Summary

"When my grandma had first told me I was a witch, I had thought practically for, oh I don't know, sixteen solid years that I was like every other girl on this side of the universe; hormones, puberty, the works. Magic? Nah, I don't think so."

Résha Valentine is the last Valentine Princess.

Her family's magic has been lost for over four centuries, out of sight from the powerful Royal Coven and those that would want it for themselves. Faced with constant threat against her from both enemies and those who are meant to be her comrades, she needs be extra careful who she trusts. Her very existence puts the welfare of mankind in her hands.

Résha has no clue who she really is orwhat she's capable of.

But, Sylvain does.

Stuck in his own problems, gorgeous Sylvain finds himself crossing paths with the long lost Princess in a way that could turn her world upside down and kill her in the process. He's unpredictable and he's dangerous, but he's not what he seems. He has a secret that could cost him everything, including what he loves the most.

Who ever said school life was easy?


A/N: Okay, so I write this a while ago, like about a year or something ago but I had no idea what category to put it in or even if I should upload OS on here. Seeing as I couldn't find anywhere else, I decided to give it a go~ Please R&R this! I wrote it with the intention of it becoming a novel one day and depending on reactions, etc, I'll upload the other chapters as well :) We'll just see how it goes~ Thank you to anyone that takes the time to read this and I hope it isn't that bad. It's UNBETA-ED so there will be grammers, etc. I'm sorry but I just fail in that area. I hope you like and let me know what you all think ^^


Prologue: Rebirth

Six Months Before

The man stood and watched with a passive distaste. The time he had waited should have been more than adequate for his experiment to have taken effect. As he watched the luxurious canopy bed holding the small boy, his distaste changed to that of boredom and impatience. No, it should not have taken this long, yet there were still no changes. The boy's chest hadn't risen once since the girl had died by his hands and he had ran to escape the mass of teachers that had poured from the grand building of Shadowcast Academy.

A sharp intake of breathe suddenly caught his attention and he rose from his leather seat behind the grand desk, strutting to him in a robust grace, a dark pleasure and satisfaction bubbling within the man as he strolled over to the bed. The boy was panting, upright and alert, clutching at his chest and looking around himself wildly. Upon seeing the man, he attempted to scurry away from him, almost falling from the tangle of sheets as he did, cursing heavily in what sounded like Spanish. He grabbed the boy's wrist, steadying him and counting the fluttering beats of his newly awakened heart. The boy stared, a pathetic string of whimpers coming from his lips as he stared the man down. Fear burned in his snowy gaze along with a careful wondering as he looked about himself.

"Are you a doctor? Where am I?" The boy croaked, his throat thick and dry and shaken with hapless confusion. The man smiled a disturbing smile, drawing a stone from his coat. He waved the stone over the boy's chest, contented when it glowed steadily, pulsing with light in a silent rhythm. Slipping the stone back into his pocket, the man nodded to himself, calculating.

"A doctor?" The man chuckled "Absolutely not. If I was, then you wouldn't be here, Mister de Silva"

"How do you know my name? Who are you?" The boy asked, his fingers twitching but failing to spark as a witch could. The man looked up at him, bemused by the boy's valour, trying to remain calm while questioning someone he had neither met nor probably thought he would meet. The man rolled up his sleeve for the boy, baring before his eyes rich and intricate tattoos down his forearm; blue words as light as lapis lazuli, in fluid Latin coating the surface. The man's eyes, the same shade as his marks, bore into the boy.

"Jesus Cristo! Your Highness." The boy breathed, reaching out to clasp the man's hand and gently brush his lips across it's surface. "Forgive me, I didn't realise…"

"Of course, how could you?" The man said, chuckling darkly "I've been off the map for quite some time. Tell me, boy, what name did your parents give you?"

"Christian." The boy answered with a sigh.

"Do you remember what happened to you, Christian?"

The boy shook his head, staring blindly. "I don't mean to be rude, Sir, but can you tell me where I am? What is this place?"

The man looked around the room; the dark wood panelled walls, the black marble floor and lush furniture. He supposed to less fortunate eyes, this room would appear rich and fabulous, even exquisite to the unknowing, and full of taste. A giant upside-down pentagram was embedded into one wall to the left of the bed the boy had been on, in real silver, shining. The man glanced at the symbol, then back at the imposing desk, built from genuine rosewood and encrusted in sapphire jewels and silver veining. Instead if answering, he went to it, removing a small double-edged steel knife with an onyx jewel in a smooth sphere attached to the hilt, imbedded with a crest of a black Triquatra on the blade. He drew a long silver chain out along with it, a shiny pendant shaped identical to the crest in the same shining onyx stone hanging loosely. He brought them over to the boy, who gasped, clutching at the chain like a desperate child and curling it around his neck. He stopped mid-clasp.

"It's cold." The boy commented, a tremor in his voice as his fingers locked around the pendant. "It was never cold before."

"That is because you are no longer a witch, Christian. You died." The man informed him, turning the blade in his fingers.

"Died?" Christian echoed "That's impossible, I'm still breathing. My heart still beats."

"Indeed," The man agreed, "but that is down to no miracle. You were brought back by something else entirely. Darkness brought you back."

