. I started to hum, trying to calm my nerves.

  “Ali, what’s that tune?” asked Barthol. I suspected he sensed my nervousness. “I like it.”

  I smiled. He and I had the same taste in music. “Something I found on an old flash drive I bought on Newbury Street. Don’t know the title, but the file was called RickRoll.mp3.”

  “Oh, I’ve heard of Rick Roll. He was super popular before Ragnarok. It’s wild that you have music from a thousand years ago, isn’t it?”

  I was obsessed with the world before Ragnarok, when Boston’s streets had thronged with people and flowers had bloomed in the summers. Before Thor, Loki, Odin, and the rest of the gods died. When the High Elves had lived in Elfheim, and Midguard was the world of men. But fate was unforgiving, and as foretold, civilization had crumbled into the apocalyptic, icy shit-show we had now. A world in which Night Elves like me lived underground. A world I was trying to destroy, one illegal job at a time.

  “Does he have more than one song?” Barthol asked.

  “Just that one.” I hummed the melody over the headset. “Brilliant, though, isn’t it? I don’t know who Rick Roll was, but he just seems very… loyal. He was committed to someone. A warrior, maybe, thinking of returning to his lost love.” I could feel my eyes getting misty as I tried to peer through the crossbow sight. “When we get back to the flat I can give you a copy—”

  “Wait, hold on, sis,” Barthol interrupted. “The last security guard just left. I think we’re on. Is your side clear?”

  My heartbeat kicked up a notch. “Let me check.”

  I tensed, then shifted forward, peering down at the street below. Empty. No cars, no bicyclists, no one out walking their dog. Just whirling snow and silence. My breath fogged as I exhaled.

  This wasn’t the first night my brother and I had spent studying the routines of the bank’s security. I knew that the last elven guard went home at midnight, the bank stood empty until six a.m. During the day a manager worked exactly opposite my vantage point, in a room with dark wood and marble floors. I knew the manager so
metimes slipped a gold piece or two into his jacket pocket when he thought no one was looking. I knew all the bank’s secrets.

  And, most importantly, I knew that I’d die if I failed.

  The Shadow Lords had made that clear when they’d sent us here to steal a safe deposit box. The box held an object that might lead us to Galin—a High Elf sorcerer. Long ago, he’d worked for the king. He was the one who’d imprisoned our people in caverns deep underground. If we could find Galin, we had a chance at freeing ourselves.

  If the High Elves caught me, I’d be executed.

  But it was all worth the risk. If I could steal the safe deposit box tonight, we had a chance to free our people.

  “My side is clear,” I said, sounding calmer than I felt.

  “Okay, go anytime.”

  My finger hovered over the trigger. “I’m going to take the shot.”

  “Okay,” whispered Barthol. “Good luck, Ali.”

  I checked that my vergr crystal was ready to go before I resighted down the scope. This time, I allowed the pad of my index finger to rest lightly on the trigger. Then I slowly squeezed, and with a soft twang, the bolt shot over the street—directly into the center of the window.

  Bullseye.

  I leapt up, slung the crossbow over my shoulder, then snatched up my vergr crystal. As the glass shattered on the street below, I hurled the crystal. It spun, glittering in the moonlight, until it disappeared through the shattered opening across the street.

  I slung my crossbow over my back, securing the leather strap. Time to get into the bank.

  “Fara,” I whispered under my breath.

  Purple light flashed around me, and cold magic skimmed my body as the spell whisked me away. When the purple light dimmed, I found myself on the manager’s mahogany desk. A rush of frigid wind whipped in through the broken window. I scanned the room until I spotted my crystal at my feet. Snatching it up, I slipped it in my pocket, then crouched perfectly still and listened to the silence.

  I wasn’t worried about the manager—he’d left hours ago—but I was worried about the runes. I’d seen them earlier—the protection runes covering the windowpane. Runes linked directly to the High Elf police force. At best, I had about two minutes to break into the vault before the law arrived. I jumped down from the desk and rushed into a hall of ivory marble and walnut walls.

  That was when I smelled my first big problem.

  There was still a guard in the building, one that I hadn’t accounted for.

  “They’ve got a draugr,” I whispered into my headset.

  When Barthol didn’t respond, I stuffed my headset in my pocket. Probably the thick walls of the bank were interfering with the reception. Of course, my brother couldn’t help me fight the undead from where he was.

  My pulse started to race. I could already hear the heavy thud of footsteps lumbering toward me.

  I sprinted down the hallway, arms pumping. In hindsight, I shouldn’t have been surprised to meet a draugr here. They made excellent guards, as they were obsessed with protecting treasure. Undead and untiring, they shredded thieves like me into little pieces.

  At the far end of the hallway, I spied what I’d come for—the vault. But it wasn’t what I’d expected, and my mouth went dry. Not only did a heavy steel door lock it shut, but protection runes glowed over the metal. Not insurmountable, but with a draugr hot on my tail, I had no time to crack it.

  I’d need to improvise.

  Adrenaline coursing, I pulled my crossbow from my back, then kneeled to reload it.

