The Raven

Thirty-Six

The raven's body hits the ground with a loud thud, the impact sending a rumbling vibration through the courtyard that climbs its way up the legs of every person left standing, threatening to steal away their balance. The fall of the possessor of magic sends another wave of power throughout the air, ceasing all fighting instantly. Everything stills around Prince Henry, who is desperately trying to forge his way through the lingering remnants of smoke and bloodshed, tripping over the incapacitated citizens and guards as he attempts to reach his dear Caleb. Repeatedly calling his beloved's name in an excruciated, fear-filled, and sorrowful voice, Henry scrambles toward the raven's lifeless body with tears streaming heavily down his cheeks.

The king and queen look on in horror, watching the precise moment that their son's heart shatters over the loss of his love.

What have they done?

Henry kneels beside him and takes Caleb in his arms, securing the limp body of his precious ruby-eyed boy tightly to his chest, right where he has always belonged. His shaking right hand gently caresses his husband's pale and now ashen face before slowly running through the long lengths of his disheveled black hair. He chokes on a sob, every thought in his head suddenly turning to mush as he blubbers incoherently into the tangled dark mess of strands.

With an ache in his heart, the king announces to the people that the war has ended, and anyone caught fighting from this point forward will be imprisoned indefinitely within the palace dungeon. Ordering the remaining guards to clear away the deceased and get medical attention for the many injured civilians, His Majesty carefully assists his son in carrying the limp body of the raven into the castle, where he can be mourned privately.

Prince Henry insists that Caleb be placed in his bed, as it is the only fitting place for a final goodbye to the husband who was stolen from him far too soon. He sits next to Caleb's bedside, praying to any and all higher powers that he is not really gone; he wishes with every cell within his body that Caleb will come back to him somehow. That they will have more time. He hopes that this is not over yet. It cannot end like this; it simply cannot.

It has been a long time since Prince Henry has cried, many years, in fact. And never before like this. Never has he felt pain such as this, so consuming and possessive and overwhelming. An endless rush of tears pours from his reddened eyes as grieving sobs wrack through his entire body, feeling as if his heart has literally been shredded into thin threads that could never be repaired or even partially mended. It is as if what was left of the once life-sustaining organ has been ripped directly from his chest, the gaping cavity exposed and festering with darkness. It should have been him instead. This should have happened to him, not Caleb. Not his sweet, innocent, perfect ruby-eyed boy. Caleb should have saved himself instead of pushing him out of the way.

Henry stays by Caleb's side until sleep consumes him, bringing with it the eternally replaying memory of the day's events. Even in sleep, his pain haunts him to the maximum extent. As the sun begins to rise in the sky, the prince is awakened by shouting voices in the hall.

"You lied to me?" the king's voice yells. "All this time, you were lying to me? You made me choose between my son and my kingdom over... Over what, Delilah? Over your own narcissistic agenda? Just look where it got us--where it got you! What did you gain out of your deceptions?" Henry's father pauses for a moment, attempting to catch his breath; his inhales and exhales are strained and noisy, hinting at the deeply-rooted fury coursing through him. "From my standpoint, it appears you have failed, Delilah; you have deceived me, humiliated me, tormented my people, and traumatized both my son and the only person who has ever openly shown him love... all for nothing. You have achieved absolutely nothing."

"I-I wanted to protect you from knowing how sick your son is," the witch defends, standing firmly in her antiquated belief. "It is morally wrong for a man to be intimate with another man."

"There is nothing wrong with him!" His Majesty shouts, his voice somehow louder this time, the heaving of his chest growing more dramatic with every deep breath. "What is wrong here is you, Delilah. You are disgusting and pitiful; I do not know how I ever allowed you to weasel your way into my bed, let alone my heart. You have used me as a tool to harm my own son! All because of his sexual orientation, which is not only not something he could choose but is not any of your business to begin with. As his father and ruler of this kingdom, I have no objections to my son marrying a man. I simply want him to be happy! All I have ever wanted for him is to thrive, to lead a life he can be proud of, filled with all the love and joy a person could possibly possess. The only reason I went along with your scheme in the first place is that you said the kingdom would be against him!"

"Y-your Majesty--" the witch begins, but she is unable to defend herself.

The king immediately interrupts her, uncaring of whatever excuses she plans to hurl his way; none of that matters right now. "You had best get in that room and use your magic to heal that boy," he orders, his tone leaving no room for argument. "While he may be your creation, he is still married to my son; that makes him your prince, Delilah. If you fail at resuscitating him, I will consider it high treason."

The witch gulps audibly, bowing her head slightly at the prominent and promising threat behind the king's words. "Y-yes, Your Majesty," she whispers before turning and entering Henry's bedroom. "Your Highness," she mumbles, acknowledging the prince's presence before shuffling closer to the bed.

Having overheard the majority of the dispute between the witch and his father, Henry bites his tongue, holding back the disdain he has for the woman standing in his bedroom. While it is wholly her fault that they are in this current predicament, if there is even a slight chance that she can save Caleb... With tears in his eyes and a crack in his voice, Henry asks, "Can you really help him?"

Shrugging her shoulders and entirely avoiding eye contact with the prince, the witch quietly responds, "I created him." Clearing her throat, she gestures to his body lying in the bed and adds, "I also did this to him. There has to be something I can do to reverse it."

Henry observes silently, a quiet voice in his head urging him to speak to his father; he had obviously misjudged him this entire time. However, the prince is unable to move, incapable of tearing his gaze away from the love of his life lying so helplessly before him. Besides, he cannot find it within himself to wholly place his trust in the witch after everything else she has done.