Cursed Royal Blood

Prologue

Of all the unimaginable destinations Cedric has been exposed to over the course of his twenty-one years, this has to be the worst possible in the judgment of any person with even a mundane common sense. Despite the inevitability of his visit to the castle of Varendel, he cannot formulate a single justification for his presence in the lands of the wizards, much less being the prince of Asnya.

The carriage pulls up in front of the great gates of the gloomy castle and Cedric soon sets his feet on the ground, held by a golden knobbed staff and covered by a dark cloak that hides his face from anyone who might recognize him. A butler greets him with a cordial bow, before guiding him inside the massive mold-covered walls.

The sun sets on the horizon, behind the hills surrounding Varendel. Had he left at dusk, perhaps he would not have generated such unease about his ailing mother, alluding Cedric's absence to his supposed fixation on alcohol and the sprawling fields of Asnya's palace.

To his chagrin, the news had arrived rather late. The man he had hired months earlier to conduct the arduous investigation had shown up at Asnya's palace with news that, while hopeful, had terrible timing. Cedric was forced to leave the Black Hills in haste and without enough notice to deliver a viable excuse to his mother.

He supposes, as they pass through a large hall crowded with stone carvings, that he can chalk up his haste to a sober urgency. A meeting with someone on the Council, a last minute business trip that didn't materialize, or an outburst of youthful, rash behavior.

He smiles graciously at the last idea, but is quick to dismiss it. He doesn't need another endless series of nagging from his mother about his responsibilities and his position. He has avoided having it since the first and last time he received it, five years ago, after the unfortunate incident.

The one that by a twisted butterfly effect has led him here.

The butler stops in front of a tall door which he opens to allow Cedric to enter. The room on the other side is expansive and velvet sofas are arranged around a mahogany table. Cedric walks towards the slender figure stretched out on one of the couches, listening to the sound of the door closing behind him.

An expression of disinterest fills Beel's olive countenance as he greets him. Cedric pulls back the hood of his coat, exposing behind the black locks of his hair the weary face of a long journey. The wizard's catlike eyes widen in surprise as he watches him.

"It was true then," he says with malicious satisfaction. "I would not have believed it had I not seen it with my own eyes."

He studies him silently and shifts his position on the divan to look at him more closely.

"How amusing... Who would think the prince of Asnya would wander into Varendel territory?".

"Enough" Cedric snaps, out of patience. He sits down in the velvet chair at the other end of the table and focuses his gaze on Beel's. "I have been informed that you know of the witch's whereabouts."

Beel's amused smile does not leave his lips. "The witch, yes. I'm afraid that since the use of dark magic has been banned, it has been rather easy to detect such unusual behavior."

"Afraid?"

"A little black magic never hurt anyone, young prince."

The butler enters the room to interrupt the words on Cedric's tongue. 'It has' he wants to refute. However, as he is also aware that it is a dangerous confession, he understands that the words of a banished sorcerer do not carry enough weight for a scion of the royal family to start a pointless argument.

A cup of wine is poured in front of him.

"Please," Beel invites him. Cedric takes a sip, out of pure politeness.

"Well?"

Beel sighs, abandoning his wine glass on the table again. He seems to regret being forced to get straight to the point, instead of having enough time to play with him. "Yes, young prince. On the edge of Lasten."

Cedric freezes. "Lasten?"

"It's not really surprising that a witch practicing illegal magic would move to avoid trouble. She'd be burned, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Asnya's customs go back centuries," he mutters, his head elsewhere, far from Varendel and the Black Hills. Lasten, enemy land, on the border where the war rages, which Cedric should be facing were it not for his recent injury.

If indeed the witch was in Lasten then....

"I see," is all he says, rising from the chair with the support of his staff in his left hand. Beel looks at him curiously. "You will be compensated for your valuable information."

"You're leaving?" he asks puzzled, but doesn't receive an answer, at least not a verbal one. Cedric leaves the room in ten long strides and vanishes on the other side of the door.

Beel just smiles, drinking the last of his wine, as Cedric's shoes echo through the long corridors of Varendel, as he heads for the exit to return to his palace.