"Don't mess with me… don't you dare!"
He slammed his fists against the iron-bound door with a ferocity that made it rattle on its hinges. Each strike was harder than the last, fueled by a tempest of rage, defiance, and desperation. Dark red smeared across the wood, his blood mingling with the dirt on the floor, a silent testament to his determination.
"What makes you better than me? Just because we have different mothers? Is that it?" His voice cracked with fury and grief, echoing against the cold, damp walls. "Why am I treated like this? As if I'm a ghost they need to erase? What did I ever do to deserve this?"
He staggered back, panting, his chest heaving with the weight of his words. He knew the answer, even if he despised it. The truth was, he hadn't actually done anything—at least not yet.
But he'd dared to dream. He'd dared to make a plan, to claw out some power of his own, to stand among his brothers as an equal. Yet, before he could even take a single step, they uncovered his plot. He and his mother's entire family were seized, locked away like dangerous animals.
For six months, he'd languished in this underground cell, his world reduced to cold stone and silence. Day after day, he screamed his frustrations, beat his fists bloody against the walls, raged at the universe that seemed to take everything from him. But his cries faded into the endless darkness, heard by no one.
Until, just days ago, the door creaked open.
In that fleeting moment, hope flickered in his chest—a spark he hadn't dared to feel in months. But that spark died as quickly as it came. Standing in the doorway were his two brothers.
The eldest looked down at him with a gaze colder than ice. "You have two choices left," he'd said, his voice devoid of sympathy. "Swear absolute loyalty to the crown, or…"
The second brother, a silent shadow beside him, set a small vial on the floor. The dark liquid inside glistened ominously.
"Or drink this poison and end it here. Decide."
They left him with those words, no explanation, no shred of hope, only a mocking semblance of choice. And then, as quickly as they'd come, they turned and left, the door sealing shut behind them.
In that moment, he knew the truth more bitterly than ever: he would never escape this prison, never walk in the world above again. His brothers were praised in distant kingdoms as heroes, statesmen, warriors. But he would always be the shadow, the forgotten prince locked away, discarded.
And that knowledge burned inside him, twisting into a darkness he could no longer contain. His mother's whispers, her pleas to fight back, echoed in his mind. He'd clung to those words, hoping that by seizing control, he could finally prove his worth.
"Damn you… damn all of you!" he roared, his voice raw.
He sank to his knees, fingers trembling as he reached for the vial, his vision blurred by tears of fury.
"Heh… did you really think I'd just drink this and fade away? That I'd dance to your tune, die quietly, and vanish like I never existed?" His mouth twisted into a bitter smile. "You thought I'd meekly accept my fate, didn't you?"
With a final, defiant sneer, he yanked the cap from the vial and raised it to his lips.
"Fine. If I'm going down, then this kingdom will burn with me."
He tipped the vial back, swallowing the poison in one furious gulp. Instantly, a searing agony tore through him, setting his veins alight with a fire that blazed down his throat. Blood dripped from his lips as he collapsed, writhing, his final, broken words rasping into the darkness.
"Let this kingdom suffer… just like I have…"
And with that, his world faded to black.
---
"You fools!"
The King's voice reverberated through the grand hall, filling the vast space with a fury that left even the seasoned guards shrinking back. His face was drawn, eyes blazing with the anger of a father betrayed, a ruler wronged.
The eldest son sighed, stepping forward with a calm yet unyielding expression. "Father, this outcome was always in sight," he said evenly. "You hid him, kept him confined, and yet you left his spirit to fester."
The King's fists shook, veins standing out against his skin as he looked down at his youngest son's body, laid upon a stone slab in the center of the room. The poison had warped his features, leaving deep burns across his lips and throat—a grotesque reminder of a fate sealed by despair.
"He was supposed to live, to marry Lady Scarlett and redeem himself," the King said, his voice barely above a whisper. "But instead, he chose this. He chose death."
A heavy silence settled over the hall, the weight of unspoken accusations thick in the air. The eldest son inclined his head, a flicker of sadness passing across his face. "Father, we all understand your sorrow. But you must know… after all these years of resentment, could we really have expected him to submit to such a demand?"
The King's eyes narrowed, his rage barely contained. "And now, who will marry Lady Scarlett? We have an alliance to uphold, and I doubt she'll take kindly to a corpse at the altar."
The eldest son nodded grimly. "Father, sometimes even treachery can be forgiven, given the right reason. But when forced to choose between death and dishonor, he saw only ruin."
The King's fist clenched, his gaze hardening. "All of you assumed he'd never actually drink the poison," he spat, barely containing his contempt. "That carelessness, that arrogance, has brought us to this."
His son met his gaze, voice steady. "Cunning was always your strength, Father. But even you could not have swayed him."
The King stared down at his fallen son, his expression raw. "If he were still alive, there would be ways to control him… hypnosis, drugs…"
The eldest son's gaze softened slightly. "Yes, but under certain conditions, even a King's heart cannot be so easily steeled."
The King drew a shuddering breath, his anger mixing with sorrow. He closed his eyes, forcing himself to consider his next steps. "James."
A dark-robed figure, tall and stoic, stepped forward, bowing. "Yes, Your Majesty?"
"Summon the mages," the King commanded, his voice cold and steady.
James raised an eyebrow, his expression unreadable. "Sire, are you certain? What is it that you wish to accomplish?"
The King's gaze was ironclad, his resolve unshakable. "We'll use the revival spell."
The eldest son's eyes widened in shock. "Father! That spell is forbidden. If anyone were to find out—"
The King waved his concerns aside. "No kingdom has the strength to challenge us now. We have no other choice."
He reached out, pulling the cloth from his son's face. The sight was ghastly—his son's features marred beyond recognition, his mouth and throat charred and swollen. Yet, in the depths of the King's grief, he felt a fierce determination.
"I'll find a soul to inhabit this body," the King said, his voice firm. "Someone who can fulfill his role. Scarlett needs a prince, and I'll give her one."
The eldest son raised an eyebrow, his voice tinged with dark humor. "And where exactly do you plan to find someone desperate enough to marry Scarlett?"
The King sighed, his gaze steely. "If need be, I'll summon someone from another world."
His son stared, incredulous. "You're going to gamble our future on that?"
The King's gaze was unyielding. "If there's even a chance, we must take it."
Seeing the determination in his father's eyes, the eldest son nodded reluctantly. "Very well."
Turning to James, he gestured. "You heard him. Do what you must. Find someone who can assume this responsibility."
James nodded, his face resolute. "Understood, Your Majesty. Captain James of the Royal Guard… I will fulfill the King's command."
With a smirk, the eldest son added, "If we're setting conditions, make sure he's… open to the arrangement."
The King's stern gaze softened ever so slightly. "Even if he was flawed, he was still my son. We owe him this chance."
The eldest son nodded, resigned. "Then let fate answer our call."
....