Welcome, Darlings, to the first official chapter of Eventid!

As always, I want to thank Mel and Pamela for their tireless work on this project!

Chapter One

Bella

The air smelled of charred flesh and magic.

Normally, the scent of the docks was overpowering—salty brine, gutted fish, acrid bird shit, and the sharp tang of metal forged by force—but not this morning.

I could practically taste the layer of fatty residue of seared human remains that clung to the morning fog—like frying bacon in the mist. It coated my tongue, making me feel sticky and contaminated the moment I breathed it in.

I brought my scarf up, tucked it under the edge of my dark glasses so that it covered my nose and mouth, and pushed forward.

Around the next corner, I found the body. Scavengers were already picking at it, malnourished beasts that ranged from dogs, cats, rats, and birds. There was an uneasy truce as they gnawed on the corpse, a silent agreement among the species that this was not a place to hunt each other.

One dog looked up at me as I approached, its dark eyes beady and wary. I lifted a hand up in silent greeting, reaching my other hand to my scarf to tug it down.

"I'm not here to disrupt," I told them quietly. "Carry on."

I should have stopped them. I should have gone over and protected the body while I contacted the authorities. I should have cared that a person was dead mere feet from me.

But I didn't.

A few years ago, I might have been the type of person to slow down and mourn for the dead. I might have even tried to help, but life had hardened me to the point of cold detachment, so instead of stopping, I kept moving forward.

A few yards beyond the body, the air cleared, returning to its regular foul concoction of scents. I stuffed my hands deeper into my pockets and pushed along, crossing a narrow cobbled street so that I could avoid being next to the water.

As much as I longed to gaze into the dark depths of the harbor, I knew there was little else that was as dangerous or stupid to do. Since I wasn't feeling particularly suicidal that morning, I made sure to give myself a wide berth.

The road twisted up again, moving away from the water, and I climbed with it, silently counting my steps to keep my mind focused.

It was still too early for any reasonable person to be up and out, but that didn't mean I was alone.

One was never truly alone in Eventid.

At that thought, my pace quickened slightly, my breath coming out in short, tight puffs as I climbed the steep street.

Three doors from the top of the hill, I ducked onto a tight, dark stoop, pulling a set of old brass keys from my pocket.

The lock was finicky and took a bit of cajoling before it eventually sprang free, allowing me to push the heavy black door open. I slipped inside, not daring to relax until the door was pushed shut and locked behind me.

When it was secure, I let myself sag against the old wood, sucking in a deep breath that tasted of parchment and ink. I reached up to unwind my scarf from my neck, taking a step into the shop.

Publicly, there was nothing amiss going on at Bolton and Brewer's Printing Press. Every day, we printed the latest news in the kingdom and distributed it to the lower-class citizens, those who couldn't afford to get their news magicked to them on enchanted parchment every morning.

We did things the human way down here, and it was because of that, we'd stayed in business so long.

But official kingdom bulletins weren't the only things we printed. In the back room, guarded under heavy wards, a secret press had been spitting out leaflets daily, quietly undermining the monarch's tyrannical regime.

Eventid was a dying city. It shouldn't have been that way. Our magic should have created industry and growth—it should have led us toward expansion and discovery—but we were trapped under the iron fist of a fae king who didn't care about his subjects and hoarded power. King Carlisle wasn't the first tyrant to smother our kingdom, and he likely wouldn't be the last. The entire fae dynasty he descended from was bred of greed and cruelty. Under the House of Cullen, Eventid had suffered greatly.

I pushed my way into the shop, past the still-quiet press as I unhooked my jacket buttons. There was a single lamp lit near the back, and I walked toward it, making sure to shuffle my feet as I went.

When I reached the office door, I tapped lightly on the frame. "Hey, Alistair."

My boss looked up from his desk, black ink smudged across his forehead where he'd absentmindedly swiped at it.

"Bella," he said, looking surprised. "I thought you were going home."

I rolled my eyes. "I went home, Al. I even had supper and a few hours of sleep before coming back."

Al's wide eyes blinked. It took him a moment to process my words, and then his head swiveled, landing the window in the upper corner of his office. It had long ago gone dark from built-up grime. "Eh, it's sunrise?" he asked, sounding uncertain.

"About two hours til," I told him, removing my gloves and shoving them into my jacket pockets. I pulled my jacket off, hanging it on a peg just inside Al's office. I left my glasses on, even though their tint made it hard to see in the dimly lit room.

"You beat the herald," he said, tapping ink-stained fingers against his desk.

