A story about a prince and his pretty consort presumptive.
Crown Prince Raffe, as the only son of High King Alizade and sole heir to the High Throne of the Ruemri Empire, is bound to fulfill one important duty for the crown. Even if that duty involv...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
***
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
PAIN woke Soren.
Jarring, hot, and fucking burning.
He could tell at one glance that he was alone in the room. Sweat streaked down his face and neck. He twisted and turned and clawed around in the bed, the pain too great for him his hot tears started streaming down his face, making his vision blur. He held his head in his hands, muttering every curse he could think of.
Then the voice came.
Kill him.
It was inside his fucking head. Too soft. Too familiar.
Kill him.
Soren shivered despite the excruciating pain.
Kill him.
"No."
Kill him.
"Shut up."
Kill him.
"Shut up!"
Kill him.
"SHUT UP!"
He stood, staggered, and stumbled on the nearby table, knocking on the glasses and pitcher of water that Raffe always kept there.
Kill him.
Soren stood and started to walk, only to realize the broken glass cut the bottom of his feet. It hurt, but the pain thankfully brought back clarity that he desperately needed.
Kill him.
"Shut up," Soren mumbled again. "I'm not listening. Fuck you." He bit down on his lip, tasting the tang of his own blood.
The pain in his head settled on a dull ache, but that didn't make it any better. He staggered toward the mirror, looking horrified at his reflection. He lost a lot of weight, massive bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, dried tears on his cheeks, wounded lips—he doesn't look like a High Consort at all.
