Nine Hours to Death

Thraga, a runewitch, counts down the hours to her death in a filthy cell, haunted by the memory of her lost love, Lark. Her only comfort is the certainty of her fate—until a new prisoner is thrown into her cell. This stranger, a deathmade necromancer, radiates danger and power, unsettling Thraga's fragile composure. Their tense, wary conversation reveals mutual secrets and shared desperation. As the hours slip away, the possibility of escape flickers, but so does the threat of betrayal. The cell becomes a crucible, forging a reluctant connection between two outcasts, each with their own ghosts and impossible hopes.

The Deathmade Stranger

The necromancer, revealed as deathmade—returned from Niflheim—begins picking his shackles, intent on escape. Thraga, desperate to resurrect Lark, pleads to join him, revealing her forbidden runewitch powers. The necromancer is cold, cynical, and dismissive, but Thraga's confession intrigues him. Forced to prove her magic, she shatters her chains, exposing herself to deadly risk. Their escape is fraught with tension, each wary of the other's motives. The necromancer's scars and Thraga's compulsions hint at deep wounds. As they flee, a bargain is struck: her magic for his necromancy, but trust is a currency neither can afford.

Escape and Bargain

Their escape from the prison is chaotic and violent. Thraga's magic and knives, reclaimed in a frantic search, become their salvation as guards close in. The necromancer's fireborn magic is revealed in a blaze of destruction, shattering Thraga's trust—he is not just deathmade, but fireborn, kin to those who hunt her kind. Together, they ride into the night, pursued by the king's men and haunted by their own secrets. The necromancer's true power and Thraga's desperation bind them, but suspicion and trauma simmer beneath every word. Their alliance is uneasy, forged in necessity and shadowed by betrayal.

The Prince's True Face

The necromancer, now named Durlain, is unmasked as the lost prince of Averre, infamous for the murder of his bride, Pol. Thraga, reeling from the truth, confronts him with rage and grief. Durlain is cold, pragmatic, and unrepentant—he claims he killed Pol because she was "in his way." Their mutual psychoanalysis is brutal: Thraga's trauma and compulsions, Durlain's scars and calculated cruelty. Yet, beneath the barbs, a grudging respect grows. They share their stories—Thraga's years as a tool of King Aranc, Durlain's betrayal and death at his brothers' hands. Their bargain is renewed: her magic for his necromancy, but the cost is rising.

A Reluctant Alliance

Durlain and Thraga flee through the wilds, pursued by Aranc's birds and haunted by their own pasts. Their journey is a test of endurance and trust—each must rely on the other's skills to survive. Durlain's fireborn magic and Thraga's runes are both weapon and liability. The landscape is as hostile as their pursuers, and every encounter is a reminder of the world's cruelty. Yet, moments of vulnerability emerge: shared meals, laughter, and the slow, painful process of learning to rely on someone else. Their alliance is forged in hardship, but the threat of betrayal never fully fades.

Flight and Pursuit

The pair's flight is relentless, with Aranc's birds—deadly agents—always a step behind. Thraga's compulsions threaten to unravel her, while Durlain's secrets multiply. They navigate treacherous terrain, evade traps, and face the ever-present risk of exposure. The tension between them is electric, a mix of suspicion, attraction, and shared trauma. Each must confront their own limits: Thraga's fear of her own power, Durlain's struggle with the cold of Niflheim and the scars of his death. Their journey is a crucible, burning away illusions and forcing them to confront the truth of who they are—and what they might become together.

The Moon Lake Gambit

Pursued to the brink, Thraga devises a risky escape through a hidden tunnel beneath a waterfall—a memory from her days as Aranc's bird. The passage is treacherous, but it offers a chance to shake their pursuers. Durlain's trust in Thraga's knowledge is tested, and her compulsions threaten disaster. The escape is harrowing, but they emerge on the other side, battered but alive. In the aftermath, the balance of power shifts: Thraga's skills are undeniable, and Durlain's need for her is clear. Their partnership, once transactional, becomes something more—an alliance of equals, forged in fire and fear.

Unlikely Sanctuary

The fugitives find sanctuary in the Dawn House, a magical refuge tied to Thraga's lost childhood. Here, the past and present collide: memories of her mother, the truth of her family's resistance, and the revelation that Durlain's own kin are entangled in the same web of secrets. The house is a haven, but also a reminder of all that has been lost. Durlain's aunt, Estegonde, and the ghostly Nanna offer aid, but trust is hard-won. The peace is temporary, a pause before the next storm. In the quiet, Thraga and Durlain confront their wounds—and the possibility of something more than survival.

Masks and Mirrors

In the safety of the Dawn House, masks begin to slip. Thraga's compulsions and trauma are laid bare, and Durlain's own vulnerabilities emerge. Their relationship deepens, moving from wary alliance to something more intimate and dangerous. Yet, the threat of betrayal lingers—Durlain's bargain with Lesceron, the king of Garnot, hangs over them. The past is a mirror, reflecting wounds and choices. As they prepare to rescue Durlain's sister, Cimmura, the cost of trust becomes clear. Each must decide what they are willing to risk—and who they are willing to become—for the sake of freedom and each other.

