Prologue

Once upon a time, a prince was born.

The fair and wise King, heartbroken by his Queen's sacrifice, called for the kingdom to pay tribute to his son, so that all might marvel at her last gift to the world. Yet even three days and three nights of festivity were not enough to lift the good King's grief.

But they were enough to draw the attention of a fairy.

She was a spirit of luck and good fortune, lured by dance and song and revelry. Curiosity compelled her to find out what would inspire such splendor, and so she snuck her way into the palace. Fluttering above the princeling's crib, she cooed at his beauty, inherited from the Queen. Yet then she noticed the King, weeping quietly as he gazed upon his son.

"Good King Gabriel, why do you weep?

Do you not see the celebration in the street?"

"My love is gone, and my heart is filled with sorrow.

Leave me, spirit, for there is no tomorrow."

The kind fairy was touched by the depth of the King's pain and decided that he needed her aid.

"Look upon the prince, for your love lives on,

To him I'll give a blessing, so that he grows strong."

Her magic enveloped the babe, nurturing the seeds of virtues already found within.

And never was there a prince more handsome, more charming or more beloved than Prince Adrien.

Tikki cried out in agony as the human tore at the petals in her hair, dragging her into the throne room. Magic brimmed at her fingertips, bright red sparks trailing behind her, but it did not touch the great brute of a soldier. Her magic was meant to aid, never to harm.

A pale man sat on the throne elevated several steps above the rest of the great hall, a crown of abhorrent metal resting on his fair hair. Iron burned a fae's skin, and she was no exception – a weakness the soldier used to his advantage as his sword's blade hovered less than an inch above her exposed throat.

"Bow before your king."

The king's voice was neither commanding nor gentle. It just was. He said it with no more passion than one might use to remark upon the weather.

"You are no king of mine, human!"

"Do you not stand upon my kingdom's ground? Do you not breathe my kingdom's air? That makes you mine to command."

"I walked this ground and breathed this air long before your kingdom came to be." She raised her chin, luminous black eyes shining. "You are as fleeting as an insect and I would sooner bow to a ladybug than to you."

The blade pressed down, and her red skin sizzled.

But the king raised his hand. "Sir Gerilla, enough." An icy gaze swept over her, and she shivered, understanding that she had not been spared the pain out of mercy. "It's not her bow I want, so let's not waste time on it."

"…what do you want, then?"

He leaned back, lounging on his throne. "Nothing you wouldn't give freely. In fact, I've heard you've been handing this gift of yours to all manner of subjects in my kingdom. The beauty of sunshine, voices like song, hearts of valor, wasted on peasants." King Gabriel paused and then he smiled. That, too, was cold and empty. "I ask that you bless my son."

Tikki grew still, panting from the pain of iron still lingering on her skin.

"That's all?"

"That's all."

She licked her lips. "What would you have me give him?"

"Good health. A strong mind. A bold heart. Things I imagine all fathers want in their son."

"I give but one blessing."

The king motioned for his soldier. The blade pressed against her neck once more. "Then might I suggest an exception? He is a prince, after all."

Her wings fluttered as she writhed to get away from the accursed iron. "Fine," she spat. One blessing or three, it mattered not at this point. Never had anyone dared touch her like this! She was Lady Luck, even humans respected that. Misfortune would find this man soon enough to extract its retribution for the pain inflicted on her. "Where is he?"

The king rose from his throne and beckoned her to follow. Together, they walked through halls of splendor, narrow corridors decorated by the finest artists, windows covered with drapes of finest silk, until they stood in front of a small crib, carved in the form of a warhorse.

"My son." For the first time, emotion touched the man's voice. Pride.

Insect wings fluttering, Tikki drifted closer to be able to see the little one.

Her breath left her as horror clutched her heart. Ambition. Power. War.

That child was a mage.

No, more than a mere mage. This was the kind of powerful warlock born only once a generation. Tikki's inhuman gaze swiveled to the king. Born to this man? He didn't have a drop of magic in him. The lineage had to have gone through the mother.

"Well?" Cold eyes narrowed. "Do it, fae."

A powerful warlock raised by this cruel man to one day take the throne.

As it always did when faced with a newborn life, Tikki's mind filled with visions of their future. It was how she picked her blessings, to aid with whatever would be the greatest challenge of their lives.

The boy's fate was to become a scourge upon the world.

Ambition instilled by a ruthless father in a heart far too eager to please, born with enough power to bring the neighboring kingdoms to their knees – this boy was destined to be a conqueror, destruction trailing in his wake.

"I'm thinking," she said, stalling. "Blessings are not easily bestowed. They must fit."

Impatience made the king's lips thin.

"But you are right."

"Oh?" An arched eyebrow.

"A prince like this deserves more than one gift to celebrate the occasion of his birth."

She reached for the babe, trailing one finger along his small jaw. The would-be-tyrant gurgled happily.

"What's his name?"

"Adrien. Prince Adrien Agreste. First of his name."

"Prince Adrien," Tikki whispered, tasting the power in the words, and the palm of her hand glowed bright. "You've no need of health and strength, for you have those aplenty."

She reached for the boy's budding magic and entwined it with hers.

"To you I bestow the twin gifts of beauty and charm. Women will want you, and men will want to be you, enemies and allies alike. Your voice will be as stirring and rousing as song. When you speak, your soldiers will be inspired to march into battle, and your subjects eager to carry out your will. All the glories of this world shall be yours."

