Page 1 of The Truth-Teller's Bargain
PROLOGUE
Age of Upheaval, Y 208. Crimson Moon, Day 28.
“His Majesty’s resilience is commendable.” The Healer’s voice trembled despite his attempt at reassurance, hands shaking visibly at his sides. Sweat beaded across his heavy brow as Queen Zenobia’s cold gaze cut through him. He cleared his throat, dropping his eyes submissively. “The illness has taken its toll, but he fights with a strength that is… truly remarkable. With continued care, there may be hope.”
The Healer clutched desperately at the hem of his robe, eyes fixed on the marble floor, as silence swallowed the room.
The king’s chambers, draped in luxurious white and cerulean—the formal colors of the island kingdom of Lenorea—had long signified peace and continuity under King Aikat Onasis’s reign. But now the room felt stifling, oppressive, a reflection of the kingdom’s fragile stability.
Princess Alethea stood hidden against the eastern wall, herheart hammering. Though dressed impeccably, with her pale golden curls braided in a halo atop her head, she felt small beneath the cerulean of the room—the same blue she carried in her own eyes.
Her father, a man whose strength had once seemed limitless, lay motionless beneath the silken duvets, his vibrant life drained by illness. Alethea looked away, shame heating her face, unable to face the truth that was plain to see.
“You aredismissed,” Zenobia snapped at the Healer, her voice dripping with disdain. Alethea jumped slightly at the sharpness, her pulse quickening when her mother’s stern, pale blue eyes turned to her. “Come, Alethea,” the queen commanded, grabbing her wrist in an iron grip. “Your father needs you.”
Alethea obeyed wordlessly.
She had known her father in many forms: a kind mentor, a respected king, and even a gentle protector against her mother’s harsher edges. Now, however, he appeared fragile, gaunt, his once charismatic presence dimmed to a ghostly shadow.
“Look at him,” Queen Zenobia urged sharply. “There’s so little time.”
Alethea turned helplessly to her mother. Clerics, Healers, magicians—they’d all failed.
The king wasdying.
Yet Queen Zenobia stood tall as she took a deep breath and rested her hands on her daughter’s shoulders. Alethea had always been told she favored her mother: blonde hair—Alethea’s a warm, wavy gold to her mother’s faded, pale flax—ocean-blue eyes, narrow frame, pale pink-hued skin that blushed and bruised easily. But appearances were where their similarities ended. Where Zenobia was strong and confident, with an unbendable will, Alethea was her exact opposite. Quiet. Timid. Soft.
“There are many things we have sheltered you from, daughter. Too many things. Truths about our family’s place on thisthrone. Your father cannot die—no, hemust not die.” Her eyes burned fiercely, desperation barely masked beneath her icy demeanor. “Our enemies lurk at every corner, waiting for weakness. If he dies, everything we’ve fought for crumbles.”
Zenobia’s grip tightened painfully around Alethea’s wrist, her voice dropping to a harsh whisper. “You think I can just return to being a Great Lady if this dynasty falls? I won’t be cast out like the Hasans, penniless and begging for scraps. It was your father’s ambition that put us here. It was hisrecklessnessthat thrust this crown upon our heads! He always had a plan. Without him…” Zenobia’s voice cracked, eyes wild. “Without him… we are not safe.”
The queen drew a shaky breath, while Alethea’s remained imprisoned in her own lungs.
“If he dies,” Zenobia went on, “I’ll be forced to act. I will have to do what your father never could. But you—” Her mother’s far-off look vanished as she realized where she was, and who she was with. “You can prevent all of this. You must.”
Alethea trembled at her mother’s raw panic, stomach twisting with dread. “Me? What can I do?”
Zenobia squeezed her shoulders. “You know what you must do. You were born with one useful skill, and you must now use your gift to save this family.”
Alethea’s eyes widened, arms aching from her mother’s grasp.
“Look into the future and speak his survival into being. Secure our fates.”
“But I—” Alethea faltered, eyes stinging with unshed tears. “I-I don’t know how. Father said my powers are too unpredictable. I’m not even trained?—”
“And whose fault is that?” Zenobia hissed. “Your father insisted on sheltering you, on letting your powers develop on their own. He refused to push you! He was wrong. I see that now, but it’s not too late. Fix this. Command a prophecy.”
Heart racing with fear, Alethea took a seat on the bed next to her father, desperate to summon a power she barely understood. She reached within, seeking the elusive magic that sometimes flitted through her like a sprinkling of rain on a summer’s day, whispering truths unbidden, but the seconds dragged by agonizingly with nothing to show for it.
She bit her lip and fought against the tears welling in her eyes, the fear of failure sending her spiraling.
Alethea took Aikat’s larger hand in both of her smaller ones, her stomach panging with concern when he stirred at her touch, but he didn’t speak. All she wanted to do was sit there with her father in his final moments, to take the time to study the hand she held, to comfort him and tell him everything was going to be all right… but the words would not come—her mother hovering over her, pressing in closer, made no difference.
Holding his hand tightly as she closed her eyes, the princess reached again for that distant power. It was like searching an unfamiliar room in the dark, and though she grappled perilously, she could not find purchase.
Minutes passed. Nothing came to her. Shame rose up from her stomach.
“I-I don’t think I can,” she choked out, bile in her throat.