The Weight of Knives

Thraga's knives—gifts from her mentor, Kjell—are more than weapons; they are anchors in a world of chaos. When they are lost, her compulsions spiral, and the pain of loss is visceral. Durlain's own scars—physical and emotional—mirror her wounds. Their shared trauma becomes a bond, but also a source of conflict. The knives are a symbol: of survival, of identity, of the price paid for every act of violence. In the struggle to reclaim them, Thraga confronts the truth of her own power—and the danger of letting anyone, even Durlain, too close.

The Prince of Many Faces

Durlain's true nature is revealed: a prince, a murderer, a survivor. His masks are many, his loyalties shifting. The rescue of Cimmura becomes a test of every skill and secret they possess. Allies and enemies blur, and the cost of every choice is measured in blood. Thraga's own past as Aranc's bird is a weapon and a wound. Together, they navigate a world of lies and half-truths, each step bringing them closer to the heart of the fireborn court—and the final reckoning with the bargains they have made.

The Bargain's Price

The rescue of Cimmura is a trap: Durlain's bargain with Lesceron requires a runewitch in exchange for his sister's freedom. Thraga, betrayed, is handed over to the king. The cost of survival is laid bare—every alliance, every act of trust, is a gamble with deadly stakes. Durlain's guilt is crushing, and Thraga's rage is incandescent. The price of the bargain is not just freedom, but the very soul of each who made it. In the aftermath, both must confront the truth of what they have become—and what they are willing to do to survive.

The Caged and the Free

Thraga, caged once more, faces the reality of her own power—and the world's fear of it. Lesceron's court is a labyrinth of cruelty, and every kindness is suspect. Yet, even in chains, Thraga's will is unbroken. She remembers the lessons of survival, the cost of hope, and the necessity of fighting back. Durlain, haunted by guilt, must decide whether to accept the consequences of his choices or risk everything for redemption. The line between victim and weapon blurs, and the only certainty is that freedom must be seized, not given.

The Fireborn's Secret

The truth of Durlain's past—his mother's murder, his own death, the scars of Niflheim—comes to light. The fireborn courts are revealed as nests of vipers, where every act of kindness is a risk and every secret a weapon. Thraga's own history is entwined with resistance and loss, her power both a curse and a gift. Together, they must navigate a world where trust is deadly and love is a liability. The cost of power is high, and the price of survival is higher still.

The Runewitch's Chains

Thraga's compulsions—her need to check, to count, to control—are both shield and shackle. In the crucible of captivity, she confronts the roots of her trauma and the cost of survival. Durlain's own wounds are laid bare, and their shared pain becomes a source of strength. Together, they learn that freedom is not just escape, but the reclamation of self. The fight is not just against kings and prisons, but against the chains within.

The Cost of Survival

Every act of survival has a cost. Thraga's knives, Durlain's bargains, the lives taken and the trust betrayed—all are weighed in the balance. The rescue of Cimmura is achieved, but at a price neither can fully bear. The world is changed, and so are they. In the ashes of trust, something new is forged: not innocence, not hope, but a fierce, unyielding will to live—and to fight for a future of their own making.

The Truth of Betrayal

The truth of every betrayal is laid bare: Durlain's bargain, Thraga's survival, the lies told and the love lost. In the aftermath, each must decide what they are willing to forgive—and what they cannot. The past is a weight, but the future is unwritten. Together, they face the consequences of their choices, and the possibility of something more than survival. In the end, the only freedom is the one they seize for themselves.

The Ashes of Trust

In the ruins of old bargains and broken trust, Thraga and Durlain find the possibility of something new. Their alliance, once forged in necessity, becomes a partnership of equals—scarred, battered, but unbroken. The world is still dangerous, and the cost of survival is high, but together they are more than the sum of their wounds. In the ashes of trust, a new future is born—one they will fight for, side by side.

Characters

Thraga Gunnsdottir

Thraga is a runewitch marked by trauma, loss, and the compulsions that both protect and imprison her. Raised in secrecy, trained as a weapon by King Aranc, she is both victim and killer, shaped by a world that fears her power. Her knives are her anchors, her compulsions a shield against chaos. Psychoanalytically, Thraga is driven by a desperate need for control and safety, her compulsions a response to a world that has always been dangerous. Her relationship with Durlain is fraught—attraction, suspicion, and a shared understanding of pain. Over the course of the story, she moves from passive survival to active resistance, reclaiming her agency and forging a new identity beyond the roles others have forced upon her.

Durlain Averre

Durlain is a study in contradictions: a fireborn necromancer, a prince infamous for murder, a man returned from death and scarred by betrayal. His many faces—charming, cruel, vulnerable—are both shield and weapon. Psychoanalytically, Durlain is driven by guilt, duty, and a desperate need to protect those he loves, even at the cost of his own soul. His relationship with Thraga is transformative: she challenges his cynicism, exposes his wounds, and forces him to confront the cost of his own survival. Over the story, Durlain moves from cold calculation to genuine vulnerability, risking everything for redemption and the possibility of love.