The sound of a bell chiming accompanied his words, and I turned, glancing over my shoulder toward the door.

"I'll get him," I told Al, leaving him to his work.

My boss nodded, turning his face back to his desk, his look of concentration still strong.

I moved across the printing house, turning on lamps as I went. It didn't help my sight much, but it was something.

When I reached the back door, I pulled a set of keys off a peg on the wall, undoing several locks. When they were all free, I yanked open the heavy door.

The herald might have been about twenty: tall and lanky, with dark hair that was a little too long and hung in his eyes. He wasn't our usual messenger, and I hesitated when I saw him, unhappy with this deviation.

"Where's Seth?" I asked, wary of this young man, even though he wore the royal crest as a patch on his chest.

"They sent me," he said, shrugging one shoulder.

I scowled. "What's your name?" I asked, not wanting to do business with anyone I wasn't familiar with.

"Jared," he told me. "I have a special delivery for Master Bolton. Is he in?"

My eyes narrowed further behind my glasses.

"I am authorized to receive word for Master Bolton," I said, intentionally being obtuse.

Jared frowned, shaking his shaggy head. "I'm on strict instruction," he started.

"It's all right, Bella," Al said, coming up behind me. I turned to look at him and he waved me off. "I thought this might be coming."

Jared nodded, pulling from a satchel a tube that had the morning's news and a thin envelope sealed with thick red wax. I recognized the royal crest and frowned deeper.

Al took the envelope, pressing two crowns into the boy's hand. Far too much to tip an ordinary herald.

Jared didn't seem surprised by the money. Instead, he nodded his head, tucked the coin into his pocket, and slipped off the back step. I shut the door, firmly locking it again as I turned back to Al.

"What's going on?"

My boss was staring down at the envelope, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"Hm?" he asked when I inquired again. "Oh, it's nothing for you to worry about." He tucked the envelope into his inner coat pocket. "Come, my dear. There is news to be printed."

I watched him, suspicious. Al was many things that most people would label as bad; he was a conman, a rebel, and sometimes even a thief, but he'd never been a liar, at least, not with me. I knew the man I worked for, knew when and how he could be trusted. He'd never given me reason to doubt him in this space where we worked.

I tried to push the niggling worry away from my mind. I trusted exactly two people in this world, so I couldn't really afford to start growing suspicious of half of that group.

Al slid me the canister with the news before shuffling off to his office. I watched him retreat before I let out a breath and pulled open the royal mail.

My eyes scanned the carefully copied-out news updates. It was all propaganda, of course. Fluff articles about the good the royal family was supposedly doing, and drivel about how the kingdom would surely crumble without their loving leadership.

It was enough to make my skin burn with irritation.

I flipped to the second page, my mouth falling into a hard, flat line.

King Carlisle was a ruthless autocrat, but he was nothing compared to his worthless son. Crown Prince Edward was a lecherous waste of space. Not once had he shown any inclination toward actually caring about his kingdom or its subjects. Rather, he spent his time, wasting tax dollars on all manner of debauchery, plowing through alcohol and women in equal measure. His apathy was a glaring red flag for the future of our kingdom.

I gazed down at the article that tried to paint the prince in some sort of generous light, highlighting the recent construction of a new nightclub meant to entertain the wealthy under his patronage. It made me sick to think of him being so reckless with our money like that. I turned the page over, and my stomach roiled again when I found a photo of the prince that was meant to sit front and center on this morning's paper.

He was as good looking as all the aristocratic fae fools that clogged the upper levels of the kingdom. Tall and lean like his father before him, the crown prince's lineage had been strong, carefully bred for beauty and little else. I stared down at the light tones of his hair—perfectly coiffed blond and copper strands blended together in the latest fashion atop his well-proportioned face and sharp jaw. His delicately tapered ears sliced through his locks, adorned in flashy gold bands and bright ruby stones.

His eyes were the color of emeralds—a color that was most certainly a gift of magic rather than genetics—and were framed by long lashes most people in the kingdom had to use a potion to achieve.

He was clean-shaven in the photo and dressed in a crisp, pressed suit, but I knew from every other photo that circulated not from the palace that this was a public relations look. Our crown prince liked his stubble and often looked disheveled and strung out, like he'd been partying for too many days in a row.

In a way, I respected the man more when I saw him crawling out of some brothel, unkempt and hungover. That was an honest portrayal of who he really was, not this glossy lie the monarchy liked to pimp out.

Though they were not on display, I knew he had wings that were rumored to be even larger than his father's. There weren't many fae with wings left in Eventid, and to humans like me, it made the royals that much more strange and other.

