Night fell on Tertius, cloaking the world in the golden glow of candles, the streets of the lower town flooding with merchants and townsfolk preparing for the festival. Tents were pitched, rare goods were unpacked, instruments were being tuned, priests were rehearsing their rites, and final touches were being put on gifts as the city held their breath, waiting for the clock to strike midnight and the party to begin.

High up in a palace, far away from the excitement, as the clock inched closer to nine, Damian crouched on his bedroom floor, surrounded by paints in an array of colours, carving a piece of wood. Alex lounged beside him, painting one of his own, although the prince had never seen his servant accompany him to the chapel to burn one. He likely burnt it in the town square along with everyone else, except the royal family.

Damian stared at the piece of wood in his hand, unsure what he was going to turn it into. The tradition went that you carve whichever animal you felt like, and that was supposed to represent your deepest wish for that upcoming year, but Damian didn’t have one. He already had anything he could ever want, so how could he possibly know what to pray for? The only thing he wanted was to be able to join the festival, but according to his mother, the threat of Others meant it wasn’t safe.

Safe.

Now Damian knew what to pray for. His knife flew, until he had carved a regal wolf, sitting obediently on his palm. The very image of protection. He reached for the orange paint, intending to give it a light coat of fur, until his wayward arm knocked over the black paint, mixing them together. “Damn it,” he muttered, wiping up the mess. Black fur will have to do. Alex didn’t seem to notice, intensely focused on his owl.

“How’s it coming along?” he asked Alex, breaking the long silence as they worked.

“Alright, I’d say. Like it?” He showed him the owl, with snow-white painted feathers and hollow black eyes that pierced Damian’s soul. He was struck at how starkly it contrasted his servant’s warmth. Alex had gentle features and warm brown eyes, and tufts of messy brown hair that fell over his face, no matter how many times Damian reminded him to have it cut. The owl seemed quite unlike him.

“It’s realistic,” he replied, warily. “You’re a talented painter.”

Alex smiled at the compliment and returned to work. “You’re not planning on sneaking out tonight, are you?”

Damian’s cheeks warmed at the direct accusation. “I never said I would.” His defensiveness was useless on Alex, who shot him a dubious look over his owl.

“You shouldn’t. The queen is right, it isn’t safe with Others still out there.”

The prince scoffed. “Please, I’m sure I could fight off an Other. It’s not hard to dodge a flying rock.”

“I’m sure they can do much more than that –”

“No, Alex, you can cut the bullshit. You know the real reason why she doesn’t want me out there? She wants to control me.” His servant’s eyebrows raised. “She wants me to sit, alone, in the palace, withering away, never knowing the touch of a woman.”

“As if women would want to touch you,” Alex muttered.

Damian jested with his paint brush. “Rude.” He put the final touches on his wolf, adding in fierce green eyes to protect him from any Others and their flying rocks.

-

Half an hour before midnight, Damian and his wolf carving were escorted to the chapel, accompanied by Reyna and Osirus, both holding carvings of their own – his brother created a lion, and his mother, an eagle. Nothing out of the ordinary for them. They entered the vast chapel doors and were met by the smell of burning from the roaring fire at the altar, the only light in the room. The head priest, Djavan, stood waiting for them, his hands clasped behind his back, black robe decorated in gold to mark the special occasion.

The royal family knelt at the altar, and Djavan recited the opening prayer, all the while Damian plotted his escape plan. Before he knew it, the burnings had begun, Osirus’ lion was roasting in front of him, and the priest was standing in front of him, waiting to receive his carving. “And what did you, Prince Damian, ask for?”

He cleared his throat. “A wolf, sir, for protection.” He lifted it to the priest, who observed, a dark look falling on his face. He caught his mother staring at it as well, with the same expression.

“Father, he cannot burn that,” Reyna interrupted. “It’s a jackal – an omen—”

“A jackal?” Damian repeated, annoyed. “It’s clearly a wolf.”

“I’m afraid her majesty is right, young man,” the priest replied. “This is a jackal. Although, our queen can be at ease knowing it can also stand for protection. Your son carved what was in his heart.” His words were reassuring, but it did nothing to assuage the darkness still lingering in his expression when he tossed it in the fire. “Be at peace, all of you.”

Damian could feel his family’s stares burning into his back as he left the chapel, and the moment he stepped outside, Osirus was on him. “What were you thinking?” he shouted. “Carving a jackal?”

“I didn’t realize what it was I carved it!” Damian shouted back. “And you heard the priest, it meant the same thing.”

“The priest can say whatever he wants, but a black jackal can only mean one thing. Do you know what that is?”

“Yes, death! But –”

“There are no but’s,” Reyna interrupted, her voice more serious than anything he had ever heard. “Carvings never lie. Tonight, more than ever, you are to remain inside. I will have guards posted outside every room.”

“What—” Damian protested, as guards seized him, escorting him back to his room. “This is ridiculous! Let me go!” He protested all the way to his chambers, where they shoved him inside.

Alex was already waiting for him, perched on a side chair by the window. He leapt to his feet. “What happened down there?”

“I make one mistake in my carving and now everyone believes I’ve summoned some sort of portent of doom,” Damian cried. “I’m never getting to the festival at this rate.”

“Forget the festival, what mistake did you make?”

“I carved a jackal instead of a wolf, now they think I have some evil omen over me. Can you believe this shit?”

“I know you wouldn’t summon that,” Alex comforted. “But the festival is a night where all kinds of depravity run wild. It is possible violence could be among them, and you would’ve been the unfortunate recipient. Stay inside tonight, and I’m sure this will all blow over in the—”

“Not a chance,” Damian bit out.

“Excuse me?”

“I don’t care about some stupid superstition. I’m not dying, nobody is dying. I’m not letting a piece of wood determine the next four years of my life, tradition be damned! I’m going to this festival, and you’re coming with me.” He stormed to the window, taking stock of how far the distance would be. “We can climb down and make a run for it.”

“Damian –”

“Are you coming with me or not?”

Alex sighed, disappointment in his face. “Fine, but I’m not letting you out of my sight. I’ll die for you if I have to.”

“Okay, let’s not be dramatic,” Damian replied, dryly. “Just climb the wall.” He reluctantly climbed out the window, praying that the carvings would be wrong, and they weren’t heading to their own doom.