Hell bound with you

Obsessions

The halls of Cromwell Castle echoed as King Magnus Cromwell paced before his council. His eyes were fixed on the map of the forest spread across an oak table. Around him, generals stood stiff, uneasy. The forest loomed as an expanse of mystery and death.

Magnus had spent years attempting to breach its secrets. He had heard whispers of the Blood Stone, an artifact said to grant any wish. For Magnus, it was a key to dominion—a curse capable of corrupting pure hearts. Every attempt had failed.

Whenever his men failed, Magnus turned to the oracle, Ingrid. The old woman had told him of the forest’s guardian—an angelic being who protected its secrets and had slain his soldiers. Magnus was determined to kill the guardian and claim the Blood Stone.

Queen Rosaline stood beside him, regal and composed, but her support was driven by vengeance. Magnus’s weakness was his son, Caspian. Reckless and arrogant, Caspian was everything Rosaline despised. Magnus had named him crown prince, rejecting her pleas for Aron.

She welcomed war, hoping the guardian would kill Caspian, leaving Magnus broken and clearing Aron’s path to the throne. Magnus summoned his legions, and Rosaline smiled. In war, masks fall—and hers was ready.

⸻

Far from the castle’s looming walls, in the heart of the forest, Ivar leaned against an ancient oak, his face a mask of torment.

Amelia was gone, her presence a memory that lingered like the faint fragrance of wildflowers. Ivar had watched her from the shadows for years, guarding her from harm, though she never knew it. He had seen her grow from a child with wide, wondering eyes to a young woman whose beauty was as captivating as her kindness.

And somewhere along the way, he had fallen for her.

Ivar closed his eyes, the memory of her smile piercing his heart. He had kept his distance, knowing that to reveal himself would be to invite ruin. His own existence was a testament to the dangers of love between an angelic being and a human. His mother’s tragic story haunted him—a tale of forbidden love that ended in suffering and loss.

But Amelia was different. She wasn’t just a fleeting fascination; she was the embodiment of everything good and pure. He had resisted the pull of his emotions for so long, but the moment he saw her on the grand ball day, radiant and unguarded, he could no longer stay hidden. He had stepped into her world, if only for a moment, and now he was paying the price.

The conflict in his heart was unbearable. Love for Amelia waged war with the knowledge of the consequences.

As the wind whispered through the trees, carrying with it the crisp, biting chill of approaching snow, Ivar’s wings unfurled. Their feathers, deep and dark as the midnight sky, absorbed the dim light, casting an imposing shadow against the glistening frost-covered ground. Tiny snowflakes began to fall, their delicate shapes melting as they touched the warm surface of his wings.

His love for Amelia was a forbidden path, but it was one he could not abandon. She was the one bright flame in his life, and he would protect her, even if the very heavens turned against him.

Even if it meant his own destruction.

⸻

Amelia’s thoughts churned restlessly as she made her way to her father’s shop, carrying the lunch her mother had prepared. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t shake the memory of Ivar. His piercing gaze and the aura of mystery surrounding him kept drawing her back, even when she had resolved to sever all ties. What was he hiding? she wondered, the question clawing at the edges of her resolve. Shaking her head, she forced the thought aside.

Her father’s shop was bustling with activity when she arrived. A handful of customers were engaged in animated discussions about market prices and the latest gossip. Amelia quietly placed the packed lunch on the wooden counter and called out, “Father, your lunch is here. I’m heading to get the groceries now.”

He glanced at her briefly while attending to a customer. “Thank you, Amelia. Be careful on your way,” he said distractedly.

Nodding, she stepped out into the chilled afternoon air. The market wasn’t far, but as she turned the corner, a commotion caught her attention. A line of soldiers, clad in gleaming armor, marched with precision toward the mountains looming in the distance. The rhythmic clinking of metal and the heavy thud of boots against the cobblestones echoed through the streets.

She paused, intrigued. A few townsfolk had gathered to watch, their whispers rippling through the air like an undercurrent.

She approached an older woman standing nearby, her eyes fixed on the procession. “What’s happening? Why are they heading to the mountains?“ she asked.

The woman shrugged, her face a mixture of curiosity and worry. “I don’t know, child. They’ve been gathering since morning. Only the gods know what for.”

Amelia watched the soldiers until they disappeared into the horizon, a sense of unease creeping over her.

