Chapter 12
Damon stirred with a gradual awareness, his eyes
flickering open to take in the aftermath of a tumultuous night. The air in the room carried the distinct scent of wolfsbane, a poignant reminder of the struggle he faced against Kronos. His gaze shifted to his bandaged arm, the source of the lingering fragrance that permeated the surroundings.
Turning towards Devin, his trusted right-hand man, Damon's voice rumbled with a low warning, "What happened last night?"
"Kronos," Devin replied succinctly, the gravity of the situation resonating in that single word. The elusive control over Kronos demanded the application of both wolfsbane and silver, a necessity to restrain him.
Damon's eyes shot up, seeking more information about the events that unfolded. The room, now a canvas of chaos, vividly illustrated the fierce struggle against Kronos. Bloodstains adorned the floor and table, silent witnesses to the intensity of the battle waged within the confines of the chamber.
Damon inquired, "Anyone hurt?"
In response, Devin posed a question, "You don't recall anything?"
Unperturbed by the query, Damon rose from the bed, his movements deliberate as he headed for the washroom. Amidst the remnants of the night's ordeal, he questioned, "How long have I been out?"
"All day. It's almost time for the ball," Devin informed him, drawing attention to the fading daylight outside, signaling the imminent arrival of dusk.
Expressing his discontent, Damon ordered Devin to leave. Before retreating into the solitude of the washroom, Devin added, "One more thing. The king wants you to ditch the mask tonight."
Damon halted mid-stride, his countenance turning icy at the unexpected directive. "What?" he asked tersely.
"That's what I heard." Devin replied with shrug and an air of nonchalance as Damon walked away, leaving the cryptic instruction hanging in the air.
"Just get out,"Damon ordered sourly.
Entering the room shortly afterward, Albert surveyed the aftermath of the occurance. Taking in the disarray, he issued a directive, "Send someone to clean this mess up,"
A few minutes later, a maid entered the room, her presence marked by cautious steps.
"Hello? Your highness?" she called, met with silence. The prince's absence led her to assume he might have ventured out. Though she had never encountered the prince, the haunting rumors surrounding him lingered in her mind. Her anonymity offered a degree of safety; after all, no one knew her face.
As she began to attend to her cleaning duties, an object discarded on the floor seized her attention. There, casually cast aside, lay the prince's black mask. A subtle gasp escaped her as she processed the implications of this unexpected encounter.
Just then, Damon entered the room, catching the maid off guard. Frozen in place, she found herself face to face with the enigmatic prince. The shocking realization paralyzed her, her eyes fixated on his unmasked face. Dark eyes bore into hers, rendering her speechless. Her gaping mouth betrayed her astonishment and trepidation.
"Your highness..." she stammered, her words faltering as she threw herself to the floor. "I didn't know you were here. I was sent to clean your room up," she cried out, her heart racing.
Damon stared down at the woman prostrated before him. "I'm sorry, your highness," she begged, her voice trembling with fear. But the response that echoed was not Damon's.
"Highness?" a chilling voice bellowed. "You mean Damon? He's unavailable right now," Kronos declared, a sinister tone underscoring his words. The maid dared to raise her head slightly, sensing a disconcerting shift. This was not the prince; something was undeniably wrong.
"Who...?" She made to ask.
"Please," she begged, her pleas escalating as Kronos moved closer, abruptly grabbing and yanking her off the floor. Panic seized her, and she yelled, "Please, no!"
As the tide of possession shifted back to Damon, a surge of anger and desperation surged through him. Kronos, in his unhinged state, had callously seized a woman, her face already contorted with the grip of impending suffocation. The room echoed with her desperate gasps, veins pulsating under Damon's grip, caught in the relentless struggle for control.
The internal battle reached a fever pitch as Damon grappled with Kronos, who tightened his grip on the woman's neck, her pleas becoming increasingly desperate. "Please," she squealed, her weak attempts to free herself evident in the feeble scratches at Damon's arms. "Stop it!" Damon roared, his voice echoing through the room. "We had a deal, remember?!" The struggle intensified until, finally, Damon's will prevailed, pushing Kronos aside and reclaiming control.
He released the woman, allowing her to drop gradually to the floor, gasping for breath as she struggled to recover. In a commanding tone, Damon uttered a single word, "Leave." She scrambled out, the door slamming shut behind her.
Kronos seethed with rage; Damon had prevented him from having fun. When Damon was younger, a pervasive belief had haunted him, that something was inherently wrong. He would find himself doing things without conscious realization. Growing up, whispers followed him, gossiping about peculiar occurrences surrounding him.
The battle for control with Kronos persisted, a daily struggle that left Damon emotionally drained, yielding to the demon within. "You're weak," Kronos taunted inwardly, exploiting Damon's vulnerabilities. "Didn't you relish the sensation? Her breath pulsating in your grip?" he jeered, probing Damon's inner turmoil.
While Damon had often allowed Kronos free rein during hunts or senseless killings, this time, he decisively tuned him out. The looming ball demanded his attention,Damon harbored a profound disdain for events of this nature.
The splendor of the palace only heightened his discomfort, emphasizing why his father had essentially banished him in his youth. A beast like him, he mused, was better off on the outskirts or amidst the chaos of battlefields than within the confines of the kingdom. The palpable feeling of being choked up and scrutinized by unseen eyes made the palace an unwelcome abode.
Barely twenty-four hours since their return, and Kronos had already unleashed a fit, endangering lives. Damon, aptly named Demon, had learned to bury his emotions and adopt the ferocious persona. Now, yearning for the night to conclude, he anticipated returning to the outskirts, away from the suffocating palace.
Contemplating the rumored bride chosen for him, Damon decided she would be a mere conquest. His intent was clear: by the end of their encounter, she would be fleeing to the hills, ensuring no wedding bells would toll for them.
The impending night hung heavy with anticipation for Damon. He yearned for its conclusion, eager to retreat to the outskirts where he felt more at home.
Studying his reflection, he reluctantly acknowledged the accuracy of his nickname, Demon. He even exuded the scent of death.
The King's directive to ditch the mask further accentuated the unsettling anticipation of the ball. Convinced that his bare face would send attendees fleeing for safety.
Rifling through the wardrobe, he discovered it bad been filled up with different styles of clothing's. For a room he barely lived in, it had everything, from regal clothing fitting for a prince to shields and shining armor.