Ashvale Crossing
The Prince's Secret
Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction. It is an adaptation inspired by the fairy tales owned by the Grimm Brothers, Jacob and Wilhelm. This story is not associated with Disney’s adaptations, their added characters, or story elements.
The path leads to Ashvale, a town I only know from childhood studies. Smaller than Valenlorë yet more tightly packed, its streets strain under too many bodies. Smoke from cookfires clings to the rooftops, curling into a pale sky. Scents clash—spiced meat, sour ale, incense, damp stone.
Vendors cry over each other, hawking wares in a dozen dialects. Dice rattle in corners where gamblers squat on crates. Shade-cloaked figures lean in alleys, unblinking, hungry. Guards stride past, armor polished, but their gazes slide off trouble bribed to forget. Even in daylight, Ashvale feels sharp, waiting for violence.
I lean close to Kendra. “We need to be careful. Keep your head down. No talking in the streets.”
Her hood shadows her face. “We should split up.”
“No.” The word is sharper than I intend, but I can’t take it back. “Not here. It’s too dangerous.” The thought of losing her twists my stomach. We’re already searching for Lyanna.
“Ren.” She halts, red cloak pooling at her boots, the wolf clasp gleaming in the gray afternoon. “Time is slipping. Every minute we stand together arguing is another minute Lyanna is farther away. If splitting up means covering more ground, then I’ll take that risk.”
“You will?” My throat clamps. “You think I’ll just let you vanish into this place while Turned walk openly in daylight?”
She grips the talisman Elyra crafted for Lyanna. “I have to. I already failed her once.” Guilt sharpens her voice, but beneath it burns something harder. Determination. “I won’t fail again.”
I exhale sharply, fingers biting into her shoulder. “If we split, it’s only until the clock tower chimes. One hour. Then we meet back here. If you’re not—” My heart squeezes. “I’ll come find you.”
Relief flickers across her face. She hugs me quick and fierce. “Thank you.”
“Don’t do anything reckless.”
Her mouth tilts. “That’s usually your role.”
A laugh slips from me, easing the knot in my chest.
She flashes twin daggers, hilts wrapped in dark leather. “I’ll manage.”
I lift my crystal blades, their facets glinting faintly. “And I’ll hold my own.” Light surges through me when I feed them, a radiant current humming in my veins—but it drains fast. Each charge strips pieces of me. They can burn, blind, and sear. They can’t kill unless I strike true—heart, throat, or spine. And for every heartbeat I infuse them with power, my strength diminishes.
We trade a last look before parting.
The crowd swallows me whole. Shoulders bump mine, curses fly, the air thick with spiced bread, sweat, and the copper tang of blood that shouldn’t linger in daylight. Lyanna’s trail ended at the gates. She has to be here.
Ashvale appears ordinary until you look closer. A noble whispers, “Velvets,” as she slips into a shaded doorway to find a man waiting with crimson eyes. A guard pockets coins and turns from a fight. A vampire with smoked-glass lenses strolls beneath the sun, tattoo crawling at his throat, the lines faintly glowing from a recent re-inking. Here, the Turned buy their freedom. They belong in this town as much as the gamblers and thieves.
I keep my ears sharp. Let me catch a whisper of a rogue Wolf.
And then—
“I can’t believe we calmed that thing down,” a man slurs.
“Mad, like it was cursed,” another mutters.
Two pale-skinned men lounge outside a pub, mugs half-drained. Their laughter is brittle, words blurred by ale. Vampires.
“Good thing the second was with us,” one chuckles, foam dripping down his chin. “Or we’d be ash.”
“If it had bitten anyone—” his friend starts, then breaks into a forced laugh. Banter to cover the fear tightening their voices.
My pulse spikes. They mean Lyanna. Every muscle screams to demand answers, but stepping forward would expose me.
I back away—straight into someone.
I crash to my knees.
“Watch it,” a voice hisses.
I glance up. More Turned.
The nearest grips my cloak, yanking me up. His breath reeks of old wine and copper. “What have we here? An elvish princess?”
“Hardly,” I scoff. “Just passing through.”
He laughs, cruel. “Clothes say otherwise.” He glances at his friend. “Think the boss will keep her?”
