As the room began to clear, Eric remained seated, a rigid figure amidst the departing chatter. The scraped chairs and hushed goodbyes faded into a heavy silence. When Deacon began to rise, a careless stretch in his posture, Eric's eyes snapped to him. Eric leveled him with a hard, unwavering glare, an invisible weight pressing Deacon back into his chair.
"We should talk!" was the low, flinty statement Eric issued.
Deacon halted his movement, a slow, almost theatrical shrug rippling through his shoulders. He settled back onto the cushioned seat, a languid impatience in the set of his jaw, waiting for his supposed ally to articulate the cause of his persistent, and frankly, offensive, hostility.
The room was now utterly silent, cleared of all save the two princes. Eric paused, his chest rising and falling in several deep, useless breaths—an attempt to anchor the frantic anger surging through him. He needed to be calm.
"Why did you do it?" The question, ragged and raw, was the main spike rattling around in Eric's brain. Of all the princes to betray him, the easygoing, often aloof Deacon was the last he would have suspected. The why of it had become a corrosive obsession.
Deacon's eyebrows arched slightly, a picture of genuine bewilderment. "What is it that you think I've done?" He hadn't done anything to deserve this interrogation. He was simply pursuing a princess. In fact, he considered himself a perfect gentleman, only engaging in anal sex with any princess he favored, meticulously preserving their "most sacred cavern" for the prince they would eventually marry. He was, in his own estimation, the most upstanding man in the room. He truly couldn't fathom what offense he had perpetrated against Eric.
Eric's right palm rose, then slammed down onto the heavy wooden table with such force that the ancient piece of furniture split into pieces, its legs buckling and its surface collapsing inward with a sickening crack.
"You got in my way today!" Eric roared, his voice echoing off the paneled walls.
Deacon's lips curved into a small, disarmingly confused smile. "You are not my king! And we owe each other nothing." He shook his head, the annoyance finally eclipsing his confusion. "Whatever you think I've done, I don't care." The conversation was useless. Deacon pushed himself to his feet, his mind already drifting to the prospect of finding a more pleasant diversion.
Deacon's fingers curled around the cold brass of the doorknob. His senses screamed a warning, a sharp, electric tingle against his skin. Before he could turn the knob, he willed the change. His entire body rippled outwards from the center of his chest, as if his skin were turning inside out. The human form dissolved into pure, obsidian shadow, a man-shaped void.
A shimmering blood-red blade, forged from concentrated hemomancy, shot through the space where Deacon's back had been a half-second before, smashing into the heavy oak door and burying itself deep into the wood. If he hadn't fully committed to his Shadow Form, the blade would have inflicted grievous damage.
His standing shadow form instantly collapsed to the floor, melting into a large, rapidly expanding pool of pure darkness. Moving with lightning speed, the shadow slid across the shattered debris of the table and gripped Eric's ankles. Eric yelped as he was yanked downward, pulled through the collapsing wooden floor as if it were water. Deacon only halted the brutal descent when Eric's hips were just beginning to disappear into the gap.
The pool of shadow coalesced and rose directly above the trapped prince, reforming into a vaguely human silhouette—a shadow man standing over Eric, who was now pinned and struggling between the two floors.
"Doing the same trick again!" Eric spat, his face contorted in a snarl. His eyes ignited, a powerful crimson glow radiating from them.
Deacon ignored the taunt. He solidified the part of his shadow that formed his foot and kicked Eric viciously across the face. A spray of Eric's blood exploded across the floor and the surrounding wood. But the blood did not stay inert. It quivered, then rose as tiny, needle-sharp pellets, shooting toward Deacon's Shadow Form. He effortlessly dodged the projectiles, his body twisting and weaving like smoke.
The blood streaming from Eric's nose slithered even faster, lashing out and cracking the floorboards around his waist. The fissure widened instantly, allowing Eric to flex his torso and shove himself free of Deacon's shadow trap.
Eric landed lightly on his feet, his crimson eyes blazing with lethal intent. "If you come between Daniella and I again," he snarled, shoving past Deacon's incorporeal Shadow Form, which felt like nothing but a sudden drop in temperature. "I won't just kill you. I'll level your kingdom!"
As Eric stormed toward the door, he willed the blood scattered in the air and on the floor to rise and recoalesce into his wounds, collecting every last drop. He would not let it go to waste.
Deacon's shadow self twisted, appearing to turn inside out once more. His human form slowly began to stretch outwards, consuming the Shadow Form until he stood as a man again, brushing off the dust of the ruined room.
He stood in genuine confusion. When had he ever gotten between Daniella and Eric? He had barely spared her a second thought; the one time he had attempted to attach his shadow to her, the formidable Jasper had quickly annihilated it. She hadn't been worth the headache then. But now, it seemed she was. What else could make a prince declare war? It certainly wasn't because Daniella was merely charming and pretty.
Deacon's lips spread into a slow, calculating smile. He gave a silent order to the shadow he commanded. A small piece of the darkness detached from his body, slipping beneath the floorboards.
"Follow the princess wherever she goes. Close enough to see. But do not be caught," he murmured to his disappearing shadow in a voice that was both sweet and keenly predatory. The segment of shadow vanished, off to do its newly assigned task.