(Trigger Warning: underaged coerced sex, underaged arranged marriage, offstage suicide, major character death.)

(Please note that while I am writing and posting the chapters, the conception of this fic was a collaborative effort between myself and ZelodolonGirl, another user of this site. ZelodolonGirl helped to build this au, suggested many of the themes, tropes and events, and many of the original characters are her creation. This fic is also based on one of ZelodolonGirl's fan theories. The credit for this fan theory belongs to ZelodolonGirl. I can't emphasize that enough. I have ZelodolonGirl's written permission to use this theory, but it belongs to her. If you'd like to read more about it, please check out her fic, "The Dark Queen of Faerie", on AO3. Thank you, ZelodolonGirl, for all your help with this, and for giving your permission!)

(Disclaimer: Please be advised that this is fan fiction based off Holly Black's The Folk of the Air series. I claim no ownership of these characters or the books or copyright they are based off of. This work is not intended for profit or publication, but for entertainment only, for users of this site. Use of anyone else's copy, barring that used with ZelodolonGirl's express permission, is purely coincidental.)

A few centuries ago…

"I declare Prince Dain innocent."

For a moment, the words refused to take meaning in Prince Balekin's ears. They rang in a tinny, hollow space of pure and utter disbelief. But then meaning flooded in, and with it understanding, and then the rage and incredulity rose, unstoppable.

"Innocent…?" he whispered. Then, in a heaven-shattering shout: "INNOCENT?!"

Around him, the courtiers of the High Court shrank back, eyes wide, wings buzzing. Balekin must have looked a frightful sight, the prince's eyes blazing, the floor itself cracking around his feet, but he spared no thought for that, nor the whispering courtiers. All his attention was riveted on his father, King Eldred, sitting in state on his throne, and his brother's smug face.

"The court has convened, and there is not a shred of proof that Dain had a hand in your son's death," Eldred said crisply. "I have passed my judgment, and my judgment is that Prince Dain is innocent of the charges you have brought against him, Prince Balekin."

Balekin could not breathe. He could not take his eyes off Dain's face. His brother's half-hidden smile. Balekin stared at Dain's face, but all he saw was his son. His little son, Prince Rhion. The boy could still barely walk. He could only gabble out a few words. His nurse had taken him out to play for a minute. Just a minute, that was all.

That was enough.

The horrible dent in the dead nurse's skull. The pale, pulpy feel to Rhion's dead flesh when they found him in the stream, hours later.

"You did it!" shouted Balekin at Dain. "You killed Rhion!"

He launched himself at his brother. Weapons were forbidden in a legal court, offensive magics likewise, but in that moment Balekin didn't care. Rage and grief were a blank, ringing bell around him, consuming his entire world. He was going to strangle Dain with his bare hands—he was going to tear his throat out with his teeth—

Shouts. Strong hands grabbing Balekin, hauling him back, bucking and lunging like a runaway horse. Eldred was standing up now, face furious, gesturing. Even Dain's smugness was shaken, staring while Balekin fought and writhed against the royal guards, shrieking and foaming at the mouth.

"I WILL KILL YOU!" Balekin screamed at his brother. "I swear, if it takes me a thousand years, I will you just as you killed my son—!"

Eldred was shouting something else, yelling orders, but Balekin could not understand his words. The disbelief, the incredulous betrayal, were still hollowing out his world, making all else meaningless. He fought against his guards, desperate to reach Dain, to wrap his hands around his brother's throat, but the guards were too many, too strong. Eldred's will lay on Balekin's soul like an iron weight, preventing him from using his magic. All he could do was rave and scream, struggling like a caught fish, while the guards dragged him out of the court.

They took him to a cell deep beneath the palace and threw him in. The door bolted shut behind him. Balekin, still crazed with rage, threw himself at the door, only to pull back, hissing at the burns: the door was banded with cold iron. He fell to the floor, curled up around his wounds, cursing and sobbing.

"Rhion," he croaked out at last, his son's name a final moan of grief and despair. "Rhion…"

He was never sure, afterward, how long he lay on the floor of that cell, staring into the abyss. All he was sure of was the slow, cold crystallization inside him. His rage and disbelief had been sweated out, leaving nothing but icy hatred and a deep, terrible determination.

He would kill Dain. He would avenge his son. He had sworn it, and he would do it, if it took him a thousand years. And then he would take the throne that was his by right, no matter what he had to do to get it.

"I swear it," he whispered aloud into the darkness, and the darkness stood silent witness to his vow.