Prologue

 

Everyone said that he was lucky.

To be betrothed to the heir to a throne, to the most politically influential man on the planet…Everyone said Seyn was lucky.

Seyn didn’t feel lucky. He hated that man more than anything.

 

 * * *

 

When Seyn was a child, he loved bedtime stories about kings and queens, brave princes and princesses, and their exciting adventures. There would be nothing special about it—he couldn’t be the only child who liked such stories—but Seyn was a little special, after all. Seyn was a prince himself, and there was a story about him, too. It was his favorite.

“Very well, my love,” the Queen said with fond exasperation, tucking a strand of silver hair behind her four-year-old son’s ear. “But this is the last time. And then you will sleep.”

Seyn nodded, beaming at his mother and looking at her expectantly. 

“Once upon a time,” the Queen started in her soft voice. “There was a beautiful little prince. He was born two months early—”

“To save another prince’s life!” Seyn interrupted excitedly. “I did it!”

“Yes, darling,” the Queen said with a smile, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “You saved another prince’s life. And not just any prince’s—it was the life of a very special prince—the Crown Prince of the Second Grand Clan.”

Seyn nodded. He was old enough to know that there were twelve royal families on Calluvia, and some princes were more important than the others. 

“His name was Prince Ksar, and he was very ill,” his mother said.

Seyn frowned, for the first time feeling curious enough about the mysterious illness to ask. “Ill?”

“You’re probably too young to understand,” his mother said with a slightly pinched expression on her face. “Prince Ksar’s bondmate had died from a very rare telepathic disease, and it made Ksar’s telepathy dangerously unstable. He needed another bondmate to stop hurting. But there were no other unbonded boys or girls of royal blood, so Ksar’s parents asked us to bring you to this world early so that you could be bonded to Prince Ksar.”

“And I saved him!”

“You did,” the Queen said with an affectionate smile. “And now you’re bonded to Prince Ksar and will marry him when you turn twenty-five. It’s a great honor and privilege, my darling.” Probably feeling his uncertainty through the familial bond that they shared, she smiled at him and said, “Don’t worry, my love. He will cherish you and treat you well. You’re bonded for life. The bond between you and Ksar will make him predisposed to like you. That’s how the bond works.”

Seyn stared at his mother with a frown. “But I’m not bonded to anyone, Mother.”

Queen Janesh smiled and shook her head. “We bonded you to him right after your birth. You’re just young and your telepathy isn’t fully developed yet. I’m sure you’ll feel him soon.”

Seyn nodded, accepting the explanation and figuring that his mother was right. As far as Seyn was concerned, his mother was always right.

But years passed, and gradually it became obvious that his mother had been wrong—or there was something wrong with him. He didn’t feel his bondmate at all, no matter how hard he concentrated.

By the time Seyn turned fourteen—the age people’s telepathic abilities fully developed—he was sure that there was something wrong with his bond. Other children his age were happily bonded, and the way they described their bonds was completely unfamiliar to him.

“It’s like having a best friend at the back of my mind,” his older brother, Jamil, told him, his expression softening. Jamil and his bondmate were getting married in a few months, and they were nauseatingly sweet together. “It’s a special connection like no other.” Jamil looked at him curiously, with green eyes that mirrored Seyn’s. “Why are you asking that, kid? Isn’t it the same for you?”

Seyn made something up, successfully hiding his growing uneasiness and uncertainty. There was nothing but silence at the back of his mind. No friend, no bondmate, no special connection. Nothing. Even when he spent hours meditating, all he could feel was a vague connection that led somewhere, but his every attempt to communicate was met with silence.

He didn’t know what to do. He considered telling his parents, but he was too embarrassed. He didn’t want doctors and mind adepts poking at him—and declaring him defective.

So instead, Seyn decided to research the bond.

The amount of information was a little overwhelming, and most of it was boring as hell, but Seyn was able to find something that might explain why his bond was so weird.

The thing was, bonding was supposed to be easy and uncomplicated. It had been over four thousand years since Calluvians had started practicing childhood bonds. It had been supposedly scientifically proven that bonding children’s telepathic cores made their telepathy more stable. There had also been political reasons for introducing the Bonding Law, but Seyn found himself skimming the boring bits.

