HOW THE SHADOWS FEAST
iii. a prince of wolves

the second night

❅          ❅          ❅

IN WINTER, SCHWARZHAIN SEEMED as though it was carved from ice and snow—a magical city fit for Perhta, the Lady of Frost herself. Beautiful but hostile to humankind.

When Saskia and Katinka entered the marketplace, they did so in silence and with their full habit: white dresses and veils, carefully falling down their faces to obscure their features to untouchable, divine beauty.

They looked like shy young brides or snow-adorned trees in their wintry mourning.

People moved out of their way, mumbling some blessings with respectfully lowered eyes as if they feared even one glance too much would be their last. Perhta punished those who tried to see her with blindness or even death. Who knew if she wouldn't do the same for her beloved daughters?

Besides, there were two kinds of people they respected in Schwarzhain the most: The priestesses of the Bright Mother who soothed the goddess with prayers and the men of the Order of Wolves who slew bandits and demons alike with swords.

And those who summoned them by breaking the rules ...

This thought, Saskia violently shoved aside.

The princess could not remember when she had been allowed to leave the convent for the market the last time. It felt like ages ago. Privileges like this one were usually granted to the more pious maidens.

In her fear, Katinka had burned all their sacred sage and juniper last night, leaving their cell in a thick fragrance Saskia had nearly choked on. Neither of their sisters had been willing to share their own herbs, and Mother Gesa had not done as much as allowing them both to go to town to buy new ones.

There was nothing else to do, anyway.

"Something evil in the convent? Nonsense. You would do better sharing some of your fear with Saskia, Daughter. She needs it more," the priestess had said and dismissed them.

Now, Katinka clung to Saskia like a child to its mother, fingers clasped forcefully around hers as if fearing to lose her among those few other people. Underneath her veil, the girl's face was almost as white as the fabric itself.

"Mother Gesa is right, you know? You must not fear so much, srnitsa," Saskia said. The words left her mouth sharper than intended—only the nickname softening them a little—although in her heart she felt for her.

Other than Saskia, Katinka had no other home than the convent. If anyone could call herself a Daughter of Perhta, it was her. When she called Gesa "Mother" it almost rang true. For years, this mother had taught Katinka awe but now turned away from her child's fear.

"Perhaps ..." Katinka whispered. "But did you not hear it?"

Around them, the strange sweetness of the villager's speech filled the air that was not a proper language at all but a mixture of many. Thus, it posed as a testament to the very nature of the Winter Mountains: The force that connected and separated the world.

"Hear what?"

"The..." She lowered her voice even more, afraid other people might hear or that announcing it too loud would finally make the danger real. "...wailing. Something cried outside. But such beings never come close to the convent and—"

"No, I did not hear anything," Saskia interrupted her harshly and immediately bit her tongue.

But what was she supposed to do but turn the weapon she knew all too well against her friend? Mother Gesa and the other priestesses would not necessarily believe one girl. If two, however, claimed to have sensed something strange, they would be alarmed and investigate.

And maybe they would finally dig up the bones Saskia buried so carefully last night, know her deceit, and feed her body to the ever-hungry Wolves.

Saskia came to a halt in front of one of the merchants.

"May the Bright Mother bless you," he greeted them.

"And lighten your path," they replied.

Saskia looked at the variety of candles and herbs, dried carefully to be burned and shroud the houses in their protective smoke. After all, that's how the twelve nights earned their name. Above all the other things—pelts, fabrics, some jewelry even—her blue eyes swept indifferently.
"We take the sage, juniper, pine resin, and snowbell. And two candles."

"Your Highness," behind her back, people whispered, and Saskia felt herself stiffen while crunching footsteps approached them.

"Oh, my lord, how wonderful you grace us with your presence today," the merchant exclaimed.
Saskia didn't need to know the face of the man addressed, not even to turn around to understand who had entered the marketplace for there was only one person earning such a greeting.

Just as she did with the shadows, Saskia tried not to look at him while he bent forward, examining the goods to eventually find his interest more aroused by the two Daughters of Perhta. But it was in vain now as it was with the shadows: It did not make him vanish.

Quite the opposite. Saskia could feel him stare at her, bluntly, shamelessly, burning holes into her veil. Only one man would allow himself to look at the devout servants of the Bright Mother like this.

Immediately, those eyes stripped her of the fabric's safety, laying bare what hid beneath. Not only her face but the guilt, too—the things she did last night—as if burned deep into Saskia's skin.

"How may I serve you?" the merchant asked.

Almost as if expecting her inevitable punishment, Saskia flinched and instantly rebuked herself for it. This man couldn't possibly read her mind, but like a bloodhound, he would sense her dread and think her prey.
If you don't want him to become mistrustful, stop acting suspicious.

"Well... How about a fine pelt coat for this lovely sacred maiden?" the man answered, voice velvety soft.

Finally, Saskia forced herself to meet his eyes.

They were a deep, almost black blue, reminding her of the ever-cold sea that sharpened the cliffs at the northern edge of her father's lands. Even in summer, the barest touch of this water had robbed the breath from Saskia's lungs.