“Maybe. He likes pretty.”
Their mouths are human, but their eyes flicker red, faint at first, then brighter. The tattoos curling down their throats smolder faintly as the sun dips, protection written into their skin.
“I don’t want trouble. I’m looking for someone.”
“Who?” the first mocks.
“A Pureblood,” I snap. “Silver hair. Sylus.”
That makes them pause before smirking. “You don’t know him. You just heard the name.”
“I’m serious,” I growl, hand slipping toward my blade. “We grew up together.”
“Then you’re too valuable to let go.”
He lunges.
I draw one dagger, channeling light. The crystal hums, edges flaring blue-white. The charge floods my arm like fire in my veins, biting and hot. I slash his chest. The wound smokes, refusing to heal. His scream splits the street.
“You’ll pay for that,” he snarls, voice warped.
The second lunges from my side. I roll, draw my other blade, cut across his thigh. He grabs my arm, claws sinking deep. Pain shoots up my shoulder. My magic stutters, flaring against my will. I wrench free and slam my hilt into his temple. He reels, not down.
They circle, eyes blazing, tattoos glowing faintly with heat. Predators savoring the play. My daggers vibrate, crystals thrumming in sync with my heartbeat. I force more power in—the blades flare hotter, edges sparking. Energy burns through me in return, hollowing my chest, leaving me shaky.
“Cute tricks,” one sneers. “You’ll burn out.”
“Try me.”
The first charges. I sidestep, plunging my blade into his side. Radiance floods his body. He convulses, choking on a howl. Pulling the dagger drains me, knees buckling.
The second slams me against a wall, claws tearing my arm. Warm blood slicks my sleeve. I cross both daggers at his throat, pressing. Energy sizzles, the smell of burning flesh thick in the air. He shoves me.
Stone cracks when I hit. My skull rings, vision sparking.
I drag myself up, lungs seizing. My magic ebbs too fast. Not enough left.
They stalk closer.
I shove everything into my blades. They ignite white-blue, blinding bright. The hesitation is enough. I slash the first across the throat. He collapses, choking on light. I whirl, stab the second in the chest—close, but not enough. He shrieks, staggering.
I run.
Boots hammer cobblestones, lungs burning. Snarls echo behind me, too near. Shadows stretch long and hungry. I cut down an alley, scrape my shoulder, fling wind to scatter my scent. The effort nearly topples me.
The remaining power sputters out. My fingers go numb around the hilts. My body feels hollow, stripped raw.
Another corner, a dead end. My breath saws. I can’t hold this pace.
Arms seize me, drag me into shadow. A hand clamps over my mouth. My daggers are pinned useless between us.
“Quiet,” a voice murmurs at my ear—low, velvet-dark. “Unless you want them to hear.”
My pulse races. His grip is iron, holding me flush to him. Heat radiates off him, seeping through my clothes, too close, too steady.
Red eyes glint in the dark, a predator’s glow. His smirk is faint, but I feel it— his breath ghosts across my cheek.
Each nerve burns at once. I shouldn’t notice the warmth of his body, the rough press of his hand, or the way his presence floods the space, proving he belongs here. But my heart hammers, traitor-fast.
“Easy, princess,” he drawls. The nickname coils like smoke, brushing the inside of my thoughts. “I’m not here to drain you. Not tonight.”
The scent of iron and something darker clings to him—blood, ash, a faint trace of cedar—and it tangles with the pull under my skin, that strange spark I’ve been trying to ignore.
I shove against his chest, but he doesn’t move. The spark flares hotter, traitorous, dragging me closer when every part of me wants distance.
“Corvin,” he says softly, as if testing the name on me. His voice is too close, too smooth, and the false name is a secret pressed against my lips.
Something in me knows him. Not the name, not the face I can barely see—him. That spark coils deep in my stomach, clawing at the emptiness where my memories should be.
My magic hums faintly, like it recognizes him, straining toward him even as my mind rebels.
I grit my teeth and force myself to hold steady, even as my body betrays me with my racing heartbeat. He’s too close, too dangerous. Yet a part of me aches to lean in.
And dread curls cold in my gut. I’ve escaped one danger, only to stumble into another—one I can’t decide if I fear or crave.
Editor: Shannon Hensley
