Madness Read online

  MADNESS

  Ruined

  Copyright 2020 Nikki Hunter

  All Rights Reserved

  Imprint: Independently published

  Cover design by Rainy Day Artwork

  Editing by EDC Editing

  The content of this book is protected under Federal Copyright Laws. Any unauthorized use of this material is prohibited. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without express written permission from the author.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events or locales are entirely coincidence.

  To my son, Greyson. May you become all that you wish to be and not what the world tells you to be.

  I love you.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Table of Contents Continued

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  About The Author

  ONE

  Dace

  Flies swarmed over the trash that hadn’t been taken out since only the gods knew when. Fluids of all different types dried in puddles and molding films on the long bar top. Drunken patrons didn’t mind the less-than-sanitary conditions. Once I hadn’t either, but something had changed. I couldn’t view this bar as what it had once been for me; an escape.

  Nothing here felt right, nothing helped to settle my thoughts that raged like a storm. Chatter rose and fell as conversations picked up and drifted away while the patrons flitted around the bar. Their dull roar was never enough to drown out my thoughts.

  My eyes burned as sleep had eluded me last night. The lack of rest left its mark in the red rims and dark circles that surrounded my dull gaze. My head slipped from the fisted hand that had propped it up, nearly making my chin dip into some yellow liquid under my cup. Gods, I hoped it wasn’t piss.

  But everything had turned to piss in my life. I frowned as I lifted my head and looked around. This bar had been everything to me before. A small freedom from a reality I was convinced I didn’t want. Now that it was gone and I could never return to my home, something in me felt broken.

  Never again would my eyes trace the brush strokes of the paintings that lined our near-empty halls. Never again would I find myself tirelessly busy with tutors or trainers. My body wouldn’t rest upon the finery of my bed or grace the expensive clothing stocked in my wardrobe. Nothing was mine anymore. My childhood memories were now just that, memories.

  'Prince' wasn’t a title I carried anymore, and without it I was an enigma. Dace. My name was simply Dace. It felt incomplete without the title.

  Passing fae still stared at me, though none tried to greet me. It was a quiet, curious glance as they tried to see what I would become. My parents had been gracious enough to excuse prison time and instead sent me out to live on the streets, without help. Sometimes I had the thought that maybe the dungeons would have been best. At least there I was provided meals, unlike on the street where I didn’t have a cent to my name and no one wanted to take in a ‘traitor’ as an apprentice.

  All that remained of the refuge was smoke and ash. Footprints in the snow were overlapped and confusing to look at. I couldn’t count the number of nymphs who had gotten away. The bodies remained though. I couldn’t bring myself to count that number either. Guilt made my stomach turn painfully, like I had stabbed myself with a dagger and twisted.

  I let my face fall against the counter, ignoring the pang of disgust at myself for letting my cheek touch the bartop. Nothing really mattered right now. Everything I was, everything I did, was a disappointment. At some point I would have to rally myself, move on from my self pity. Right now didn’t feel like the fitting time though.

  Next to me two men sat themselves in the empty bar stools. The chairs squealed against the floor as they pulled them underneath themselves.

  “Did you hear about the Heathern Court?” the shorter man said to his friend, who opted for another drink. He followed suit, dropping his own coin onto the counter. The waitress was fast to serve them, I noted. Regular customers, I thought, as I looked at them closer. Yes, I’d seen them before. Honestly, I think they may have been a few that lost to Shavarra’s mad card skills.

  The day had continued on without me, moving slower than I thought. Time did not move quickly when all you did was stare at the back of a bar. The bartenders were not caring enough to make conversation with me when they knew I wasn’t good for any money.

  My eyebrows raised in interest as I listened intently. I wasn’t in the know with my family anymore, mere gossip would be all that I had to hold on to. Ugh, I hated to resort to eavesdropping, but here we were.

  “Oh, by the gods, yes,” the friend mumbled.

  “Ganglin was right, those nymphs are a threat to us.” The short friend’s voice was harsh, edged with concern and worry. My fists clenched in my lap at his belief.

  “You don’t really believe that, do you? I mean he had it coming anyhow. I’m just in awe of how quickly they took over his castle. Do you think our court will send help to aid him?”

  I blinked. Who did what now? Nymphs took over the Heathern Court castle? Where was Ganglin?

  “What did you just say?” I sat up, ripping my cheek off the counter with a disturbing peeling sound. Tentatively, I brushed my fingers over my reddened cheek.

  “There, uh, was an attack on the Heathern Court. Nymphs currently hold the castle.”

  His words repeated in a chorus inside my head. They had done it. Someone had finally made a move and the nymphs were fighting back. My heart skipped and my pulse raced with the adrenaline of joy.

  Slowly, my lips stretched into a large smile. The men before me exchanged a worried look. It suddenly didn’t feel like the end anymore. I knew I looked insane, I just didn’t care. I wasn’t out of the game yet, I just had to get where I was truly meant to be, and it wasn’t here.