Those lord's eyes possessed the very same power—and they looked equally avid to drown helpless victims shining from a face carefully chiseled from the Winter Mountain's frozen crags itself. Even the smile twitching at the corners of his mouth seemed carved into his skin eternally. Strands of sable hair brushed his pale forehead like the dark spruces that covered the land.

Had his demeanor not already betrayed his identity, his clothes would have: The finest coat in all of Schwarzhain, the color of midnight and blood enwrought with silver ornaments, and rimmed with fur. Black leather gloves, dark red boots, and from his belt hung a sword that formed a wolf's head at the hilt—the sign of the Order.

Without having met the man once, she recognized him: Silvan von Winterthal, the Prince of Wolves himself.

"Or," the prince added, sliding his gloved finger under Saskia's chin to lift it, "does she prefer Winter Mountain crystals matching her eyes?"

The leather felt cold against her skin, even with the veil in between, and she instantly slipped out from his touch.

"I prefer whatever the Bright Mother wishes for her daughters to possess, and I fear it is neither of those, my lord," Saskia answered, softening the sharp edges of her words with the most docile of tones she had to offer.

If her life had taught her anything, then how to cover shards of glass in honey so others would swallow them. Still, beside her Katinka stiffened.

If anything, the prince seemed delighted. Now able to meet her face, Silvan von Winterthal leisurely took in what was in front of him, and he did so with unconcealed pleasure. He feared neither Saskia's anger nor Perhta's. Although Silvan was only looking at her veiled visage, the way he did—he felt entitled to do it—made her skin crawl.

"Oh, I beg your pardon. I would never dare to offend her—or her daughters." In his smile, Saskia thought to sense some mockery, even though it made no sense to her.

And as if to remind her of the ridiculousness of her thought and his position as Perhta's loyal servant and knight, he added with a dip of his head: "Prince Silvan von Winterthal. May the Bright Mother bless you."

Saskia granted him as much as a vague curtsey, silently praying for him to leave them alone finally. However, this time, certainly no one seemed to answer her pleas.
"And lighten your path." So much it will blind you, she added.

"How come we never met? I did not know the convent harbors such a fervent young votary of Perhta."

"I do not know, my lord."

Of course, she did. Mother Gesa was wise enough to keep the cursed girl of her convent away from any noteworthy guests. In this case, Saskia did not mind since she had little desire to make the acquaintance of the prince and his men.

Now, knowing that this beautifully crafted sword might turn against her if von Winterthal learned about her breaking the rules, she wanted to escape his company even more.

"What's your name, Sister?" Silvan asked, his gaze still resting uncannily on her and thus, making Saskia wish Perhta would indeed blind him the very next second.

"Saskia Vrana, daughter of Prince Borut from the lands beyond the mountains, where Morotenya's golden river springs."

"Vrana? A princess of crows?"
The smirk that curled Silvan's lips deepened to a more cruel, wolfish one, reminding Saskia that he was not some creature made from stone but, in fact, human; one behind whose eyes a ravenous hunger and carnage hid.
"How peculiar."

"Not more than a prince of wolves, is it?"

"Saskia, don't—" Katinka breathed.

"The wolf is an animal of gods, and on Earth's last days, he will be the one to swallow the sun and the moon," Silvan answered, amused, deeming her words silly before a certain hunger crept into his voice. "He is a prince in his own right and a most loyal servant to Perhta, as are her daughters. Perhaps that is why they suit each other so well."

"I see crows cannot compete with that," Saskia said, running her fingers over the cool furs the prince had just inspected. "But they would follow a bleeding wolf for miles like shadows. And when it dies, they come to feast."

The second the words slipped out of her mouth, the wind turned colder as if following its prince's command and froze Saskia to the heart. Had she gone too far?

"She did not mean offense, my lord," Katinka said hastily.

Silvan's gaze brushed over her delicate features, too, with a smile as if he was approving of her shy loveliness, but it did not linger. Instead, it turned back to Saskia, cutting into her like the blade of his sword.
"Oh, I am sure she didn't, Sister Katinka."

The wolf might have enjoyed playing with his reluctant prey until now, but he clearly did not expect it to use its claws—and this he liked not.

"I wish you safe and blessed Nights of Smoke, my lord," Saskia uttered quickly, grabbing her money. "It was an honor to meet you. But our high priestess demands us in the convent. Am I right, Sister Katinka?"

The girl beside her nodded silently, nearly crushing Saskia's fingers in her own.

"We have to go—"

It was not her own sack filled with coins that landed in front of the merchant on the table, but a foreign one.

Surprised, Saskia spun around to a scene that was not as easy to comprehend as the Prince of Wolves on Schwarzhain's marketplace for the man in front of her seemed to have entered it from another world entirely.

Except for the dark fur that lined his coat and the black hounds at his feet, everything about him was the clearest of white: His clothes, hair, the horse behind him, and even one of his eyes. Split by a thin silvery scar, it appeared milky, dead, as if blind, but still oddly watchful. The other one was an almost as bright blue—as intense as those of the demon Saskia saw at the halidom last night.

