The Antlers Throne was once the crown jewel of Eldros' bustling streets—a place of laughter, luxury, and sin.
As a boy, Kael had been too young to step inside, but he'd always stared at the rich patrons slipping through its stained-glass doors. When he'd asked his father about them, the answer had been a slap so hard his ear rang for days.
Years later, when war dragged him away from home, Kael finally walked through those doors himself.
He had one mission: To not die a virgin.
What happened after had left an impression, given him a new appreciation for the male form, and cost him his first month's military wages.
Kael considered his younger self to be a fucking idiot. He hadn't died on the front lines, but it wasn't for the vicious elven force's lack of trying. There had been plenty of opportunity for fun among the soldiers too. All of it free. Although, in the end, Kael had paid with his heart.
Eight years later, now with twenty-three years and a whole lot of war behind him, he was back at the pleasure house, his head full of shadows as dangerous as those cloaking the streets, and nothing about the once-grand city of Eldros was as he remembered, including the Antlers Throne.
The jewel had decayed from a precious gem to costume jewelry.
Pretty people still worked the tables, but their ruffles had frayed, their hair had fallen loose from the multitude of sharp pins, and the paint on their lips had smeared across their cheeks.
The house had become a parody of itself, and Kael wished he hadn't come at all. He shouldn't have been surprised. All of Eldros, the city and the land of the same name, was similarly neglected.
The city had neglected its people, and it had good reason, the Royal family had neglected it too. Defeat was everywhere—in the peeling wallpaper, the spluttering streetlamps, the hungry beggars, and the sad-eyed orphans.
Most nights he woke drenched in sweat wishing he'd died alongside his brothers-in-arms so he didn't have to suffer the shame of returning home with the bitter taste of defeat forever on his tongue.
Or maybe that was the mead. He picked up his tankard and frowned at its contents. The drink truly was vile.
"I hear they water it down with piss," a cool, civilized voice said beside him. A heavy-hooded riding cloak cast a thick shadow across the man's face, revealing only a smooth, sharp chin and the small uptick of thin, pale lips.
Kael hadn't seen him take the seat at the bar. Either he moved with the grace of a snake, or the mead was more potent than he'd realized. Perhaps both. Whatever the case, having seen how far the Antlers Throne had fallen, he didn't plan on purchasing any company tonight, fearing he'd catch crotch-lice and lose the contents of his pockets in return.
"I'm not interested," he grunted, sparing the man a glance. Criminals hid their faces. Kael had no time for wretched thieves.
The stranger placed a plump red velvet money pouch on the bar. Its contents clinked, fat with coin.
Kael wet his teeth with his tongue, preparing to tell the prick that if he couldn't see how Kael wasn't a whore, then he was either blind, or stupid, or both, when the flash of the man's ruby signet ring caught his eye. A gold stylized griffin set into obsidian. The royal emblem.
The sight of it should have inspired pride and loyalty. He should have dropped to his knee and kissed that ring. But he'd charged into battle with that damned griffin on his breastplate, like a fucking target for every elven blade and arrow. He'd witnessed friends die for that griffin. And it had all been for nothing.
Kael tightened his fingers around the tankard, wishing it were the handle of his sword. Good thing he hadn't brought his blade or else the royal bastard might find himself missing that finger and its ring. Of course, such thoughts were fantasy. Whoever this royal was, he wouldn't be walking Eldros' streets alone at night.
A quick scan of the crowd revealed two potential palace guards, similarly cloaked, making fine wall ornaments while watching Kael's back. One had pale blue eyes and a sandy blond mop of hair that had likely grown out since his soldiering service, and the other had red hair cut close to his skull. With faces like theirs, they'd make good money in the Antlers Throne.
"For this coin, you will kill a man," the smooth royal voice said, reminding Kael he wasn't alone.
Kael lifted the tankard to his lips, smiled, and took a sip. "I'm not an assassin."
The royal leaned in so close Kael could smell the sweetness of rosewater. "You are whatever I order you to be, or nothing at all," the man said with the confidence born of having never been denied.
