Chapter Text
Era Erasa, Month of Freedom, 4801
Kremnos, Palace of the Sun
The last twenty four hours felt surreal.
Everything leading up to this moment felt unreal— being woken in the middle of the day and rushed to get ready by the clawed hands of imps and hobs, the carriage ride in broad daylight to the upper levels of the earth.
Khaslana wasn’t even sure he was processing it all properly. All he knew for sure was it was way too bright. His eyes burned as he tried to adjust to the sun beating down on him from above. He wasn’t used to seeing it, was used to crawling into his bed as the sky turned the pale shades of dawn only to sleep until the moon was rising in the sky in her silvery beauty, glimmering in a sea of the dark blues and deep greens of midnight.
He was scared down to his core. Where was his mother? Where had she gone, she had said farewell and handed him over to the jewel eyed woman before him.
Glittering eyes and sun kissed hair. He vaguely remembered his lessons back in the palace, if he was ash and falling stars, their eternal enemies were the sun and sprouting blooms with their colored hair and glistening gemstone eyes— complete opposites of the inky black and crimson red eyes and ash toned hair he had grown up surrounded by.
Before him stood an entire court of jewels and blooms, sapphires, emeralds, topaz, rubies, lavender, rose, verbena. He felt something stir in his stomach as the woman with her sharp jaw and cold amber eyes sneered down at him. Atop her flowing mane of golden hair was an equally golden circlet adorned with leaves and flowers and so many glittering jewels it hurt his eyes to look upon.
That must be Gorgo, he thought but knew better than to bow to her. This wasn’t his court and as the second heir of her enemy’s court it wasn’t an option to yield or deign that kind of reverence to her— no matter how much her eyes cut into him and filled him with fear.
But where was his mother? Shouldn’t she be here with him? He swallowed down the fear he felt rising up in the pit of his chest. He was in the den of his enemies and left to his own devices— even his guard, Chartonus, had been nowhere in sight.
What business did she even have here in the enemy’s court that required him— shouldn’t his sister the true heiress to their crown be here in his place?
Instead, surrounding him were paladins in glistening gold and platinum armor and the royal court with all their glittering robes.
To the left of the queen was a boy— fourteen maybe fifteen sweeps old if Khaslana had to guess. His eyes were too large for his head and his ears so short and stubby, wings not yet molten much like his own. He was all softer angles and rounded features compared to Khaslana with his long pointed ears that poked through his ash white locks, and his jagged teeth. The boy before him had gleaming eyes the color of molten sun and short pointed ears barely breaching the radiant gold and crimson locks that mimicked his mother’s.
The crown prince, Khaslana remembered learning about him in his lessons too. He was to be the heir of the Court of the Sun and was said to be the embodiment of the summer with his golden skin and ochre eyes, while Khaslana, the Prince of the Court of the Moon was compared to the coldest winter night with his snow white hair and icy eyes.
Maybe if he were older he would make the connection that the other prince was the embodiment of everything that contradicted himself, but he only felt a longing in his chest— the Curse of the Moonfolk his sister had called it, the desire to join the Sunfolk and bask in the warmth of the Eternal Summer and envy their beauty.
His heart longed to be with them suddenly, captivated by their colorful appearances, and when he locked eyes with the prince he felt it twist in his chest and knock the air from his lungs.
He was beautiful.
His thoughts were shattered by a commanding voice— deep and regal. The entire room fell silent as the nobles dropped to their knees, even the prince averted his gaze as a flock of doves flew overhead.
Khaslana’s heart absolutely hammered in his chest as his mind drew blank.
Where is my mother? Was the only thought that replayed in his mind, he glanced around wildly hoping she would appear behind him somewhere.
“You will kneel before the fair king of the Court of the Sun and speak when he addresses you, or have you spent so long underground with the trows and boggarts that you’ve unlearned the Common Tongue?” Her voice was as beautiful as it was dangerous, like the sound of priceless glass crashing against stone and shattering.
The queen stood before him sneering, and her comment brought murmurs of laughter bubbling through the crowds of nobles. Even the prince had found amusement at his expense.
His cheeks heated as he realized the situation just moments before two paladins wrested his arms and forced him to the stone floor with a thud that resonated through his whole body and sent jolts of pain through his knees and up his spine. The more he struggled against them, the harder they forced his body down until a booted foot was pressed firmly between his shoulder blades and a hand tangled itself into his hair, claws scraping against his scalp as his head was forced to gaze down at the floor.
“Unhand me! I’m the prince of the Moon—” searing white pain shot through the back of his skull as his hair was let go and his head was struck with the blunt end of an axe, sending the obsidian circlet of thorns atop his head clattering to the ground.
The queen approached the circlet on the ground and stepped on it, destroying it with the heel of her boot.
“You are a prince no longer,” she sneered, peering down her nose at him in disgust. “Now answer the King before I have them strike you once more with the sharpened end.”