Letting out an irritated sigh, I slipped his photo to the back of the stack, my eyes glazing over the rest of the news. Nothing significant—no announcements to the kingdom explaining why our magic was in decay, why our kingdom was crumbling before our eyes.

I let out a heavy breath and reordered the papers, moving my way toward the giant printing press.

It was time to get to work.

The printing press was loud, but when it was running, Al stayed in his office, which left me blissfully alone.

Once the machines got going, I knew it was safe for me to pull off my dark glasses and see with clear eyes once more.

I didn't like wearing the glasses, but they were a necessity if I wanted to keep my freedom.

It wasn't that common anymore to find your magical soulmate. Magic was dying off, and the bits of it that were left were usually too weak to demand a reconnection between souls.

The way my mom had explained it to me was this: humans weren't ever meant to contain whole magic, at least, not on our own. We weren't like the fae, who were born of magic. We were mortal, and magic, being a force of nature, was too big for us to contain. So magic cracked in half to fit in humans, and for most of us, it worked okay on its own. But every now and again, magic found its other half, and when it did, there was no stopping it from binding fast together again. The people who were bound were tied forever, marked by the magic shared between them.

To bind magic was to completely submit your identity to someone else. It wasn't a good thing like people thought; it was a curse.

The women of my family had been falling under this spell for over three hundred years.

I was determined not to continue the cycle, and if that meant never looking anyone directly in the eye for the rest of my life, then so be it.

Of course, most people I met wouldn't be my magical bond; that was only one person in the world. The problem was, it could be anyone.

So, I didn't risk it.

I may not have had much in this world, but I would die before I submitted my free will to anyone.

As the presses were running—an automated system that printed, folded, and bound the papers, depositing them outside for our delivery boys to distribute—I was free to start working on my side project.

I'd been a scrawny, angry, street urchin when Al had first taken me in to work in his shop. I had nothing to my name, nothing of worth, except my rage at the monarchy and my stubborn will to keep fighting. Al had recognized the same spirit as he had himself and had taken me in, giving me a job, feeding me, and allowing me to sleep in the press shop until I'd saved enough to get my own place. In return, I'd worked overtime for him, quickly learning how to manage the royal press, which freed him up to work on his subterfuge.

It had been a full year after he'd hired me before he let me in on his private practice.

Al had been writing and distributing articles reporting the real news of the kingdom, the things the monarchy didn't want the rest of us to know. He reported scandals, shady dealings with nefarious people, taxes that had gone missing, and so much more. For years, he'd been working quietly to undermine the monarchy and bring to light the true nature of their treachery.

It had been a small operation, grassroots, but he worked diligently on it every day.

The first time he showed me one of his secret papers, I felt like I finally knew what my life's calling was.

I would bring down the monarchy, free Eventid from their oppression, even if it killed me.

It had been my idea to grow the underground network. Al—for all his brilliance—lacked a vision on a wider scale. He had no idea how fundamentally powerful his project could be, if only it had the right platform.

We'd started small, working with his existing clientele, before expanding to other neighborhoods. We printed over one thousand leaflets every morning now.

I'd set everything up the night before but left space on the bulletin to include any overnight news that was sure to develop.

I included the body I'd spotted on the way into work—sadly, just another tally on our growing list of mysterious deaths—and transcribed Al's updates as well.

More tax dollars gone missing, another meeting with a visiting dignitary from one of our rival kingdoms.

None of it boded well.

When the leaflet was fully set, I got to work on the press. This one, unlike the main machine, was a magical press. It was crude and rudimentary in function, but it had been magicked to print with edible ink and paper. It had been a part of our plan of distribution—give people two things they desperately needed: news and food.

The leaflets were designed to be cooked into a porridge after reading, and they were supplied by one of our allies in the mill.

It had taken a considerable amount of effort to arrange the whole operation, and the cost had been substantial, but in the end, both Al and I had agreed it was worth every copper.

Al found me in the back room just as the first round of leaflets were finishing up. I fished out my glasses from my pocket, putting them over my eyes before I glanced up at him as he came to stand beside me. He wasn't that old, fifty maybe, but it was clear he'd lived a hard life. He hadn't always been in the printing business—I could tell that from the scars on his hands and arms and the limp he had when he walked. Al had once fought; for whom, I didn't know.

"How's it going?" he asked, and I blinked, turning back to the press.

"Good," I said, nodding once. "The couriers should be here soon for the first distributions."