  The draugr shuffled into view. It was an animated corpse, its emaciated body sinewy and leathery. It licked its lips. Then, with a bellow, it charged. As it bounded down the hallway, I felt the floor tremble beneath me.

  I raised the crossbow to my shoulder and fired. Satisfaction lifted my heart as I watched the bolt slam into the center of the draugr’s chest, only ten feet away from me. It grunted, looking down at the tiny bit of wood, then took another step toward me.

  That was the problem with draugr. They were undead. You couldn’t kill a magically animated corpse just by shooting it in the heart, because they didn’t need their freaking hearts.

  Good thing I’d fired an incendiary bolt.

  The draugr was nearly on me when flames began to lick its skin. Something deep within its dead brain must have registered that fire was bad, because it finally stumbled back, clutching at its chest.

  Ducking past it, I sprinted back toward the banker’s office. I knew that the gas filling the draugr’s body was extremely flammable. Just as I rushed into the windy office, the draugr detonated. I covered my head as the building shuddered with the blast.

  In the next breath, I was up again.

  I grimaced as I stepped out. The once gleaming marble hallway was now coated with leathery bits of draugr flesh. But I grinned when I saw that my plan had worked. I’d lured the beast close enough to the vault door that the explosion had blown it clean off its hinges.

  Sometimes I really was brilliant.

  I hurried inside the vault and began scanning the safe deposit boxes. I’d been assigned to steal box number 314, and I couldn’t wait to get my hands on it.

  But my smile disappeared when I discovered that the explosion had done more than just open the vault. The rack holding the deposit boxes had fallen, and their contents had spilled across the floor.

  I glanced at my watch. Thirty seconds left.

  “Balls,” I muttered, and began to search through the mess. Amid burning scrolls, I snatched up bits of broken unicorn horn, old spell books, even a velvet pouch of giant’s teeth. Priceless relics.

  Problem was, the Shadow Lords hadn’t told me what was in box 314, so I had no idea what I was looking for. That sort of info was above my pay grade.

  So, I stuffed anything that seemed remotely interesting into my pockets, hoping I was snatching the right thing.

  “Crap,” I said again as my watch buzzed. Time’s up.

  Then a gleam of metal caught my eye from under a faded scroll. I kicked the curling parchment aside and found a simple gold ring underneath.

  Might as well take it.

  I plucked it from the ground. But as soon as my fingers wrapped around the gold, a blinding flash of white light shattered my mind into a million pieces.

  Chapter 3

  Marroc

  I woke with a jolt, feeling like someone had reached into my chest and squeezed my dead heart. I leaned back against the cold, slimy cell walls. As I caught my breath, I realized what had happened.

  Someone had found my soul.

  After all this time, would it finally come back to me?

  I didn’t move from the stone ledge at the back of my cell. Instead, I closed my eyes again. With the limited magic I had, I reached out to the astral plane.

  I had no soul to send across it, but with my mind’s eye, I could still look into the ethereal realm. Across the cosmic expanse, my soul shone like a star. I focused, trying to see who had found it. As I did, I felt the curse kindling. My body tensed as my blood began to warm.

  I gritted my teeth. I could almost perceive her now. A woman.

  Shock ignited me as she finally came into focus—the one who would free me. Horror wrapped around me like the coils of a serpent.

  No.

  One part of me was thrilled. At last, my magic had finally done what I’d commanded. It had bound itself to my twin soul, the perfect complement to my own. The one fated to lift the curse and join me for eternity.

  And another half of me wanted to scream at the dead gods. My twin soul was a Dokkalfr. A Night Elf. Once she learned who I was, her only goal would be to send my soul to Helheim.

  I lay back on the stone bench that served as my bed as I waited for her to find me.

  Whatever happened next, I’d have to make sure she didn’t figure out how to end my life for good.

  Chapter 4

  Ali

  My head throbbed as I opened my eyes. I lay in the middle of th
e vault, my cheek pressed against a chunk of unicorn horn. I sat up slowly, and nearly screamed when I looked at my watch. A full five minutes had passed since I’d broken into the bank. I was all out of time.

  I stood on shaking legs, but my head felt strange. Unbalanced. Like that time Barthol had brought home an old bottle of vodka and dared me to drink half of it.

  Even with my head spinning, I managed to stumble into the draugr-coated hallway. Gross, but nothing I couldn’t handle.

  But my stomach flipped when a figure moved at the end of the hallway, just before the door to the manager’s office. Not a draugr this time—someone with golden hair draped over white robes, eyes the color of honey, and a thin hawthorn wand in his hand. There was no mistaking what he was. A High Elf.

  He stood about fifteen feet away, and he’d spotted me.

  I whispered, “Skalei.”

  In an instant, a blade appeared in my hand—Skalei, the dagger given to me by the Shadow Lords when I’d first received my commission as assassin. I remembered how Barthol had comforted me, holding my hand as the Lords carved runes into my flesh to bind the blade to me. All I had to do was say its name, and it would appear in my grasp.