How lovely it must have been to bathe in rosewater. The closest Kael had gotten to such a thing was washing elf blood off himself in a stream.
The royal still had his hand on the money pouch. His fingers were smooth, lean, nails precisely rounded, more accustomed to delicate maneuvers like playing the harp or signing royal decrees of surrender. They'd snap like twigs under Kael's rough grip.
Despite this man's physical weakness, he had all the power in the building, perhaps in the city, depending on which royal he was.
There were several possibilities. Not the king. He never left the palace and his health had been deteriorating for years. That left one of three princes.
Kael hadn't seen them in years, and then only once during a parade. He had climbed onto the rooftop of his father's forge and watched the shining procession pass beneath. The young princes had passed by too, all three atop huge white stallions. Chins up, backs straight, resplendent in royal colors. They'd all been boys back then.
A few months after, the eldest prince was shipped off to some retreat, keeping him safely hidden as war descended on the land. He'd returned only a few months ago, according to local gossip.
Kael couldn't recall their faces, but it was unlikely a prince would visit the Antlers Throne to buy the services of ex- soldiers. It had to be some low-level royal, then. One of those leeches who clung to their name because it had more power than they'd ever earn through blood and sweat.
"Have one of your guards kill your unfortunate victim." Kael dismissed him, finishing his sour drink. He moved to leave when light fingers clasped his wrist, pulling him back with surprising strength.
Kael grabbed the bar, regaining his balance, only to freeze when the man's next words brushed his cheek.
"Refuse me and I will have you flogged." The venom with which he spoke was genuine. This royal was not bluffing.
Rage shattered Kael's already cracked restraint. He didn't have much patience left, and this prick was already on Kael's last nerve. He twisted his grip, capturing the man's wrist. The royal gasped.
Kael caught a glimpse of pale blond hair before the royal turned his head away, hiding beneath the hood.
His anger was a curse, and lately he'd been losing control of it. It unraveled, Kael's control slipping. "I obeyed for years," he hissed at the royal. "I lost everything for the Vex name!"
The royal's thin wrist creaked inside his grip, the bones about to break.
He'd done enough for the griffin. He'd lost everything. And this gilded fool thought he could wave a bag of coin around and buy Kael's loyalty? So typical of the royals.
What they could not buy, they destroyed.
Kael shoved the man off his stool and trapped his body against the bar, pinning him rigid. Long, lean legs and hard muscle didn't yield. He felt like a drawn bow, but he had enough strength to capably resist. Kael leaned hard into him, ramming a knee between his thighs.
The royal's chest heaved, breaths ragged.
The commotion had roused a few shouts from the crowd. Kael didn't care. The royals still lived their luxurious lifestyles while their people succumbed to the elves. They were cowards, all of them.
"I am not for sale."
A bone in the man's wrist shattered. He cried out and a gleeful surge of pleasure brought a smile to Kael's lips. The royals needed to suffer for betraying their own people.
A broken wrist wasn't enough.
Hands clamped around Kael's upper arms and yanked, wrenching him off the vulnerable royal.
"Arrest him!" The royal's words lashed like a whip. He clutched his wrist to his chest, but he'd managed to keep his hood in place and his face hidden. Only his straight white teeth, bared in a snarl, were visible.
It didn't matter who he was, just that he was hurting. Kael lifted his chin, wishing he'd thrown a punch into that jaw as well. For the soldiers that had lain dying in their own steaming entrails. For the screams he heard at night. For the flutter of that gods-awful blood-soaked griffin banner staked into the ground amidst mounds of cold, stiff bodies.
He'd have killed this royal for free, he realized, and laughed at the insane thought.
Perhaps it was the mead, or perhaps it was everything else, because nothing had made any sense since returning to this damned city.
"Where shall we take him, Your Highness?" one of the guards asked.
"The dungeons. And throw away the goddamned key!"
"Yes, my prince."
Kael laughed harder. One of the three princes, then. Perhaps it would also be his last night alive. If death had finally caught him, he welcomed it.
He just hoped it would be the prince with the broken wrist who gave the order to take his head, so he could look him in the eyes and drag his soul to the depths of the infernal underworld with him.