Page 1 of Heartbreak Prince

Heartbreak Prince is set in a world that is just beginning its industrial age. Usable magic is only a hundred years old and is still limited in many of its applications. Its discovery and use have affected everything from science and innovation, to military strategies and manufacturing processes, to fashion and transportation.

Imagine a world moving out of its medieval age through its renaissance era, but with some parts of society advanced further ahead thanks to magic, and some fields of study lagging behind as practical science is neglected while people study the uses of magical energy.

This world has developed along a different path than ours, so the ages and eras will not match exactly, but overall, it’s gaslamp fantasy with the lingering influence of the medieval age and strong overtones of a rebellious magical subculture, centering around glyph sets and nail tech. If you like the vibes of A Knight’s Tale, The Legend of Vox Machina, and The Princess Bride, you’ll probably have fun in this world. Enjoy!

1

The royal carriage hits the unicorn at full speed. No chance for the driver to swerve, because, against anyone’s better judgment, Prince Vawn Molloi painted the carriage horses’ front hooves with short-term speed glyphs before we left the palace courtyard. Thankfully he also included protective symbols on their back hooves, or the horses would have been damaged by the impact.

As it is, the only casualty is the unicorn.

I’m sitting by the left-hand carriage window, watching the dark forest rush past, so I’m cursed with the sight of the animal’s broken body being flung to the side of the road, its mane and tail a luminous blur. My stomach lurches with horror.

“Shit!” Loxley yells, mimicking the jolt of the impact and laughing hysterically. He’s already high on emthal, an herb that’s supposed to provide a sense of euphoria. In my opinion, it makes people stupid.

I’m new to this group, but according to the prince’s primary bodyguard, whenever Loxley comes to these outings, he’s several joints and drinks ahead of the other young men. By the end of the night, he’ll be practically comatose and have to be revived with a restorative tonic.

“Stop!” I yell, forgetting that it’s not my place to give the driver instructions. Everyone looks at me, then at the prince.

“Stop, Angelou,” he bellows.

The carriage takes a while to slow down. When it finally halts, I open the door without waiting for a footman and I run back the way we came.

Maybe there’s still time. Maybe the unicorn can be saved.

I press the outward-facing glyph on my left index nail, and a thin beam of rosy light shoots from my fingertip, slicing through the darkness and providing a cone of illuminated space in front of me. Not that I really need the light to find the unicorn. Its mane and tail are a glowing beacon in the night, violet light spilled across the ground beside the road.

The poor creature was torn almost in half. Its pearlescent blood is flowing out, pooling in the grass.

I kneel beside the corpse. The gravel presses uncomfortably against my knees through the open slashes in my pants—my concession to the latest fashion. Ignoring the discomfort, I touch the unicorn’s long nose.

She’s already dead. Probably died on impact, never knowing what happened.

But I know exactly who killed her. A group of brutally careless young noblemen, headed out for a tour of their favorite pubs and pleasure houses, bent on getting to their first destination as fast as possible. As if the Lyre & Vice would ever run out of stiff drinks and plush bosoms for them to enjoy.

Multiple pairs of boots crunch on the gravel road, and I look up to see the prince’s veteran bodyguard, Renfrow, approaching me, with two of the young nobles following him at a distance.

Renfrow gets to me first and crouches at my side.

“Don’t do that again,” he warns me in an undertone. “Don’t ever presume to instruct the carriage driver, and do not permit the prince to stop the vehicle on a dark, lonely road. This is a prime spot for bandits.”

“Then why did you leave the carriage? You should be back there with the prince.”

“Don’t be pert with me, girl. You’re not a royal bodyguard yet. You’re here on a trial basis, to see if you’re a good replacement for Kresser. So far, I’m not impressed.”

I rise, brushing pebbles off my knees. “I’m here because the prince decided my skills are a good fit.”

Renfrow snorts. “You think he cares about your skills? He picked you out of a lineup of potential candidates, most of them more capable and experienced than you. I was there when he chose you. Do you want to know what he said?”

I remember standing in that line, how the prince walked down the row of candidates, surveying us all, then murmured something to his bodyguard. I’m not sure I want to hear what it was, but Renfrow continues anyway. “He said, ‘She looks fuckable. Perfect pair of tits. The boys will like having her around.’”

A caustic bitterness tightens in my chest.

Renfrow claps me on the shoulder like he’s trying to soften the revelation. “Look, I’ve seen you in the training center. You’re a good warrior, and your skill with those claw knives is nothing less than astonishing. But you weren’t chosen for your fighting abilities. If the prince keeps you around, it won’t be as his bodyguard.”

The two young men who followed him are nearly upon us, so I’m spared from coming up with a reply.

“Gods, look at that!” exclaims one of them. Tolgan, son of a lord. Spoiled, like the rest of them. He’s hanging on Loxley’s arm in a way that makes me wonder if perhaps he’s fonder of biceps than breasts.