  “Holy fuck. Are you serious?” I gaped.

  Together they nodded, concern evident in their furrowed brows. Their judgement of me no longer mattered. This homeless, hopeless, place I was finding myself no longer mattered.

  “You look like you could use a drink,” a feminine voice said over my shoulder.

  The two men’s eyes snagged on the woman, their eyes caught on her hourglass form, eating her up like she was dessert. Her face remained hidden in the shadow of her hood, her body curling into itself ever so slightly as she shied from their attention. Lifting my lip in a small snarl, I pulled their attention from her. They turned away with a roll of their eyes and continued their conversation more quietly. I twisted to meet her soft golden eyes, her short blonde bangs brushing against her eyelashes.

  “I don’t have money. I’m not here to purchase a tart,” I mumbled waving her away. If she was a whore, she was a poor one at that. She should have picked her target better. Maybe she didn’t realize I had been dethroned. Maybe she lived under a fucking rock.

/>   “I’m not here to sell myself to you,” she whispered, drawing nearer to me. “Shavarra sent me.”

  My breathing hitched. Shavarra, oh my gods.

  “She’s alive?” I coughed. “How many made it out? Where are they?” Questions rattled inside my brain. Who was this woman and why was she here for me?

  “I’ll explain it to you on the way.” Her whisper was harsher this time. “Please, we must go.”

  The urgency in her words caught me off guard. A new nervousness rose inside me. I didn’t know this girl, who was she to take me to anyone?

  With a lifted eyebrow, I took her hand, letting her weave us through the crowd. The noise of the bar became muffled as the door swung shut behind us. Night had cloaked the streets in darkness. Fae firelight was glowing from a few hanging lamps to keep the drunks from hurting themselves on their travels home. I, unfortunately, was not drunk.

  “Who are you?” I ripped the hood off her head.

  The girl hissed, springing forward with a knife poised for my throat. She stopped just short of my Adam's apple, and my hand rose to grip hers. “I’m saving your life. There is a bounty on your head and some of us, me included, would like to see you on that throne again one day.”

  “Okay, first, calm down. Second, I’m sorry, but who would want me dead?” Well, a lot of people probably. I wasn’t particularly a kind person. I may have done a few people dirty in my lifetime, too. Damn, I was a screw up.

  “Not information I cared about.” She lowered the knife, slipping it back into the sheath I hadn’t seen, and pulled her hood back up. “Follow me.”

  “Well, now that I know my life is in danger, how do I know that you aren’t going to try and kill me?”

  “If I wanted to kill you, you’d be dead already.” Her cloak flicked out behind her as she quickened her pace and surged forward into a dark alley.

  “Good point,” I mused under my breath, following her. My saddened state had left my instincts sluggish. Who I guessed to be a whore was actually an assassin.

  She no longer looked the part of the tart now. Not with her overly-confident steps and the way that she seemed to blend in with the growing number of shadows that appeared as she led me quietly away from the bar.

  We turned corner after corner heading out of the main village. Most people barely gave us a second glance. The rejected prince and the supposed whore he would spend his time with. It was an easily believed tale. She didn't technically need the shadows to hide.

  “Just a little ways out,” she assured me. Dirty blonde hair stopped in a blunt line at her chin, her lips a faded lavender pressed into a firm line as she pushed forward through the outskirts of town. Her words did little to appease me as the main path tapered to a small dirt trail. Homes passed sporadically, with spaces that grew farther and farther between.

  A small, cozy looking home appeared in the distance. The porch was lit only by the smallest fae fire lamp. Winter vines had overgrown the siding, their blue buds sprouting every so often.

  The assassin's eyes drifted from side to side, her hands brushing the fabric of her hood behind an ear as she listened. Her chin dipped in the smallest of nods before she led me forward up the old wooden steps that lead to the porch.

  She knocked only once before the door cracked open. Lavender eyes peeked through the smallest crack. I could see the tangle of long blonde hair that fell over her chest. A strained breath escaped me. Gut wrenching tension released as the door swung open wide enough for us to enter.

  “Shavarra,” I whispered, ushering myself in and pulling her into my arms.

  She wheezed, but wrapped her hands around me. “Gentle,” she sighed. “I’m still on the mend.” Her lips grew into a smile I could feel against my neck, her words damp across my skin.

  I pulled away to examine her. A bandage wrapped around one shoulder, the wound still healing. My fingers brushed over it, and her expression tightened into a wince.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, my voice hoarse.

  Her expression softened and she squeezed my hands. Shavarra was nothing if not forgiving. Her tongue slipped over her lower lip, moistening the dry skin. The intentness of her gaze drifting from me back to the woman who brought me in.

  “I knew we would find you in a bar,” she forced a chuckle.

  “I, uh, didn’t have anywhere else to go.” Avoiding her sympathetic look, I let my eyes wander the small cottage for the first time.