The king stood tall before him, his presence almost too bright for Khaslana to even look at fully. He felt humiliation and fear bubble up deep inside him again, hoping the titans would hear his thoughts and prayers and bring his mother back to him.
Khaslana wasn’t even aware he was trembling until the king knelt before him and outstretched an arm to still him.
“I will not allow her to execute you here,” he said softly as he smoothed a hand over Khaslana’s cloak of crushed velvet and ravens feathers.
Khaslana felt warmth flood his body at the gentle touch and his nerves ease ever so slightly.
“Now tell me child, what is it they call you?” the king asked, rising to his full height and motioning for the guards to help him to his own feet and let go of him.
He swallowed thickly, not even sure if he could find his voice again.
“P-Phainon, they uh, they call me Phainon,” he managed to stutter out finally after a pause. Mentally he cursed himself, imagining his own father reprimanding him for wavering especially in front of the enemy.
“You will address him as ‘Your Highness!’” the queen spat, and Khaslana felt himself shrink into himself again, willing for the shadows of his cloak to swallow him whole and make him disappear from this place and tuck him safely back into his bed to sleep until moonrise, to make this all a distant and hazy memory like a long forgotten dream.
The king’s eyes were pupilless obsidian jewels with a commanding light to them.
“Tell me, Phainon,” he started, testing the foreign name on his tongue, proceeding as if the queen had never made an outburst.
“Do you know why your mother, Queen of the Court of the Moon, has brought you to my court?”
He didn’t know— had no idea. She had woken him from his slumber, cold and distant as she instructed the hobs to dress him and get him ready for the day. He should still be in his burrow, warm and cozy as the sun continued its journey across the sky. Khaslana had no idea what he was doing in the Court of the Sun.
“No, sir,” he spoke softly, voice threatening to crack in fear once more. The court was silent around them and still his words barely carried.
The king’s eyes darkened for a moment as his brows furrowed as if looking at the boy in pity before speaking.
“You’ve learned of the civil war, correct?”
Khaslana nodded. Of course he remembered the history lessons, they had been drilled into his head since his eighth sweep when he was taught to read and write.
“There was only the court of the Fae, ruled by one king, a tyrant who only valued the beautiful creatures blessed by the titans themselves and the other creatures even some of his own people, the ones he deemed unworthy, revolted and—” the court erupted in laughter once more and Khaslana couldn’t understand why they thought the stories were anything to laugh at.
“A tyrant? Is that what they taught you deep in your burrows?” the king asked in amusement, onyx eyes glittering with mirth.
“And what happened to those that rebelled?” the queen asked, pointedly staring down at him, glowering at him in disdain.
“They lost the war—”
“Yes, your people lost the unfounded and misguided war and were cursed by the titans for rebelling against their order and banished you deep underground only to be allowed up here when the land is cold and barren, were made hideous just as the creatures that poisoned your minds,” the king continued in his place. Khaslana didn’t know why it stung so much hearing the king speak to him this way, but whatever dagger had been in his chest before slowly turned causing his breath to leave him once more.
“They weren’t poisoned,” Khaslana tried to defend, arguments on the tip of his tongue that died when the king rose his hand to silence him. He flinched and bit back bitter defeat knowing surrounded by an army of Sunfolk paladins he would never win.
“And every ten Seasonal Cycles the Court of the Moon presents an offering to us in repentance for their crimes,” the king continued, ignoring Khaslana’s argument entirely, watching as the fire faded from the child’s eyes as understanding dawned on him.
Khaslana’s eyes widened as he did the math on his clawed hands— two sweeps was one cycle he was fourteen sweeps born three cycles after the last tithing. His clan was due for their next tithe. He tried to process everything. Tried to remember his lessons if he had even been taught what the tithes had been in the past.
“You still think your people are in the right when they would willingly give up their only male heir as a tithe?” he asked Khaslana gently as one hand rose to cup the trembling boy’s chin.
His mother would never— where was she? Why had she left him in a court full of liars and murderers. He could feel bile rising up from inside, could feel the pinpricks of tears in his eyes.
“You’re lying,” he cried out, the court gasped angrily at him at his audacity.
“You know as well as I that a faerie can not spin a lie,” the king spoke evenly, eyeing him with something akin to sympathy, it made his skin crawl.
“We cannot lie but are masters of half-truths and omissions,” Khaslana thinks he hears the Sun Prince speak, echoing his own thoughts, before he feels warm breath against his ear.
“Khaslana,” the king whispered and Khaslana felt his body seize up, ice cold dread washing over him with the revelation of the king knowing his true name, knew who he was all along.
“You will fall asleep now,” the king whispered gently, watching as the boy’s eyes fog over and his trembling stilled as his body went lax.
“Did you think I would allow your family to hand you over without giving me absolute power over you?” the king asked, and it was the last thing Khaslana could register before his eyes fell shut and felt the numbness of sleep forcefully overtake his body, sending him tumbling to the cold stone ground.