And then, as the king watched with the gleam of satisfaction in his eyes, she planted the seed of kindness in the boy's heart.

"General, shall we prepare the officer's tent for negotiation?"

Lord Bourgeoise lowered the looking glass, a frown on his face as the figure in the distance grew small and far away once more.

What was that fool boy doing?

"Damn you, Gabriel," he muttered. You are sending your son to die. He'd always known that the king, whose little empire sat to the north of his home's borders, was a ruthless man.

But to not only declare war on his neighbors on the day his successor grew of age, putting the boy in charge of his armies, and sending him off to fight Gabriel's battles for him – no, to top it off, the boy wasn't even properly trained. Was he trying to murder his firstborn? Did King Gabriel have some bastard he'd rather have in the line of succession, just waiting to be legitimized?

Sending an envoy before the battle began to broker for peace was standard procedure, but the prince had broken rank with his army by himself, a white warhorse carrying him across the plain to meet his enemy. He'd taken no escort to protect him, easy prey confidently riding into a pit of vipers.

Lord Bourgeoise sighed.

Hopefully, the princeling would be taken alive, and the battle would end swiftly. In a way, it was a relief – the enemy was unlikely to follow a sophisticated strategy.

And yet…

He rubbed his shoulder, where his armor had deflected a heavy blow from one of his own spies. The man whose loyalty he'd thought assured had screamed that the enemy they faced could not – nay, should not be defeated.

Lord Bourgeoise pushed the unease away. That Raincomprix had turned on him was an unpleasant surprise, but King Gabriel was well-known for the riches of his realm. Stronger men had betrayed their lieges for gold.

The boy scarcely even deserved to be called a man yet. That he had coaxed a spy away from their side did not make him a force to be reckoned with.

And the spies' screams that they, too, would soon see the light and serve Prince Adrien had just been the frantic ramblings of a doomed man. In a way, to see his once faithful servant lose his nerve when faced with a death sentence had been even more disappointing than his betrayal.

Should death come for him on the battlefield today, General Bourgeoise was prepared to meet it with dignity.

The white horse was so close now that he could hear hoofbeats, so the Lord spurred his own mount to greet his adversary. It was unfortunate that the boy would most likely die soon. From all accounts, he was a kind and charming young man, utterly unlike his father.

Even his daughter Chloe, not easily impressed, had shown an interest in meeting him, so high did the few nobles who had met him sing his praises. In another lifetime, the General might have offered the prince his beloved daughter's hand in marriage, had she shown herself similarly charmed. It would have been a great alliance between two mighty Houses.

But war was not just, taking the innocent and guilty alike, snuffing out hopes for their future.

His heavy boots hit the ground with a thud as he dismounted, glorious armor weighing heavily on him as he stood. He'd scarcely felt it when he'd been a young man, but there was a reason he no longer fought on the front lines.

Prince Adrien swung himself off his steed, too, swiftly and gracefully.

He wore no armor at all, only leathers and a white cloak pulled over his face. Fool boy. The General quietly offered a small prayer for the boy who was definitely going to die.

Show mercy to this boy when you take him into your Great Halls. It's not his fault he was born with too much valor, too little brain and given an army.

"General."

Andre froze.

"I've come to negotiate the terms of your surrender."

The old General wanted to laugh at the boy's audacity, but neither his tongue nor his throat appeared willing to make the necessary movements. That voice. The boy's voice – no, that was a man's voice, a deep and pleasing timbre, the kind of voice made for shouting commands that soldiers proudly followed.

He licked his lips and shook the ridiculous thought away.

"I'm disinclined to do either." It was meant to sound certain and authoritative, and yet he couldn't keep the quiver out of it. His voice wasn't meant to go up against the likes of Prince Adrien's. Truly, he should just be quiet and let the other man speak.

What?

The General shook his head more vigorously, and his hand unsteadily rose to rest on the hilt of his sword.

Prince Adrien's hidden gaze must have followed the movement, for the man cocked his head. "Are you going to draw weapons at a peaceful negotiation?"

Behind him, his men stirred, a low mutter of discontent rising. Shame burned the General's cheeks at the rebuke, that he would dishonor himself like this. In front of him. "N-no! Certainly not." Another blunder, and his men might turn on him. And he'd deserve it. He had to show strength now, demonstrate who the superior leader was.

Terror writhed in his gut because he knew, with absolute certainty, that it wasn't him.

"Good." The small praise was like a soothing balm and the General shivered, eager for more.

Prince Adrien reached for the cowl of his hood and drew it back. His hair shone in the sun, glinting like gold, and he had a smile that had to have been carved by the Gods.

"Then let us return to discussing the terms of your surrender. I'm certain you wish to avoid unnecessary bloodshed as much as I."

Heavily armored knees hit the mud.

"Forgive me, your Grace," the General whispered, for how could he have ever dared to think himself this man's equal? To raise an army to deny him what was rightfully his?

Now all he could do was beg for mercy.

Prince Adrien smiled at him with indulgence and General Bourgeoise wept, quietly thanking all the Gods known and unknown that they had made his future King kind-hearted.

Never was there a prince more handsome, more charming or more beloved than Prince Adrien.