⸻

Meanwhile, in the grandeur of the royal castle, tensions simmered. Prince Caspian stood rigid, his fists clenched as he confronted his father, King Magnus. The Queen sat gracefully beside the King, her expression unreadable, while ministers lined the chamber in silence. Among them stood Aron, watchful and tense.

“Father, this is madness,” Caspian said, his voice firm but edged with desperation. “There is no logic in sending the entire troop into that forest. Do you not remember the lives we’ve already lost? Our bravest men, gone! If we continue this folly, we’ll weaken our defenses. The kingdom cannot afford such a loss.”

The Queen objected, her voice laced with concern. “Prince Caspian, this is no way to speak to the King.”

But before she could say more, King Magnus raised a firm hand, silencing her with a simple gesture. His eyes remained fixed on his son.

The King, seated upon his ornate throne, regarded his son with a hardened gaze. His hands rested firmly on the armrests as he leaned forward. “You speak of logic, Caspian, but you lack vision. I am doing this for us—for you! If we succeed, we will wield a power beyond imagination, power that will secure our reign for generations.”

Caspian’s eyes burned with frustration. “At what cost? The forest holds nothing but death and despair. You’re gambling the safety of the kingdom on myths and whispers. If our enemies learn of our dwindling army, they’ll attack. Do you not see the danger in this? More people will die.”

Magnus’s voice grew cold, cutting through the air like a blade. “Enough! You will not question my decisions. I have made up my mind. You speak of danger, but the true danger lies in doing nothing. I will not squander this opportunity.”

“Opportunity?” Caspian snapped, stepping closer to his father. “This obsession will leave us vulnerable. You are risking everything—our people, our strength—for something that might not even exist!”

Magnus rose from his throne, towering over his son. “I do this because I must. Because I am king. And if you cannot support me, then stay out of my way.”

Caspian stared at his father, his chest heaving with restrained anger. For a moment, the room fell silent, the weight of their argument hanging heavily between them. Finally, he turned on his heel and strode toward the door, his voice low but resolute.

“You may be king, but your choices will destroy us. And when that time comes, I hope you are prepared to face the consequences.”

Queen Rosaline’s lips curved into a faint, satisfied smile as the King dismissed Caspian’s bold words with cold indifference. She turned toward the prince, her voice smooth yet laced with veiled reproach.

“You should stand by your father, Caspian,” she said, her tone calm but firm. “That is what is expected of a crown prince. Loyalty. Obedience. If you continue to behave in this reckless manner, you may force your father to reconsider his decisions—decisions that favor your future, dear son.”

Caspian’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of restrained defiance burning in his gaze. He took a slow breath before responding, his voice steady, edged with quiet sarcasm.

“My queen,” he began, “how deeply concerned you seem for my well-being. It’s touching, truly.”

He stepped forward, his eyes meeting hers. “But rest assured, I will do everything in my power to ensure the King does not change his mind. Not for your sake, nor out of fear—but because I believe in what is right. Even if I must walk that path alone.”

Queen Rosaline’s expression froze, her smile fading, yet she said nothing more, for Caspian’s resolve was no longer something she could casually dismiss.

As Caspian left the hall, the heavy doors closing behind him, King Magnus sat back down, his expression unreadable.

Felix, Caspian’s right-hand man, hurried after him as the heavy doors of the throne hall shut behind them with a resounding thud. The tension inside still clung to the air like smoke, but the prince walked briskly, his steps unwavering.

“My prince,” Felix called, quickening his pace to match Caspian’s long strides. “Where are you going?”

Caspian didn’t slow down. “To the Northern Mountains,” he said, his voice low and resolute.

Felix frowned. “But… we haven’t received orders to move, not yet. The King hasn’t given his word. We should wait, Caspian.”

At that, Caspian stopped by the stables. Without turning to face him, he placed a gloved hand on the saddle and spoke, his tone sharper now. “Then you can stay and wait, Felix.”

With practiced ease, he mounted his horse, his eyes fixed on the horizon beyond the castle walls. The wind caught the edge of his cloak as he gripped the reins and gave them a pull.

Felix stepped forward, his voice rising with urgency. “My prince—!”

But Caspian was already riding out.

For a moment, Felix stood frozen, torn between duty and friendship. Then, with a frustrated exhale, he muttered to himself, “You reckless fool…”

He mounted another horse in one swift motion and urged it forward, galloping after Caspian. The thunder of hooves echoed through the castle grounds as the two disappeared into the fading light, leaving behind the safety of stone walls and heading toward the unknown dangers of the North.