Chapter 5: The Boy in the Alley

Zane’s POV

Some nights are louder than others. Some have that weird hum in the air, like something’s about to snap. This one? This one was screaming.

I’d just finished a job. Simple one. Pocketed a noble’s fancy watch and sold it to some drunk merchant who thought it was cursed. Probably was, the guy kept twitching every time he touched it. I was on my way back to my place when I saw him. No, not him. Them. Four of them, cornering some idiot in the alley behind Marlow’s Tavern. At first, I thought it was just a mugging. Rich kids come slumming down here sometimes, trying to prove they’ve „lived.“ I don’t normally care. But then I heard the crash. And the pulse. Felt it in my chest. That wasn’t adrenaline. That was power. The kind that comes out messy. Untrained. Dangerous. So yeah. I got curious.
I crept closer, real quiet. The guy being cornered? Dressed like he crawled out of a royal painting. Long dark coat, silver trim, some kind of brooch at the collar. His hair looked like it had never seen wind, let alone a gutter. But his hands were shaking. Bad. And the air around him was… wrong. Dust swirled when he breathed too hard. Metal warped just slightly when he flinched. And one of the thugs, Kade, I think, got too close and got flung back like someone kicked him in the chest. I might’ve laughed if I wasn’t so intrigued. The guy didn’t even look like he meant to do it. That’s when I saw his face. And I stopped breathing.

Prince Leopold.

Well, shit.

Now, I don’t know much about royal gossip. Don’t care. But even I’d seen the posters. The „unstable runaway prince“ with angel blood and a „danger to the crown.“ Most people here thought it was propaganda. Guess not. Still, letting those creeps have him wasn’t an option.

Not because I cared about royalty. I couldn’t give a damn about crowns. But there was something raw in the way he looked around, like he didn’t know how to be here. Like someone had dropped a porcelain heirloom into a lion’s den and expected it not to shatter. So I pulled the flare from my belt, a little trick I stole off a drunk guard last year, and lit it. Bright as hell. Threw it right at their feet.

„HEY!“ I shouted, loud enough to wake half the damn street. „He’s not yours, so back the hell off!“ They spun around, weapons half-out.

I didn’t wait. Ran straight at the one holding the prince and tackled him sideways. Kid dropped like a sack of flour. I grabbed the royal by the wrist, gods, his skin was cold, and yanked.

„Move!“ I barked.

To his credit, he did.