Christian stared at the man in pure horror, his face paling to an ashy pallor that made him look absolutely sick. The deep purple rings under her eyes stood out like grotesque bruises as sweat beaded down his forehead.

"D-Darkness…?" The boy stuttered, flustered "No, I can't have-I'm not…"

"You are a Reaper, Christian. You killed a girl."

"No." The boy said stubbornly "It's not possible, I can't have…I don't remember-"

"Of course you don't," The man said "It was quite sudden."

"How-?" The boy started, but presumably decided better of it, rolling up the sleeves of his long shirt in a panic. A devastated cry parted from his lips when his eyes fell upon the white scars decorating his forearms, the marks that had once portrayed him a witch were now a milky colour and frayed, scored through with odd lines that gave a strange stitched-on appearance to the once-proud Triquatras. Burned lines of a corrupted witch, now stripped of colour and energy.

"Elise Schrager. You killed her over a week ago at your school. Slashed her throat. It was terribly messy." The man mused.

"Elise?" Christian questioned, his voice broken and disbelieving "But I would never-she was…she was…." He cried.

"Jealousy is a very strange thing, Christian. She tried to take Ethan away from you, don't you remember? In a fit of anger, you warned her to back off and leave you alone, but when she refused, you killed her. Later that night, you ran back to your room and, out of guilt and pain, killed yourself. Slashed wrists. Also terribly messy. You Reapers, you can't help yourself but die in a mess. It's awful really."

"Killed myself?" Christian looked down at his wrists, covered in a thin coating of bloody bandages wrapped tight. He tugged them, letting them flutter to the ground like ribbon. His fingers ran along the raised pink lines with a look of glassy amazement.

"You wouldn't have understood at the time. A Reaper has to die in order to come back -better whilst you're still sane in my opinion- so they often destroy themselves by a compulsion they cannot possibly comprehend. It's not an easy thing to deny, so I hear. You only did what would have came naturally to you."

"I still don't understand. Even if Elise had-" He stopped himself with a sigh "I would never have hurt her, she was Ethan's sister."

"She was a useless barricade in your relationship. You got rid of her, it is as simple as that. You destroyed her and with it, your own soul, to which the consequences are as they are. You became a Soldier Of Darkness."

"Dios." The boy sobbed "I-I actually killed her? She's dead, because of me?"

The man nodded, losing patience with the boy. None of the others had seemingly been this hard to convince, they all tended to accept the truth and deal with it as it was.

"Dios." The boy repeated, his voice barely a whisper. "I-I'm a…a-a Reaper."

"You are." The man said. Christian looked up at him with searching eyes, hollow eyes that yearned for an explanation, a reason for his actions.

"Forgive me, Your Highness, but…why are you helping me? I'm supposed to be your enemy. It makes no sense."

"It makes perfect sense." The man said, raising an eyebrow and challenging the boy to speak against him. He didn't, pleasing the man greatly, encouraged that this one could indeed be put to good use with the right amount of training.

"You see, young Christian, I am a man who is part of the Royal Coven but will never agree with their petty misguided beliefs. It is a great certainty of mine than Reapers and Witches can get along in harmony, providing there is trust and balance."

"A Reaper is a killer," The boy said, too fast because after he had said it, he pursed his lips, the bottom lip quivering. "I'm a killer." He whined "I'm going to spend the rest of my existence taking the lives of other witches. How is that moral?"

"A misfortunate necessity." The man agreed "But no peace is without penance. If a few hundred witches must die in order to gain a resolution, then so be it. It is a worthy price for a more cooperative race."

"Not many will see it your way, Sir."

The man's eyes flashed warningly, sparking in a sudden fluster of anger.

"Do you not think I am aware of the difficulties, boy?" He snapped "You are but one of many other children who have been brought through these doors in the hopes of a peace. So they can live alongside friends and family with no judgement because of something as ridiculous as a single witch's death. If it were possible, would you not choose to live with your Ethan, in peace, without being attacked?"

"It isn't possible. Not now." The boy murmured.

The man took the boy's face in to his hands, holding it gently and seating himself on the soft velvet sheets beside him. In his eyes, the man could see the boy's longing, his desperation and pain. Living the life he had had before was something he craved very much and the man could see it all too easily. It would drive him to do anything that was necessary if he knew it was in his grasp, that it was as possible as he claimed it wasn't. The man's lips curled into a smile, a dark and disturbing on of victory and satisfaction to himself, but warm to the boy. He had found something for the boy to cling to, something that would give him determination. He had found his weakness and now, all he had to do was make it believable.

"It is possible." The man whispered "There is a way. It will be difficult and it will be hard but, if you are willing to assist me, you will be with your Ethan in less than a year from now."

The boy's eyes glowed with hope, a faint happiness and faith that was on the verge of believing, the verge of falling and tipping him into the man's grasp.

"How?" He breathed

"Easy." The man smiled "You see, my sources have informed me of some very delicate information. Information that can only be shared with those I trust."

"You can trust me," The boy said desperately, grasping the man's hand "I swear. I'll do whatever you want. I'll help you, do whatever it takes."

The man grinned, delighted with the outcome of his experiment. It had gone as successfully as he had hoped.

"Well," The man chuckled "Then let us get started."