Every Calluvian child was bonded at the age of two or three, usually to a child close to their age. Seyn was an exception: he had been bonded right after his birth and his bondmate was eight years older than him. Apparently Prince Ksar’s first bondmate had been infected by a deadly virus while she was on another planet. The cure hadn’t been found in time, the disease damaging her telepathic center irrevocably, and she had died a slow, painful death. That left a wound in Ksar’s mind, his broken bond bleeding and damaging other parts of his brain. The best mind adepts of the planet, known collectively as High Hronthar, had come to the conclusion that Ksar must be bonded immediately again to stabilize his mind and telepathy. But there had been no unbonded children of royal blood close to Ksar’s age, so the Second Royal House had asked Seyn’s parents to take their unborn child out of the artificial womb early for the sole purpose of bonding Seyn to their heir.

So the circumstances surrounding his bond were very different from other children’s. Seyn had been the only premature baby in history who had been bonded right after his birth. The age difference between him and his bondmate probably wasn’t helping the situation, either. Maybe it would get better as he grew older. Maybe it would get better once he actually met his betrothed.

But then, a few months later, when Seyn finally met his bondmate at the ball Seyn’s family was hosting to celebrate Jamil’s marriage, that hope was completely crushed.

 

 

* * *

 

“His Royal Highness Crown Prince Ksar’ngh’chaali of the Second Grand Clan.”

Seyn turned around and looked toward the double doors, excitement and anxiety making his heart thud painfully against his rib cage. Finally. Come to think of it, it was more than a little strange that he’d never met his betrothed before. He’d met Ksar’s younger brother, Harht, quite often, and Seyn considered him a good friend, but Ksar had always been either out or “busy” every time Seyn had visited the Second Royal Palace. Seyn had tried not to take it personally—technically, until he turned twenty-five and married Ksar, his bondmate had no obligations toward him. Seyn tried to tell himself that he would have no interest in some kid eight years younger than him, either, but he was only partly successful at convincing himself. Coupled with his weirdly weak bond, the lack of interest from his betrothed made him feel…a little insecure. Seyn normally wasn’t insecure or shy by any stretch of imagination—he had lots of friends, and everyone seemed to like him—but his bond had always made him anxious.

That was why Seyn stared curiously at the tall man making his way through the crowd, drawing stares from all over the ballroom. Ksar was dressed formally, in gray and black colors of the Second Royal House, his white cravat the only bright touch. Ksar’s long, midnight blue hair was tied back, drawing one’s gaze to his sharp jaw and austere, handsome features. He looked more mature than his twenty-two years.

For the first time, Seyn wondered if those rumors about Ksar’s parents genetically engineering him were true. Although genetic engineering was frowned upon, it wasn’t forbidden. Ksar definitely seemed too…perfect. It wasn’t his physical appearance. Ksar wasn’t as startlingly handsome as Jamil, but he had something Seyn’s brother didn’t: the air of quiet authority and the calm, kingly dignity. Despite the fact that there were no fewer than four kings and three queens present, it seemed as though he was the king—which should have been ridiculous.

And yet…

Seyn had seen Ksar’s pictures before, of course. He’d known what he looked like. But the pictures hadn’t prepared him for the self-possessed, commanding air about Ksar or for his cold, haughty expression that suddenly made Seyn self-conscious of how young and imperfect he was. 

Shaking off his self-consciousness, Seyn straightened himself to his full height. He might be just fourteen, but he was Prince Seyn’ngh’veighli of the Third Grand Clan, not some farmer’s kid.

Schooling his features into an expression of neutral politeness, Seyn made his way toward his mothers and Ksar.

When he reached them, Seyn stared at Ksar’s back uncertainly. He opened his mind, still hoping that his weird bond would finally start working.

There was still nothing.

“Your Highness,” Seyn said.

Ksar’s shoulders tensed up a little.

Slowly, he turned around and looked at Seyn with silver eyes that gave nothing away.

Remembering his manners, Seyn gave him a bow. It wasn’t a deep one—he might not be the heir of his clan, but he was still a prince, and etiquette dictated that a shallow bow was enough.

Ksar didn’t bow back, of course. As the heir apparent of the Second Grand Clan, he only had to bow to the monarchs of the twelve grand clans and to the heir of the First Grand Clan. Unlike Seyn, he didn’t even have to bow to the royal consorts. When Ksar became the king, everyone but the monarch of the First Grand Clan would bow to him. And although technically the First Grand Clan was a little larger, the Second Grand Clan was far more powerful politically.

“I believe you haven’t seen Seyn’ngh’veighli since he was a tiny, red newborn,” Queen-Consort Faryda said, glancing at Seyn with a mild but indulgent smile. “I think our boy has changed quite a bit since then, don’t you think?”

