Heir of Kyree {under editing}

6 | the beast

Wyld's throat burned as he exited the council room. 

Hot, violent anger roared in his veins as Wyld rushed down the corridor of the palace, his feet pounding loudly on the wooden floor. He swerved right, his shoulder grazing against the sharp edge of the corner. Heart hammering in his chest, Wyld nearly trampled a group of servants who carried baskets of laundry. He sputtered out an apology, his feet failing to come to a halt. The Prince could feel his control slipping out of his grasp, the beast inside of him winning the never-ending battle. It growled and scratched at him, demanding its release.

Wyld took another sharp turn, a small sense of relief passing through him as his quarters appeared in sight. Without a thought, he yanked his door aside and barged into his room before collapsing in his bathroom. He managed to catch himself on the edge of his marble sink, his nails digging into the rim as if it would be enough to ground him. The Prince's eyes flew shut, and he braced himself for what was about to come. 

Seconds later, Wyld felt his control escape his grasp, the beast inside of his roaring to life. Magic burst from every pore of his body, reverberating against the walls. The fireplace sitting in front of his bed exploded into flames. The violent flames of his magic licked his skin, mocking his loss of control.

"By the Gods," Wyld rasped, leaning his head back against the sink. He let his body sink to the floor, his hands trembling as more magic escaped from his body. Turning his arms from side to side, Wyld bitterly watched his tattoos grow brighter with the presence of his magic. "Just when I thought I had control," he huffed out, wiping his brow. Beads of sweat had begun to collect at the bottom of his neck, at the base of his untamed hair. 

The Prince swore again, slamming his hand on the ground. His fist made contact with the marble floor, pain shooting up his arm like a wildfire. But Wyld welcomed it, finding that it appease the beast inside of him. Jamming his fist into the ground, Wyld watched as speckled blood flew from his knuckles. The flames in the fireplace flickered, his magic growing hesitant.

With a burst of confidence, Wyld grit his teeth, plunging his hand into the ground once again. The dragon inside of him reared back, his magic retreating as fast as it had appeared. The Prince looked to his right, a small sense of pride fluttering in his heart as he took in the extinguished fireplace. It was a small victory, no matter the price his body had to pay.

 Wyld wiped his bloodied knuckles on his pants, stripping himself off his shirt which was damp with sweat. He threw it to the side, planning to head down to the fighting arenas. Although he was able to temporarily silence his magic, it always came back.

The beast that had been growing inside of him since he turned 17 never stopped. No matter the day, the hour, or the occasion, it was always there. It lurked in the darkness the way a nightmare lingers in your mind after you wake. Wyld had once asked his father about it, hoping he would reassure him. But he received the opposite and was instead filled with dread when his father informed him that it was permanent. He was a Royal Dragon after all. In exchange for his divine magic, Wyld would have to battle his inner beast for the rest of his life.

Wiping his brow, Wyld rolled his closet door to the side. His fingers scanned the numerous outfits, a conflict on his mind. Part of him wished to go visit the Prince again while the other half wanted to fight. Adora infuriated him. He'd known her for a day but her stubbornness and reluctance to listen to him made him want to bash his head into a wall. However, the silence of his beast that accompanied her presence called to him. Unlike when he interacted with another Dragon, like his father, he always felt a sense of ease next to her. There was no rage, no fury or bloodlust that he craved when he looked at her. 

Just serenity.

It was that peace that drove Wyld to continue with his plan. It drove him to tolerate the way she glared at him and retreated from his touch. It made him yearn for her presence just so he could rest and feel at peace for once in his lifetime. But Wyld's magic was uncontrollable. It had a mind of its own and it wanted to fight. It desired to draw blood and watch its victims collapse onto the ground. It craved the feeling of life leaving one's body and the last few gasps of air they take. It was that bloodthirsty magic and the beast that owned it that drove him towards the sparring rings.