Now it was she who instinctively clutched Katinka's hand tighter, sharply sucking in the icy winter air.

"Take it as my service to the Bright Mother," the stranger said with a voice equally cold and sharp as the merchant produced coins of the most gleaming silver she had ever seen from the bag.

Katinka shot her a concerned glance Saskia avoided answering with her own.

"And who are you?" Prince Silvan asked tartly while Saskia still tried to make sense of this picture that struck her as strange...abnormal in a way she couldn't quite tell.

The prince looked from the hounds to their owner and back again, seemingly uncertain whom he had to watch more carefully.

"The famous Prince von Winterthal, I assume?" The stranger asked, only the hint of a smile playing about his lips as he offered him an almost mocking little bow.

Only now did Saskia realize what confused her so much: The striking absence of age's marks on him. Despite his snow-white hair, the stranger did not look particularly old—not much older than Silvan at least—, for no wrinkle graved his aristocratic features. It was as though frost and winter had thoroughly etched into his very body.

"Some know me as Prince Anyan von Jakona. However, I am but a passionate hunter."

"A hunter? And what, my lord, does a man hunt here in winter? Half-starved bears? The hooved beasts of the darkest nights? Or Goldenhorn himself?" Saskia asked, finally winning back her countenance.

In some legends, it was an ibex. In others, a chamois, and again in different ones, they said it was a white stag with golden antlers and a sacred mark on his forehead. Those same tales spoke of the many unfortunate youths who tried their luck to kill the magical animal and make it their trophy. And though they were different, they all ended the same way—with the young hunter dead.

The softest of smiles tug on Anyan's lips. "Are you proposing a challenge, Sister?"

"A challenge? Only for those who desire death," Saskia snorted.

A strange shadow darkened the hunter's bright eye. "Well, there is worse to fear than death."

Saskia swallowed. But it was impossible, right? This man was no illusion and no demon. He couldn't have been the strange being she met in the snow.

Another man, almost as richly dressed as Prince Silvan himself but clearly second to him in command, quickly approached his master, who already wanted to dismiss him with the wave of a hand again.
"My lord, it's important ..." he murmured and, with a few glances shot to the people around them, lowered his voice. "There was a body found in the woods nearby. A stranger presumably, and his death was not natural."

A corpse? Saskia shivered, not allowing herself to think this could be related to her mistakes. The Winter Mountains were never safe in winter; it could've been one of all too many travelers.

"I could be of service to you and your men. This winter is very dangerous," Anyan said, awakening nothing further from joy from Prince Silvan.

"We do not need your—or anyone's—help," he spat, again eying the silent hounds with their steaming muzzles. A Prince of Wolves afraid of mere dogs?

Katinka used the chance to softly pull Saskia away. "Let us go."

However, Saskia could not withstand the urge to turn back once more to this strange hunter.
"When did you arrive in Schwarzhain, my lord?"

Von Jakona slightly cocked his head, but the seriousness in his brightly glinting eye betrayed his alertness. His suspicion. "Just today, Sister."

When they left the men, Saskia was sure she felt some eyes following them and scorching into her back.

❅

"Why did you have to do this? Isn't it enough to dare Mother Gesa? She was right. Your fearlessness will get you into trouble," Katinka said the moment they left the market behind. Surprisingly, she did not only seem concerned or afraid but truly angry. Something Saskia had never seen in her warm, dark eyes before.

"I had to."

A strange memory came alive in Saskia's mind.

"You should be happy. Your youngest is the most beautiful of your daughters. She will have no sorrow to find a husband," she had overheard her nursemaid say to her mother when she was a child.
"For you, Tyasha, beauty is like a shield," the princess—or Fürstin how it was called in her mama's homelands—had sighed, "but it is a target, too."

Those words rang true now more than ever.

"That's not how you turn down a suitor like the prince. You scorned him."

"He—"

"He is the head of the Order, Saskia!" Katinka interrupted her, halting in the middle of the way and forcing her to do so as well. "A Fürst. A knez."

Saskia shook her head. "Yet, he had no right treating us like that."
The anger about that sheer insolence was still burning through her veins.

"It doesn't matter. He thinks he has ... and he's a dangerous man you don't want as an enemy. This is why you swallow your accursed pride, take his gifts with gratitude and a smile, and keep your head low, so he might forget you."

To Saskia's shame, her sister was right. She felt it in her bones and in the way she found herself unable to return Katinka's now oddly cool and earnest glare. Her actions had been stupid and reckless, earning them both the disdain of the most powerful man in Schwarzhain.

Yes, probably Mother Gesa was right about Katinka. She feared too much. But both were wrong about Saskia, for it was not fearlessness that drove her imprudent. No, she was afraid, too.

_____________________

better don't mess with crows, right?

so, here they are: prince silvan and our hunter/prince anyan. i know they are both quite something, so i'm curious to know what you think about them!

despite struggling this time with my entry--and really fearing not to meet the deadline ^^"--i'm happy to announce i reached milestone 2!

how is it going for you?

8 466 words

Milestone 1 ✓
Milestone 2 ✓
Milestone 3 ✗