  The assassin stood with her arms crossed over her, her shoulder leaning against a bookcase that was filled to capacity with books. Literature with bindings ranging from two inches thick to thin slivers were stacked upright and on top of each other, shoved into whatever space was available.

  Next to the bookshelf was a small fireplace, cold and dark. Dust from old ashes fanned out from the stones and onto the worn, wooden floorboards. The dirt neared two broken-down chairs and a couch that looked more like a deflated balloon.

  Pictures were propped up of smiling faces I didn’t recognize and one all-too-familiar face. This was, if I must guess, Shavarra’s real home. And it was a far cry from the luxuries I had been living in.

  “I heard they took your rights to the crown away,” Shavarra nodded. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Sometimes Shavarra liked to fill the silence that occasionally rose between us. I had never been a fan of small talk, specifically when it reminded me of what I lost.

  “Yeah, well it happened and I can’t do anything to change it, so...” I tried to shrug it off like it didn’t matter, even though everything in me felt drained of what normally fueled me. You’re so stupid, Dace, it does matter.

  “There is some good news, though.”

  My gaze stopped the adventurous wanderings of the space around me and found its way back to my friend's face. Her mouth ticked up into a sideways grin.

  “And what might that be?” I drawled.

  “Resources tell me that there are a lot of people who are pissed that you lost your crown. Fae have been flocking to us from all over the court expressing their loyalty to you.”

  To me? People actually liked me? No, it wasn’t me. It was my cause.

  I laughed, running my fingers through my hair. “What resources may that be? Because so far, everyone has treated me like a disease they didn’t want to catch.”

  Shavarra pointed at the assassin. “This is Jesseline. She represents a guild of assassins who represent a lot of really wealthy fae who want to back you.”

  Jesseline raised her eyebrows, but said nothing to confirm the statement. I blinked away my warring thoughts and looked between Shavarra and Jesseline.

  “How many nymphs made it out?” I finally asked the question that had been eating away at me since the refuge was burned down.

  “Only about a third of them.” She nodded, turning toward closed doors that lead out of the living room. “Would you like to see them?”

  “They’re here?” the surprise in my voice was evident as Shavarra laughed.

  “I didn’t know where else to take them, so I brought them home. To my real home.” Her cheeks flushed crimson and she wrung her hands in front of her. “I, uh, know it isn’t much, but it's what I have and it’s far enough out of town that it’s easy enough to hide them.”

  This place really was a trash pit compared to the castle, or even the makeshift home of the refuge. No wonder she had practically lived at the refuge. But she was giving everything she had, and that’s what mattered.

  “Your home is lovely,” I said, hoping I was convincing enough.

  Her throat bobbed, her gaze trailing over me once more like she had to make sure I was still in one piece. Physically, I supposed I was. Though I knew I looked worse for wear. My brown pants were creased, dirt scuffed up the side of my calves. The white button up over it wasn’t so white anymore. And I could still feel the stickiness of whatever was on that bartop on my cheek.

  Mentally, I was fucked. But honesty, was that any different than normal? I thought not.

  The
door at the back of her room opened quietly as she twisted the knob. A small kitchen open to a dining room was filled with nymphs. They sat at the table chairs or propped up against the counters. A few were curled up on mats that cushioned them from the hard floor. They spoke quietly, their conversations quickly stopping at the sight of me.

  If I had thought that I looked bad, these people were clearly in hell. Many of them were bruised, bandaged, or cradling makeshift splints. None of them looked as if they made it out without a scratch.

  “Prince Dace,” many of them murmured in greeting.

  My heart leapt at the name. The title I had often rejected and now missed. Even without my title I was still the prince to some, and maybe one day even the king.

  I turned toward Shavarra, “We need to get them to the Heathern Court.”

  Her eyes lit up and she turned toward the crowd, “You heard the man.”

  TWO

  Ryker

  Shouts rose from the crowd, angry and questioning. “What are we going to do about the fae?” “Why are there fae still living here?” “How do we get the rest of our people free?” “Where is Ganglin? We want his head!”

  The purge of the Heathern Court castle hadn’t been quick. Deep emotional wounds still festered, leaving the newly free nymphs confused and heated. They had a point though. All those questions were the same questions I had already asked myself.

  As the fighting outside the castle had come to an end, they had seen me atop the steps. All of their gazes fixed on me, as if I knew what to do. Did they think I was Hattie? The one who had given them the medicine that helped to give their powers back? I was full of fury, untamed and hungry. So we did what I had always wanted. I led them to destroy this place that had destroyed us for so long.

  Fists met windows, and glass fell like confetti. We ripped down every banner, every sign or image, that reminded us of the ruler who had just fled. Earthmakers, like me, sent shuddering earthquakes deep into the ground that brought down statues, and screamed at nature as vines grew from the ground and covered the walls and any available surface.