Page 3 of The Mage and His Stolen Prince
Treasure crossed his arms and glared at his father’s back without moving.
At the mouth of the alley, the man finally realized his son had not obeyed him. He stomped back and plunked his hands on his hips as he looked between his son and the street urchin.
“First lesson,” the man declared. “An evil mage does not accept charity. If he wants something, he takes it for himself. Learn how to steal to feed yourself, and perhaps I’ll consider taking you in.”
“Show them a spell,” Treasure insisted.
“Why should I—”
“It’ll make it easier for them to steal.”
The man threw his arms up in exasperation, then crouched down to be on the same level as the child.
They inched away from him, eyeing him warily, but all he did was give them instructions on a simple telekinetic spell. He mumbled some words that meant nothing to the child, then twitched two fingers toward himself. A pebble lifted into the air and lazily floated into his hand. “Magic is like wind—you can’t see it, but you can feel it, and with a little effort, you can create your own breeze.”
The child concentrated on the pebble, the air brushing their skin, and something else light and buzzing they’d never noticed before. They repeated the spell, stumbling over the words, and gestured at the pebble. With the barest flick, it flew straight into their palm, hitting hard enough to sting.
The man’s eyebrows arched in surprise. “Well, it seems you have some talent.” He reached into a cloak pocket and pulled out a pure black card. In white font, it said:
Brutus Arnulf, Evil Mage. Title Pending.
The child took the card and clutched it so tightly that the corners crinkled.
“Keep practicing,” the man said. “Apprentices begin their training as early as thirteen, so when you’re old enough, come find me, and I’ll consider taking you in.”
Thirteen. That was only four more years. If the child could survive until then, they’d have a master, a home, and—their eyes cut to the boy—a Treasure.
Brutus awkwardly patted the child’s head, then straightened and turned to his son. “Now will you come with me?”
“Yes, Father!” Treasure chirped cheerfully. At the end of the alley, he paused and looked back at the child. He still had the bag of candy in his hand, and he held it out in offering.
The child stepped toward him, then remembered what they’d just learned. Concentrating on the magic saturating the air, they crooked their finger and called the bag to them. The bag flew from Treasure’s hand into the child’s. They opened it and pulled out a piece of hardened sugar, slipping it between their teeth.
Nothing had ever tasted so sweet.
Treasure waved cheerfully as his father dragged him away.
The child waved back, disappointed to see their first friend leave. They looked back down at the black card in their hands. They would see him again one day. Everything they wanted, they could have once they became an evil mage.
Chapter One: Wilde
Thirteen Years Later
A Shopping District Somewhere in “Bane”
Waiting
What do you do when you’ve lost everything? Fight tooth and nail to get it back. I thought the fight would involve more magic, sword play, and blood, but I found myself hunched over a lukewarm coffee and half-eaten pastry, searching the busy street. The crowds were thicker than I’d anticipated, full of people I’d never met. I frowned at every unfamiliar face.Whoareyou? How did you get here?I didn’t have time to linger on their unexpected presence when I finally spotted a flame of red hair.
Treasure Banes exited a clothing store, a half-dozen bags on each arm, and paused on the sidewalk. He tilted his head back, his eyes slowly sliding shut, and basked in the sun as if he hadn’t felt its warmth in years. A content smile stretched across his pink lips even as his brow furrowed in confusion.
Another man followed close behind and touched Trey’s shoulder, gently guiding him out of the entrance so he wouldn’t impede the other shoppers. I’d seen this man before, recognized his dark hair and bronze skin, the black cloak that would have fit into my master’s—former master’s wardrobe. Frederick Woeful, Prince of Woe and Prince Consort of Bane, amateur mage of questionable alignment, and one of Trey’s many fathers.
Rick carried only one armload of shopping bags and insisted on taking some of Trey’s burden. I watched the interaction intently, trying to understand their relationship. Both of their smiles were soft and familiar, and they moved like they were comfortable with each other, matching pace as they walked down the street.
Right toward me.
Showtime.