Al tilted his head, his hand coming up to scratch at his chin, leaving behind an ink smudge on his cheek. He picked up one of the leaflets, his eyes squinting as he read.

"A burned body by the docks?" he asked, looking over at me.

I nodded. "Sometime last night." I sighed. "It's the fourth in two weeks."

Al frowned. "You say you smelled magic?"

I nodded again. "It wasn't an ordinary fire," I confirmed.

I watched my boss as he considered this and turned back to the leaflet. I could see him mulling the information over, and it took everything in me not to demand answers from him right then and there.

"You'd tell me, right?" I asked after he didn't say anything further. Al blinked, looking up at me. "You'd tell me if you knew what was going on?"

It wasn't that I didn't trust him, but Al was good at keeping secrets. I had to assume at all times there was something he wasn't sharing with me.

Al set the pamphlet down, blinking once more. "Bella," he said softly. "You have become family to me. You're my legacy, the one who will keep fighting long after I'm gone. There is nothing more in this world that I want than for you to be protected as long as possible."

"Knowledge is a form of protection," I pointed out. "How else will I know how to keep myself safe if I don't know the dangers?"

Al smiled, one hand reaching up to clap gently on my shoulder. "Very true, my dear." He smiled a little. "I tell you all that I can, you know that."

I stared at him, my stomach twisting. It wasn't an answer, not really, but I wasn't going to get anything better out of him.

So instead of arguing, I let out a breath, my shoulders dropping. "I know."

I worked long after the news was finished printing. Once all the legal—and illegal—leaflets had been distributed, I spent hours cleaning both presses, getting them ready for the next day's work. Al left me alone most of the day. The task was grueling, physically demanding, but rewarding in its own right.

It was far better work than I would have had out on the streets.

By the time I finished, it was after sunset, and I was both famished and exhausted. I stopped by Al's office on my way out, wishing him a good night. He was at his desk again, new ink smudges across his face as he worked. He barely acknowledged me, and I ducked out, leaving him to his stacks of paper.

There was a tavern at the end of the road. It was rare I stopped in there, but despite my exhaustion, I felt restless.

One stiff drink ought to help with that.

Like most establishments on this side of the town, the tavern was dark, dingy with age and abuse, and played host to a cast of highly questionable people. I recognized enough on sight that I didn't feel ill at ease, but I knew if it weren't for my constant work in this community, this would not be a safe place for a woman alone.

I made my way to the bar, ordering a drink before settling at a table near the back. It was close enough to an exit to escape if I needed to and had a vantage point of the entrance to track who came and went.

Other than a few nods of acknowledgment, no one came up to bother me, which was just how I liked it.

A few tables down from me, there was a ring of people playing cards, but they were generally focused and quiet, so I ignored them and settled in.

The whisky was cheap, and though I'd never had anything nicer, I knew better alcohols were brewed for those who could afford them.

It was rumored the royals drank special magic-infused liquors that were never made available to the general public.

More magical gatekeeping from our tyrannical overlords.

I heard a hand make contact with a table and looked up, glass halfway to my lips.

A large man I didn't know appeared heated, his eyes narrowed as he pounded his fist onto the table again. I tried to assess if this would turn into any sort of scuffle, but beside him, his companions were reaching out, trying to calm him. I saw his fist clench, but then he slumped back in his chair.

Satisfied he wasn't going to start anything, I took a long sip of my drink, my eyes flickering back toward the door.

In a moment too quick for me to react, the large man snarled, surging out of his chair and lunging for another person across from him. The table went skittering out of the way, and people scattered, stumbling out of his path as a full bar brawl unleashed.

I stood, my bag still slung over my shoulder, and I tried to make for the back door, but a body collided with mine, sending me into the wall. I let out a small cry as something dug into my back on impact.

The person picked himself up and went back into the brawl, completely oblivious to me.

I reached up, my fingers making sure my glasses were securely on before I climbed to my feet. I tried for the door again, dodging as another body came flying in my direction.

There was too much going on, the fight too unpredictable, and as I ducked one person, another came up behind me, his elbow connecting with my back and launching me forward. My glasses flew off my face as I tumbled to the ground. I struggled to catch my breath a moment before scraping myself up off the floor. I tried to keep my gaze down, avoiding making eye contact with anyone as I tried yet again to flee.

There was a shout to my right, and on instinct, my eyes flickered up.

It felt like the world tilted right out from under me, like the very air had been sucked from the room, as my eyes connected with the stranger's. My magic surged, screaming in every corner of my body, urging me forward, but I stayed frozen, trapped in the emerald green gaze of none other than Crown Prince Edward.