HEIR | The Cursed Monarchy | Book 1

Prologue - The Cursed One

Cursed.

The thought was as bitter as the bile in his mouth.

It was the only truth. And unexpectedly painful. There he was, sitting alone beneath a clear night sky; the one place where he could be true to himself, where he tried to be honest, and yet, he had no words. Why else would he hide himself in anonymity? For a moment, beneath a faint sliver of moon, he wished he could forget his past, but he was cursed to forever remember.

For centuries he had believed the world feared him, but that night, someone had come. Urgent steps of determination gave way to the elaborately embellished fabrics and brocaded panels typically worn by high-born elves. Strange. As feared as he thought he was, why would an elf yet come to see the beast unmasked?

Was that desperation he sensed? Something deep and dangerous in his visitor's soul?

The stranger's voice seemed so distant at first. "Daire," the man uttered.

Daire. Yes, he remembered having such a name while he lived, but hadn't heard it spoken since. There wasn't a name for what he had become.

"Let us wipe the slate clean," the man went on. "Let us start something new."

"Is that why you've come to see me?" Daire asked, stiffening imperceptibly.

The man gave an audible sigh. "Oh, Daire," he said, "there are so many reasons why I've come to see you."

Daire stretched out his arms, looking sidelong at his visitor. "Forgive me, then," he said in a tone laced with quiet desperation. The words flowed out of nowhere and he wanted to cry, for there in that arid wasteland of his mind, was fresh water. "You must grant me the strength to bear your presence without the impulse to act upon evil, for I could take your life in so many ways without moving a step."

The flame in the man's lantern burned calmly. The wind carried a familiar scent of sweet musk that oozed from the elf's cloak. The world Daire once knew was fully present in his mind - a fleeting trace of memory in that fragrance, and the magic behind it caught him by surprise.

"Strength, I'm afraid, is something you must give yourself," the elf replied, crossing the distance between them. Silvery blond locks fell forward from behind his hood as he knelt, placing the lantern down on the ground. Then he placed his palms on his thighs and bowed his head. "My name is Rilien of House Lios-Alf. I have travelled far from my home in search of you, old friend. I know you don't remember me after all this time, but we played together as children."

"Liar! You do not know me, elf." A silent command unlocked the door deep within Daire's mind that kept the darkness confined. "Do not feed me any more deceptions, for I haven't the palate to stomach them. The world has already changed me into what they wanted most - a monster." He cocked his head and grinned at the last word.

He had never intended to become a monster. The cause he fought for had drained him. He closed his eyes, remembering how endless the pain had been, when his soul had first been stained by dark magic.

First had come the heat. It was too hot. Everything was too hot. And for a time, it all felt real: searing and unbearable, filling his lungs with a suffocating warmth. His body felt, in a detached sort of way, as though something had gripped his soul from the inside and begun twisting and pulling it apart, piece by piece.

The people he had wished to save were quick to turn against him, believing him to be an unfeeling, treacherous beast - believing that he would curse them all. In time, his heart had filled with an overwhelming sense of loss; the light within him dimmed and finally flickered out. Reverently, he had endured that agony until the sensation felt faint, separate from the rest of him, as if it were another part of him that was feeling this pain; as if it weren't real.