Lark / Leif Estridson

Lark is Thraga's anchor and her undoing—a lover whose warmth and protection mask a web of lies. Secretly a prince's friend and a spy, his betrayal is the wound at the heart of Thraga's journey. Psychoanalytically, Lark represents the dangers of dependence and the pain of misplaced trust. His death and the revelation of his true identity force Thraga to confront the difference between safety and freedom, love and control.

Cimmura Averre

Durlain's younger sister, Cimmura is the reason for his bargains and betrayals. Her captivity is the story's central quest, her rescue the price of every alliance. Psychoanalytically, Cimmura represents innocence lost and the cost of protection—her fate is the measure of Durlain's guilt and Thraga's compassion. Her survival is both a victory and a reminder of all that has been lost.

King Lesceron Garnot

Lesceron is the story's most insidious antagonist—a king whose power is built on secrets, cruelty, and the exploitation of others. Psychoanalytically, he is the embodiment of institutionalized trauma, a force that warps all who come into his orbit. His bargain with Durlain is the story's central betrayal, and his court is a labyrinth of danger and deceit.

King Aranc Estiën

Aranc is the shadow over Thraga's life—a king who turns people into tools, who wields fear and violence as instruments of control. Psychoanalytically, he is the internalized voice of trauma, the source of Thraga's compulsions and self-doubt. His pursuit is relentless, his cruelty a constant threat.

Jay

Jay is one of Aranc's birds, a killer and a spy, but also a figure of ambiguity—sometimes ally, sometimes threat. Psychoanalytically, Jay represents the possibility of complicity and the blurred lines between victim and perpetrator. His relationship with Thraga is fraught, marked by shared history and mutual recognition of the cost of survival.

Rook

Rook is another of Aranc's birds, a man of few words and many secrets. He is both threat and potential savior, his loyalty always in question. Psychoanalytically, Rook is the embodiment of the silent witness, the one who sees and remembers, whose choices are shaped by what he cannot say.

Estegonde Averre

Estegonde is Durlain's aunt and a figure of quiet strength. Her home is a sanctuary, her knowledge a lifeline. Psychoanalytically, she represents the possibility of healing and the importance of chosen family. Her presence is a reminder that survival is not just endurance, but the creation of new bonds.

Nanna

Nanna, the ghostly nursemaid, is both comic relief and a reminder of all that has been lost. Psychoanalytically, she is the embodiment of the past that lingers, the comfort that endures even in the face of trauma.

Plot Devices

Dual Protagonist Structure

The story is primarily told through Thraga's point of view, but key chapters shift to Durlain, especially at moments of crisis or betrayal. This dual structure allows the reader to experience both the internal and external conflicts, deepening the emotional resonance and highlighting the gulf—and the bridge—between the two leads. The shifting perspectives also serve as a form of narrative foreshadowing, hinting at secrets and betrayals before they are fully revealed.

Compulsion as Character and Plot Engine

Thraga's compulsions—her need to check, count, and control—are not just character traits but plot devices. They create tension, delay, and sometimes disaster, but also serve as metaphors for the scars of trauma. The narrative structure uses these compulsions to foreshadow danger, reveal psychological depth, and force moments of vulnerability and connection.

Masks, Mirrors, and Identity

The motif of masks—literal and figurative—runs throughout the story. Durlain's many faces, Thraga's roles as weapon and victim, the shifting allegiances and false identities—all serve to blur the line between truth and lie, self and other. Mirrors and reflections are used to foreshadow revelations and to symbolize the characters' struggles with self-acceptance and trust.

Bargain and Betrayal

The central plot device is the bargain: Thraga's deal with Durlain, Durlain's with Lesceron, every alliance and betrayal measured in blood and trust. These bargains drive the plot, create suspense, and force the characters to confront the cost of survival. Foreshadowing is used to hint at the inevitable betrayals, and the narrative structure builds toward the shattering of trust and the forging of new, hard-won alliances.

Trauma as Structure

The story's structure is cyclical, mirroring the patterns of trauma: escape, capture, betrayal, survival. Flashbacks, compulsions, and repeated motifs create a sense of inevitability, but also of resilience—the possibility of breaking the cycle. The narrative uses these echoes to build suspense, deepen character, and ultimately offer the hope of healing.

Analysis

The Death-Made Prince is a dark, emotionally charged fantasy that explores the cost of survival in a world built on cruelty and betrayal. At its heart, it is a story about trauma—how it shapes identity, warps relationships, and creates both chains and weapons. Thraga's compulsions and Durlain's masks are not just scars, but survival strategies, and the story refuses to romanticize or diminish the pain they cause. Yet, in the crucible of violence and loss, something new is forged: a partnership of equals, scarred but unbroken, capable of both love and resistance. The book's lesson is hard-won: freedom is not given, but seized; trust is not a gift, but a risk. In a world that punishes difference and exploits vulnerability, the only way forward is to fight for one's own self—and, if possible, to find someone willing to fight beside you. The Death-Made Prince is a testament to the power of survival, the necessity of resistance, and the hope that, even in the ashes of trust, something new can be born.

Last updated: October 28, 2025