It was probably blatantly obvious how much his mothers doted on him, and Seyn flushed from embarrassment. As the youngest in the family, he’d always been the focus of his mothers’ doting love, which Seyn shamelessly used to get his way, but it was mortifying when they coddled him in front of an audience. Especially when the audience was his seemingly perfect betrothed. He didn’t want to look like a kid.

Ksar’s gaze swept slowly over Seyn’s less-than-formal attire. He raised his eyebrows a little.

Seyn narrowed his eyes. “Yes, Mother,” he said, refusing to look embarrassed. It was none of that ass’s concern what he chose to wear. There was nothing wrong with his clothes, anyway. He was fourteen, not forty, and he didn’t have a stick up his ass. “We have never met. His Highness seems to be a very busy person. He’s always otherwise engaged when I visit his brother.”

Queen Janesh cleared her throat, breaking the awkward silence. “Seyn…”

Seyn could perfectly hear the warning in his mother’s voice. He could feel his mothers’ disapproval through their familial links to him. He ignored it. He glared at Ksar, who stared back at him impassively, as though Seyn was a strange, irritating creature that had just performed an unexpected trick.

Ugh! Seyn’s hands practically itched to…to mess up that perfectly tied cravat, or maybe punch that top-lofty ass in the face; anything to wipe that superior expression.

“You will make no such scene,” an unfamiliar voice said in his head.

Seyn froze, staring at Ksar, wide-eyed. He had never spoken to Ksar, but that voice could belong only to him. Only bondmates could communicate in actual sentences through telepathy—or if one was a high-level telepath, but since both of them were mere Class 2 telepaths, the bond was the only explanation for his ability to hear Ksar’s voice.

Despite his shock, a very large part of Seyn was relieved. His bond actually worked. There was nothing wrong with him.

“He has indeed changed,” Ksar said aloud, his voice a deep monotone that sounded nothing like the scathing voice in Seyn’s head.

Seyn did a double take and frowned slightly. He wasn’t an expert on telepathy, but as a rule, people’s telepathic voice sounded exactly like their real voice. Weird.

“He definitely isn’t quite as red,” Ksar said in the same flat voice, and Seyn’s mothers laughed, as though Ksar had said something incredibly witty. Ha fucking ha.

Seyn had no idea how to communicate through their bond—it wasn’t like he’d had any practice—so he thought as loudly as he could,

“Very funny. And don’t talk about me like I’m not here.”

Ksar flicked his gaze to him for a moment before returning it to Seyn’s mothers. He engaged them in some small talk that gradually shifted into a more serious discussion about politics.

Seyn scrunched up his nose. Ugh, politics. Boring.

“Aren’t you supposed to be a prince? Perhaps you should try paying attention.”

Seyn flinched. “Are you eavesdropping on my thoughts?” He glowered at Ksar’s profile. One would never guess Ksar was anything but attentive as he listened to Queen Janesh. “Also, I could never hear you before. Why?”

There was a small pause before Ksar replied.

“Your mind is undisciplined and chaotic. Your excited childish gibberish has always been extremely distracting, so normally I block you.”

Seyn took a deep breath and counted to ten, telling himself that murdering the Crown Prince of the Second Grand Clan would surely start another Great War.

“Why does no one know what a two-faced asshole you are? A perfect gentleman, my ass!”

“That’s the last time I’m letting you get away with such language, boy.”

“Don’t you call me boy! And you aren’t the boss of me. You are in my house, not yours. I will talk how I want, I will dress how I want, and I will—”

Ksar pulled out of his mind.

It was such a strange feeling. Suddenly he was just aware of the absence of something that he hadn’t even noticed until then. Glaring at the asshole’s nape, Seyn focused hard and tried to follow the mental footprints that Ksar had left in his mind. It took an incredible effort, but finally, he managed it.

He wished he hadn’t.

Because now he could feel it: a thick, impenetrable wall, blocking the way and making him physically nauseous and dizzy every time he touched it. It emanated wrong-not wanted-keep away.

Seyn staggered back, hurt and rejection welling up in his chest and making it hard to breathe.

Ksar turned his head. Something flickered in his eyes before they became unfathomable. He could undoubtedly see that Seyn was crushed by his rejection, and Seyn fought the tears of anger and utter humiliation threatening to spill from his eyes.

I hate you, he thought with feeling, holding Ksar’s gaze, something dark and ugly taking root in his heart.

I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.