DEMON CRY

13.

The Crown Prince woke up the following day. He was up and on his feet. He felt strange. It was unusual for him to be so focussed. He was usually weak whenever he returned to his normal state and would require a handful of warriors to help him get back on his feet. He could tell that something was different. 

Gloom had always blanketed the castle. It had always seemed to him that way, every day after his half-brother died. It looked gloomier. Damien thought that wasn't possible. 

He saw flashes of green sometimes which was also very unusual. He had asked Jeremiah if he had hurt anyone. Jeremiah told him he hadn't. The Prince was glad. 

He showered and put on a fresh suit. He felt better. The pain was gone. His mind was clear. 

It put him on edge. 

It wasn't supposed to be so... not painful. He used to take a while before he could walk. His joints would scream, his vision would be hazy, his hearing would be messed up. 

But he wasn't suffering. He was (surprisingly) alright. 

Maybe the curse was fading. 

He knew it was not possible. When he was cursed, he felt the world around him collapse. That deep voice that belonged to the slain's mother echoed inside his head. She cursed him that his inner self would come up once in a while, to show everyone how rotten his insides really were; to show the world how ugly he was deep down. 

He drew a deep breath. He shouldn't go there. He had never told anyone about it because he was ashamed. That was how he was, deep down; ugly, ruthless and a feral beast. How could he ever face his parents and let them know how unworthy their son was. A part of him wished every day for his own death so that he didn't have to face that day while the other part of him wanted to go on, to go and find a cure for this curse. 

He reviewed the monthly reports the King received from the Dukes for a few hours before heading for lunch. 

Amara wasn't there. Her chair was empty. None of the others seemed bothered about it. No one raised his concern. The Prince feared if he had hurt her. 

He saw those green flashes again while he was eating. This time it was clearer. They were a pair of forest green eyes. His blood froze. His hands shook. He knew only one person who had those eyes. 

Had he done something to her? 

Suddenly, he couldn't eat. The food made him sick. 'Excuse me,' he said and walked off. None of the Royals said anything. He knew they had assumed it was his recent shifting that had made him sick. He tried to keep himself from running. He wanted to know if he had hurt Amara. Lord knows he would never forgive himself if he hurt her. 

Soon, he found himself outside her door. 

His heart thumped against his ribs. He prayed he hadn't hurt her. His hands were shivering as he knocked it. 

He half expected her to be gone. Dead. Put away. 

The door opened. 

She was there. 

He had never felt so relieved to see anyone. She looked tired and yet he still believed that there was no one else who could surpass her beauty. Those forest green eyes looked back at him with curiosity. There was no trace of fear in them. That's good, he told himself. Maybe he hadn't done anything to her. Maybe she was unaware of his hideous form.

Her cheeks were flushed pink. They were growing darker and darker as they continued to look at each other wordlessly. 

His chest tightened as they stood. His vocabulary vanished. He tried to grasp for any sort of greeting he could say. His mind was blank. 

There was no one he found prettier. 

Her dark hair was wet. She was wearing a long blue top with black tights. She wasn't very grand and he liked that about her. He liked that she kept to herself. He liked that she stayed away from him (maybe not that much but he did). He respected her. The last thing he wanted her was to think lowly of him. 

'Prince Damien, can I help you with something?'

Her sweet voice added some joy to his otherwise plain name. He kept himself from smiling, 'You weren't present at lunch.' 

'I wasn't feeling well, Your Highness.' She looked at the ground. 'Apologies for that.' 

He was about to wave it off when his eyes fell on her hands. She was holding a book. A leather-bound book. 

He could recognize that book anywhere. He stared at it wide-eyed. He couldn't believe she had it. It was supposed to be sacred. No one outside the Royal family must have it. His hands shook as he tried to contain his raging emotions. She must have a reason, he told himself. 

Amara seemed to have caught the change in his demeanour. 'Is everything alright, Your Highness?' 

'Where did you get that?' He barked at her. 

She stepped away from him. She was terrified at his sudden outburst. 

'Are you stealing from us now?!' 

'What?' 

'Where did you get that book?!' He yelled at her snatching the book from her. He flipped it open. He could barely contain himself. His hands started shivering. It was that book. The Dithrayan penned by his dead half-brother. His mouth ran dry. The familiar handwriting crushed his heart. He felt a surge of rage rising again. 

It had opened wounds. Dangerous wounds.