The Cursed: Threads of Destiny

Morgan - III

He spends his first afternoon in the palace alone, locked in his room. His master had said before leaving that he wouldn’t be alone for long, since there must be someone present to supply him with his sustenance. He agreed because the reason was valid. His inability to allow himself to consume blood almost makes him an invalid. Way before he thought of death, either his or his master’s, as the path that would lead to his freedom, he had argued with him; told him countless times that his impairment could affect his leadership in the future. But his master refused over and over again until he shut up about it.

His master reassured him that it would in no way put his competency or leadership at risk, that he would make sure of that. In his human life, he’d always selfishly desired someone who would make his life easy and be by his side, no matter the cost or what he does. He finally has someone he so desperately wanted in his life and he cannot look at him without feeling hatred. The bottle of wine he gifted his master with the poison he made added in it was evidence of his hatred. But he made the poison taste sweet and gifted it as wine because his master hated flying. They were perfectly convenient excuses, he tells himself.

He wonders whether the vampire, who will be sent to aid him, will be here for surveillance. His master cannot afford to lose him, and he trusts his competency more than he ever will, so only one thing remains. Bringing sustenance? What a convenient excuse. He sighs, holding his head in his hands before leaning back against the sofa from his place on the floor. He stares at the ceiling, imagining a different life for himself, and the afternoon falls from his hands like sand. He thinks of reading something on his holo-phone or drinking in between his thoughts but only moves when there is a knock on his door. He looks out the window at the night clouds and then at the mechanical watch on his wrist.

“Come in,” he says, standing up and straightening his clothes. His eyes widen in surprise, not expecting Zach to come through the door.

“Good evening,” he says, walking towards him with a plate in his hands, “I heard you missed dinner. So did I. Brought us something from the kitchen.”

He sets the plates on the table in front of the sofa and continues, “Oh! I forgot wine. No wonder my hands felt a little empty. Your Highness, do you happen to have any wine?”

Morgan looks between the plates of steak on the table and Zach’s wandering figure, searching for wine and glasses. His friend is such a foreign concept to him sometimes. He keeps himself in control when it comes to his duties, but the matters of his heart remain open for any to gaze at. He is easy-going with others and stubborn while proving his points. And somehow he knows when Morgan needs someone. It can be anyone, but it is always him that makes him want to live, even if it is just in the comfort of his room.

“Zach,” he says softly, calling him for his attention, as a small smile appears on his face, “Sit down. I’ll bring us some wine.”

Zach looks at him and nods, walking towards the sofa and sighing as he sits down. He looks at the cheap wine on the floor beside him and takes it away as with him, making his way to his closet.

“You already have one out?” Zach asks, raising his eyebrow in question as he reaches for the bottle. Morgan, seeing his hand come a mile away, moves the bottle out of his reach.

“Not this one. It’s not aged well.”

“Why were you drinking it then?”

“Habit,” he says, shrugging his shoulder and moving away, “I never drank wine that was aged well when I was a natural.”

Morgan walks into the closet and opens the suitcase carrying wine from Evka, his home. He lets his finger slide from one bottle to another before stopping on the bottom left bottle, which he grabs along with two glasses and retreats to the living room. He settles down beside his friend and opens the bottle of wine before pouring them some.

“Today, my friend, you will be introduced to Evka’s finest wine,” he says with a smirk, setting the glass in front of him, “I bet even the King hasn’t tasted it.”

“Is that right?” Zach says, twirling the liquid with minimal movement before inhaling the fragrance.

“Probably,” he says, mirroring his movement, “They are very particular about who gets to taste the wine and most of it is supplied within the territory itself. You will not find a household without wine there.”

Zach hums in delight, closing his eyes to concentrate on the taste and prolong the experience. Morgan’s face softens as he takes in his friend’s delight and feels a moment of pride at having provided that. He tried learning winery, encouraged by his master who was passionate about the subject, but to no end. He doesn't think about food all that much. It is to keep the body going. The occasional, particularly good-tasting food is always nice, but he doesn’t really care either way.

“You look better,” Zach says, cutting the piece of meat into edible sizes.

“I took a nap,” he says, “It was a good nap.”

“Well,” he says with a smile, “I’m glad you feel good now. How was your first day at the palace?”

“Good, I suppose,” he replies, leaning back in his chair, “I was just in my room.”

“I could’ve had someone show you around, if you asked,” Zach says with a frown, “It is a fairly new structure, you know. Only a couple of centuries old and very intricately designed.”

“If I was interested in architecture, I probably would’ve asked you, Zach,” he says, an amusing smile dancing on his lips.

Zach rolls his eyes in response before he says, “We need to find something for you to do while you’re here. Šero said that he would resolve the matter within three months, so I suspect you will be here for the duration.”

“Three months? Are you kidding me?”

“I did not know my company was so undesirable, but I’m afraid you are stuck with me, Your Highness,” he says, taking Morgan’s plate and replacing it with his own before he starts cutting the steak a second time.

“Oh, please, you know that’s not what I meant, you old fool.”

“I’m only 110!”

“You do nothing, but prove my point.”

Zach lets the matter go eventually, and their bickering is entertaining enough for Morgan to indulge a little longer than he normally would. After the argument ends, he talks more about his home, following Zach’s request. He describes the rainforest as best as he could and with newfound excitement. He talks less of the castle and more of the forest itself, since he spends most of his time outside. There is noise both inside and out, but there is peace in being surrounded by nature.

The trees are, as expected, very tall, and he spends most of his time on the high-test peak after finishing his work for the day. He watches the sun set and waits to see the sun rise on the days the sky allows the spectacle. Zach comments on it, saying that he’s found the reason for his tiredness. Morgan ignores it and continues. On the peak, as far as his eyes can see, there were nothing but beautiful green trees. They usually use transportation to get to the airport, which is almost 2 hours away, but there are rare instances when they run. When Zach asks why, he says that his master likes it and leaves it at that because he also doesn’t know why.

It is past midnight when Zach bids him goodnight and leaves to rest in his room. He wonders for a moment if he’d cut his work for the day short so that he could provide him company. But knowing his friend, the thought seems absurd and is thus discarded. He finds himself actually feeling better as he sits back down at the table, now empty. Thinking back on their conversation happily, he notices how Zach rarely talks about himself, which turns his mood gloomy and makes him feel guilty. He is not exactly the most giving person, but he should at least extend the luxury of having someone to listen to his friend, who does nothing but give. Maybe I’ll get him to talk next time, he thinks, playing with the ring his master gave him. He frowns as he remembers the shaking of his hands. Did he not sleep all day?

He sighs, leaning on the table and resting his head on his arm. He feels weary without having done anything. The ache in his chest returns. It was not unfamiliar, even before the vampirism. It was slow and short, as if delivering itself in bouts, just like it is now. It reminds him of every wrong thing he did, every misstep he tripped on, every word he said and every word he heard. He did not like it, knowing that he was now better than what he did in the past and hoping that his memories were erased. But he also knows he would not be better if things never happened. And he regrets. Coming back alive, becoming and leaving. He thinks of how he refused to drink the blood to transform and fought his master for the very first time—how his master always seems to be on the brink of apologizing every year on that day. It is suffocating; he wishes his master would just be done with it already and spare him the anticipation.

He dreams of raising his sister, walking her down the aisle and playing with his nephews and nieces.