Dragon Prince of Scars

Searing cuts of pain roar against my soft flesh, making my insides burn like the fire I exhale. Back bowing from the mattress, I can’t stop them as they streak across my torso and limbs, over and over and over. The pain only intensifies with each passing moment, but I can’t shy away from it, can’t escape it. It consumes me, threatens to drown life from me and extract every bit of fight I have left. It’s an endless torment, going on much longer than it should, until it’s not. Until I’m left swimming in a pool of my own blood. Sweat-soaked and panting, my body lurches from it’s prone position. Shaking fingers grip at the thick comforter tangled between my marred legs. Chest heaving, I fight for breath. To remember just where I am and that I am safe. Safe. Nothing more than a relative term when you’re the crowned prince to the King and Queen of Dragons. Those that vie for power, will reach for it how they can. That’s why I am the way I am. With clammy hands, I swipe the frigid sweat from my face. A worthless attempt, only smearing the moisture across my heated skin. It was only a nightmare. There’s nothing more than can do to hurt you. Swinging my legs over the edge of the bed, planting my fists against the firm mattress, I push to standing. In an instant, I know my once dominant leg is not ready to support me. It’s flesh covered in raised angry mauve and pink scars from the attack all those years ago, much like the rest of my body from my chest down. My face being the only part of me saved from the attack on that dreadful night of my childhood. The worst had been the hammer they took to my lower leg, shattering the bones and pulverizing the soft tissues that held it together. Healers can only do but so much to reverse the damage. I shouldn’t have lived at all, my young body not yet reinforced by the strength of my dragon living within. My elder brother, Dominic, was not so fortunate, earning himself a knife to the throat that left him departing the world of the living within minutes. For some reason, my attackers spared my face, missing everything vital, but ruining my future in the process. As the now crowned prince of dragons, I should be fawned over. I should be praised and worshiped and sought out by every maiden in every land, creature or human. I’m not. Instead, stones of horrid words and harsh laughter are what I receive. Those of the kingdom of Tibearon effectively shunning me into shame. The very same embarrassment that weighs down my shoulders, making my already bum leg near impossible to support me, or drag down these lonely halls. The friends I had, the followers and women (even at ten years old) all look away now. Only the glances out of the corner of their eyes give away that my pronounced limp is what they focus on most. Many of them think that’s all I’m left with from the attack on my brother and me nearly nineteen years ago. There’s no knowledge of the raised ridges, hidden beneath the fine clothing, covering me in imperfection. The best healers worked tirelessly, sealing my wounds with their magic and potions, welding my flesh back together after serrated knives tore it apart. Yet, their magic knows bounds and because I had yet to mature into my dragon, I did not have him to help me heal. No internal beast strengthening my insides and reinforcing its structures. Still, through the years, my parents have sought out new assistance in a effort to rid me of the characteristics that made me so undesirable that even my fated mate, a dragon royal from another kingdom, arranged to marry me from birth, rejected me at a glance. Not once did she look back or show pity. Only grave disgust at the imp I’ve become. Buckling the moment my hands leave the mattress, my leg burns with unprecedented pain. Despite being able to live normally and do most everyday things in my human form, if I push too hard, I pay for it. I had today, wandering far down the beach that lines the bottom of the cliff along the ocean. It’s the one place I can let my dragon loose, release the deadly fire that burns inside me and not burn everything to ash. My mother will be disappointed tomorrow, as I drag my bum leg behind me into the grand hall. Year after year they throw the same celebration for me. To remind the kingdom there is an eligible heir. To will the people into handing over their maidens to be wed to me, the future king of Tibaeron. Nine years of the same charade, flowing ballgowns and pressed suits, with sparkling decor to fill the space. Year after year, my mother, the queen, calls out to every eligible maiden in attendance, offering them to step forward and, if deemed worthy, receive the hand of the crowned prince for marriage. Not once has anyone stepped forward. I am the reject not even the desperate and poor will take. Shucking on a tunic and loose-fitting pants, so as not to further irritate my aching limb, I shuffle from my chambers. It’s the dead of night, the castle quiet as everyone slumbers. Only the drag of my bare feet, the grunt from my chest and the flickering of the flames are with me. The castle halls are a maze of portraits and stone floors, each highlighting the dragon bloodlines and our ancestors. As I round the last corner, before reaching the landing at the stairs, my hand pauses on the door knob of the final door. The metal is colder to the touch than normal, my body already heated from my dreams and dragon waiting to take to the skies. Still, I twist it and step inside, the furnishings and trinkets all where they last were when Dominic was last alive. I come here each night. Just straddling the doorway, staring at his oversize bed framed in gold, the covers now back in place after it was cleaned. There’s no sign that there was a struggle. No outward giveaway that this was the place my beloved brother took his last breath before his blood pooled on the stone floor. His gems and jewels and finery minted in gold and metals still litter every surface. As dragons we hoard riches, never for use but as treasuries of sorts, to do nothing more than look upon and rub our skin against. Pulling the door shut, my leg dragging behind, I make way for the open field at the back of the castle. In the dark of night, the green grass still sparkles with the dew and the flower gardens that line the majority of the castle grounds. The open field stretches further than most can see, driving to the edge of the cliff that overshadows the ocean below. It’s my favorite place to be at night, when my dreams haunt me and I miss Dominic. Most nights I sit and listen to the stillness of it all. Hope for the sounds of his broad set wings swooping in the distance as he nears our home. He’s the reason I prefer flying at night, when the light can’t guide me and only my instinct and wings can carry me. As a child my dragon wasn’t yet part of me, but he would take me out to this very spot, many nights, either allowing me to shimmy up the sharp cerulean scales of his back or making me watch as he would whip and whirl through the sky like an elegant dancer. A single warm tear breaks free, evaporating against the skin of my cheek as my insides warm. Before I could shift, I always wondered how it would feel, taking the body of man and allowing it to change into that of a scaled beast. The internal flames that rise are like nothing I could have ever imagined, my limbs seeming to stretch and expand, as my arms and legs extend, the angles my knees and elbows would normally bend at, locked in place. The vertebrae of my spine multiply, extending to produce my thick tail, armed with barbed spikes. From my lengthened jaw jut double rows of razor sharp teeth, barely hidden when my lips press shut. Just like the cerulean with flecks of gold, Dominic’s dragon donned, as do I. For dragons, our eyes are the key to the color of our scales, the likeness so exact, they nearly blend. It’s the only striking feature that remains. Though my face isn’t riddled with the same scars as my body, my handsome features, what anyone should want, it’s not enough to pull someone to my side. It doesn’t make them forget what I’ve become. With two solid beats of my massive wings, my dragon takes to the air, the chill of night whipping my foot-long whiskers back. Freedom of the skies steals my breath and settles my heart, chilling the heat beneath my scales. The skies and the seas are the only places I am free of ridicule, my strength alight for all to see. But when I return to land, that changes. I go back to being nothing more than a crowned Prince of Scars.