Soul of the Crow: An Epic Dark Fantasy (Reapers of Veltuur Book 1)

me, but she makes no protest. After growing up together, we’ve reached an agreement: she helps minimally with the tasks that might be difficult for me—like brushing my hair and shaving—but I take care of the things I am able.
Inside, I find a doublet and robe fit for a king, and inwardly I grumble that I wish I had something less ornate, less kingly to wear. Easing each arm inside the crafted green velvet, embroidered with intricate designs of gold and black, I grimace again when I notice its colors match the curled toes of my slippers. Our royal insignia lines the extra fabric draping from either side of my neck to my knees, a series of flowers that only bloom in our wooded land and depictions of the birds that represent each of the Divine Altúyur.
One stands out to me above all others though, the vibrant lorikeet meant as a symbol of the Divine Lorik. As I’ve endured these past few weeks, I’ve sought more comfort from him than ever before in my life, clutching to his stories of bravery and strength as best I can. But what I’ve learned from the him these past weeks is that bravery also includes matters of the heart, not just physical prowess. It’s fitting that, considering my brother Rikeet was named after him, I would find strength from his divinity since his death.
That, and the Forbidden Garden.
I turn to Hayliel, a mischievous grin breaking free. “Can you keep another secret today?”
From where she’s standing, still behind the chair with the razor in her hand, her eyes pop wide and she checks the sunlight beaming in from the balcony window. “I am not sure you have the time, my prince.”
Cringing at the title and the awkwardness it puts between us, I run a hand over my face. “Please, with you, can’t I just be Acari?” I wait for a response, but when all I see is her face reddening as she smiles at the ground, I plead my case for her silence. “It won’t take long. I’ll be back before anyone notices I’m gone.”
She starts shaking her head. “You don’t yet realize how much your presence—or your absence—is noticed.” But she doesn’t press me more on it. “What should I tell them if someone comes looking for you?”
“The same thing I ask you to tell them every morning,” I say, the grin I’m bearing, one that’s overflowing with desperation. “That I’ve fled the palace to start a new life somewhere remote and boring, and, should my father pass away, that they should probably crown someone else king. I hear my uncle is partial to the throne.”
She rolls her eyes at me, her smile radiating like the sun, before I leave her to tidy my corridors.
Outside my bedroom, the hallways are practically empty. I suppose the morning has only just begun, but it still surprises me since I can’t remember the last time I was alone in this palace, outside of my own quarters, even before I was the future king. It’s honestly kind of relaxing, to walk free from the judgment and expectations of those I’m meant to impress. If running away didn’t actually require me to leave the only place I’ve ever known, and to barge headfirst into the unfamiliar, it might actually sound appealing after all.
Slower than I’d like, I make my way through the palace until I finally arrive at my destination.
“Blessed morning, Prince Acari,” the guard says to me, slamming his spear down into the marble floor.
A long time ago, centuries before I was born, or my father was, or probably even his father, the spears the guards carried were actually sharpened. But when the Divine Altúyur decided to punish the mortals for the untold deaths they were causing, mutilating them into Reapers to do the bidding of death itself, kings and queens across all of Tayaraan blunted every weapon in their possession. No longer were guards meant to uphold the law using a force that could kill.
I’m sure it was absolute chaos in the early days; commoners storming palaces, markets, and apothecaries, taking anything and everything they wanted without the threat of death lingering over them. But, in time, at least now in my lifetime, people generally obey the laws. Why wouldn’t they, when that same neighbor they robbed could summon a Reaper to have them killed. Death still motivates, it just has a different face now, one that doesn’t belong to the guards.
“Blessed morning, Borgravid,” I reply with a tight smile. My steps slow as I approach the glass doors framed in gold, eyeing him cautiously out of the corner of my eye, unsure whether today he’ll let me inside with no fuss or—
“You know it’s still called the Forbidden Garden, right?”
My shoulders slouch. I throw my head back, blinking up at the archway, but I’m quick to recover. “What? My father didn’t change his mind about the name? I thought he’d at least consider the suggestion I gave him. Just-Another-Garden would suit this place perfectly.”
Even from behind his mustache and full beard, I glimpse the amusement betraying him. Borgravid shakes away his smile just as quickly as I dispensed of my bemoaning though, staring down at me with those dark, serious eyes.
“Divine Altúyur guide you; you have to stop doing this. Torturing yourself like this is no way to honor your family’s memory.”
“I’m not torturing myself,” I insist, but when he lowers his head, angling his eyebrows at me, I realize arguing that point is pointless. “It’s not like I’m going to do it forever. I promise. There are stages of grief, and that’s all this will be. A stage.”
A nearly imperceptible quirk of a smile. “Self-torture is a stage? I don’t remember that one.”
“No…denial,” I say softly, my gaze wandering to the golden floor. Although part of me is aware that what I’m doing could be considered manipulation, there’s not a single bone in my body that’s doing it on purpose. This is just the