DEMON CRY

31.

The Crown Prince strode from one end of his room to another, anxiously. 

Everything was going well. There were no attacks on the Kingdom, no rebellions to be crushed, no natural calamities that needed to be addressed- it was quiet and peaceful. His parents were happy and so were the other Royals; even his courtship with Amara was going splendid- but it felt like the calm before the storm. 

He halted momentarily at the balcony, placing one hand on the ice-cold railing. He could see the proud and tall walls that fortified the castle but nothing earthy beyond that. 

The sky displayed a range of colours going from the shade of Amara's rosy cheeks to dark purple which reminded him of a nasty bruise. He shook his head and turned his back on the white winter scenery. 

His gaze happened upon the old dusty cupboard that held the root of all his calamities. It was ironic, he had it painted in black, hoping it would merge with the dark and gloomy shadows in his room, yet it was the first thing that stood out. 

Seven days hence would mark the eighth year of peace for years ago, Prince Damien had slain the Demon Prince, when his subjects, to commemorate the occasion had gifted him his first official title, Estao Drakai, the Brave Prince. 

Reckoning was like quicksand. The more one indulged it, the more it devoured them. Prince Damien had been too brash to see that at that point of time when he badly thirsted for blood. The price came too soon, swift like death... something worse- the wrath of Queen Seyanora, the Queen of the Demons. 

When he heard rumours that Queen Seyanora was gathering sorcerers from all over the land to revive her deceased son, Prince Damien ventured into the Demon Fortress alone and took something of great importance. 

The Queen had caught him, her body quivering with rage and humiliation. One look at her face and anyone would crumble and beg for mercy at her feet but not the young Crown Prince.  A small vial that he had stolen from former Shalore had helped him flee. 

He thought that would be the end of it but her voice rang in his ears as he escaped. 

It was the curse. 

The image of Amara battered and broken flashed in his mind. He clenched his fists. 

He understood now what the Queen had been through back then. He would too revive Amara from the dead because he loved her too much. He shook his head, cursing himself for comparing a beautiful soul like hers to that of the tyrant's. 

The Demon Prince.

He had burned people, captured them to hone his sadistic nature, led a genocide when he wiped out the entire Octavius clan-

Amara's clan. 

Prince Damien turned away from the cupboard and faced the walls that waited for him on the other side. 

He was conflicted. 

How could he tell Amara that her clan was slaughtered only because they had sworn to protect the Dithrai crown, his deceased brother? 

How could he tell her that they were enjoying a grand wedding her clan was attacked? 

How could he tell her that his curse was right there, glaring daggers into his back? 

How could he tell her that he could easily get rid of the curse if he returned it? 

If he returned it and freed himself of the curse, the price would be too great. Given the chance, she would still revive the pretend autarch, her unhinged son. 

He had half a mind to spill everything out, to share his burden with someone but he quelled it. No one deserved to know what atrocity he had committed even if his intentions were pure. 

The Crown Prince knew something was coming. The borders were too quiet and the spies deployed in the Demon Kingdom had come up with no news. 

It was all too quiet. 

Estao Drakai. 

The Brave Prince but he knew better.

'Your Highness?' There was a sharp knock on the door that made him jump. The image of the Demon Queen quivering with unfathomable rage flashed in front of his eyes, paralyzing him with fear. 

'Prince Damien?' 

He recognized the voice. It was Rowan's footman. He massaged his forehead with his eyes, trying to placate his dreadful mind. 

Swallowing the bile that threatened to rise up his throat, he composed himself. 

'What is it?' 

He noticed that his voice was a little shaky. However, it was overlooked but Juanito, 'It's time for supper. His Royal Highness, the King has requested your presence.' 

Prince Damien swore under his breath. 

How could he have lost track of time?

'Thank you, Juanito. I will be there at the earliest.' 

'I will convey your message to the King.' 

Prince Damien marched toward the mirror to check if he looked presentable. Worry lines marred his face and he looked older. Rubbing his face, he tried to get rid of it. He brushed the non-existent dust of his suit and drew in a deep breath. 

With one last glance at the mirror, he marched out of his room with well-feigned confidence.