Chapter 26 Jealous prince
“You are asking for the impossible, Lucian. Valerio has been marked to rule the Ravencroft kingdom,” King Bathory managed to say.
“Oh, and what about the son of the one you truly… loved?” Lucian’s voice dropped, an ounce of resentment following suit.
The air was thick with despair and anger.
Nothing could recompense for the lost years that King Bathory had lost. The king was left on the cliff, forced to pick a favorite, but his resolve stood. Valerio was the one he had chosen—the realm had chosen.
Astaroth sighed heavily, rubbing his aged eyes and softly sniffing the air, which smelled of burned candles and wood, with hints of jasmine and dust lingering in every cranny, giving it the very feeling the king loved for the sake of Lorena, his one true love.
“Father,” Valerio called out calmly, like a still river. The prince, on the other hand, debated a series of thoughts in his mind, but ultimately he understood Lucian’s pain, which had begun to lose its gauge after years.
“Do not beat yourself up. I will take good care of my half-brother—”
“Like I plead for your sympathy…” Lucian groaned angrily.
Valerio lifted a brow, staring at Lucian halfway. “I will not offer sympathy to you because I have none to give either. If I were in your… position, I would slit throats and burn the heavens, but… I am ready to have you join the court except for one thing…” Valerio paused, a streak of finality in his tone; cold and direct.
“I will not share the throne with you!”
Valerio finalized, and there was total silence.
Lucian, after a few seconds, scoffed bitterly and knowingly as he turned on his heel to leave.
“Lucian, where are you going? Your father needs you,” Astaroth cried out in concern.
“To find solace,” Lucian said and headed away without looking back.
The three men remained calm and unhinged. They loved and respected Lucian for taking care of the king when he needed it most. Although the chaos was impossible to calm without a compromise.
Valerio moved closer to his father, his footsteps carrying no weight except the swooshing breeze that followed his cloak.
“That was blunt,” Astaroth finally spoke.
“I cannot bring myself to lie,” said Valerio.
By now, he was seated beside the king, who was still and barely moving.
“Father,” Valerio called out gently, the compassion in his eyes the only thing he'd ever shown. Or maybe, to Evyths as well. “I hate the situation. If you let me, I could have traveled to the north or east to find a cure. At this point, my knowledge bleeds out and it is cut short—I cannot help you…” the prince’s voice dropped, his golden eyes shifting slowly as the king cleared his throat weakly, gathering his strength.
“I know, D’Arcy. What is the point of living? I have tasted it all. It no longer soothes me…” the king’s voice was calm and weary. It was clear that his time was drawing near with each passing second. A time that Valerio dreaded so much.
“Let us try one more time. I promise, this would work—”
“D’Arcy!” The king softly interrupted, the urgency and worry in Valerio’s tone. “That is not why I have called you. My moment has come, but you must not witness my demise. Take all that belongs to you, including the hound. Leave and return to the palace. It needs you more than it has ever…” The king instructed.
“I will not leave you here again—”
“That is an order, son. Leave the manor and return to the duties you pledged to Ravencroft.” The king weakly ordered. “If you still consider me your father and king, you will obey my last command,” he added as Valerio pulled away instantly from his father.
His face expressionless. His lips sealed. His eyes filled with anger and vulnerability.
He was powerful and very intellectual, but none of it made sense anymore.
He had seen death lurking beside his father’s bed, weakening him at the knees.
“This… cannot be the end, my king!” Valerio said as he rose and bowed before leaving the frosty room that now looked like an actual vampire’s morgue.
His words left dread and stark bitterness behind.
…
On the other hand, when Evyths saw that Lucian had hastily left their gathering, she hid instead.
A dozen thoughts roamed her mind, especially since she had yet to see Valerio step out as well.
When she heard a loud thud from outside, she didn't think she needed to hide or run. Evyths rushed out of the manor to trace the unending thud.
By the time she got outside, she caught a glimpse of Lucian, striking a large old tree with an ancient axe she could barely lift if she tried.
Just like the airy night that birthed comfort and complete serenity, hisses of crickets coiled in every corner, but Lucian deftly flung his axe, slicing the oak tree with vigor.
“Is he insane, cutting down a tree?” she asked herself.
Her eyes caught the traces of his muscled upper body, glistening in a way that conveyed anger and, at the same time, relief.
The more he struck that tree, the more his veins stretched, and he groaned with frustration.
“Oh no, I think something terrible has happened in there. Why would a vampire strike a tree anyway when he could just uproot it if he had wanted?” she asked herself, and by the time she attempted to turn away, Lucian stopped striking the tree.
She turned back in his direction. He panted silently, his chest moving in rhythm.
She swallowed hard when he caught her staring, though he had known she had been staring for some time now.
“I- I’m sorry, sir, I did not mean… to stare or step out! I heard… noises, and I... I rushed to take a look. That is all…” she explained, even though he had not asked for any.
“It is not in my nature to let dogs roam my manor and you reek of one,” he blurted out without a hint of emotion in his tone.
Mean and deadly.
Evyths caught her breath, though she had expected him to say harsh words to her. She swallowed hard again, her lips pursed in silence.
Her sharp tongue had been cut off by the terror the vampire exuded.
“Return to your master, or I will have to strike you too, like I did the tree,” he said.
A warning that came with a threat.
Without a word, Evyths turned to leave with full vigor, regret settling on her face.
But then her face bumped into the Prince’s sturdy chest, which smelled of dust and sandalwood.
She swallowed hard for the umpteenth time, her heart racing like a deer chased by a wolf. Her palms were sweaty, a cold sweat breaking across her fragile face.
She had no idea the Prince had been behind her all this while.
When her eyes forced themselves to meet his gaze—a gaze that struck her nerves twice before he could utter a word.
A frown crossed his face. He had seen her staring at how intently she stared at his half-brother, unmoved. Somewhat invested.
“Get your things. We leave tonight!”
He angrily commanded, without a hint of emotion in his features.
It was evident that the Prince was furious, and nothing could tame him, not even his favorite hound.