Is It Really a Curse?
1000 Words
Her eyes darted wildly, searching for the King, but in that grand chamber, only the Queen remained. She wanted to scream, yet her voice broke in her throat, escaping only as a weak murmur. Each time she tried to ignore the pain and rest, it dragged her violently back into consciousness.
“ARGH!”
The cry tore from her lungs, echoing through the chamber. Several handmaidens rushed in, their faces pale as they found the Queen drenched in sweat, her silk nightgown clinging to her trembling body.
“Fetch the healer—now!”
The maids scattered in panic, each dashing toward help. The Queen’s agony deepened, the golden ceiling spinning in her blurred vision. One maid gently wiped her face, but the Queen gasped for air, mouth open, as if the night air were water in a burning hell.
Then a woman in black robes entered — old, calm, experienced. She examined the Queen’s body with trembling hands. Moments later, the King burst into the room, his gaze sharp as a blade fixed on the healer.
“My Lord,” the woman stammered, her voice barely a whisper. “Forgive me… I don’t yet know what—”
Thrust!
A blade pierced her chest before she could finish. Gasps filled the room. The King kicked her lifeless body aside without a word. No one dared move. The only sound left was the Queen’s low groan as the King gripped her cold hand.
“Stay with me, love,” he murmured. “You’ll be alright.”
By dawn, sunlight peeked shyly through the curtains, but the Queen’s moans hadn’t ceased. She had not slept. Her vision dimmed, but pain refused to let her drift away.
At midday, the Royal Physician arrived. The Queen’s feet were swollen, the sweet scent of roses replaced by the sourness of vomit. The physician checked her pulse; though his face was calm, cold sweat ran down his spine.
After a long silence, he faced the King gravely. “My Lord… the Queen may be under a curse—”
“Nonsense!” the King roared, drawing his sword halfway. “I will not hear such foolishness!”
The physician fell to his knees, trembling. “Forgive me! I swear, I’ll find a way to save her!”
“Then do it,” the King hissed, sheathing his blade.
The physician fled, leaving behind a chamber that looked like heaven but breathed like hell. The Queen vomited again, clutching her bruised stomach, her lips pale and cracked. Days passed. The suffering did not.
Her body was cold as stone, yet her eyes refused to close. Healers came and went, priests prayed, but nothing—no medicine, no miracle—could silence the torment.
The King, too, was breaking. He hid in his throne room, unable to bear the sound of her screams.
A maid approached him silently, trembling as she offered a tray with a cup of water.
“Damn it!”
CRACK!
The whip lashed across her back. She fell to her knees, gasping, but said nothing. Her body trembled with pain she dared not voice.
The King waved her away. Silence returned, heavy as a tomb. His mind was loud, echoing with grief.
“Who did this to you, my love?” he whispered to himself, staring blankly at the chandelier above. The crystal lights shimmered like stars, yet even their brilliance couldn’t pierce the fog of his despair.
An old minister stepped forward, stroking his gray beard. “My Lord, you must act quickly. Remember the Oath of Caedes — you cannot remarry, even if the Queen should pass. Without an heir, the throne—”
“Enough, old man!” the King thundered. “Do you think I’ve done nothing all week?”
The minister fell silent, holding his breath, knowing one more word could cost him his life. The King stormed back toward the royal chamber.
Inside, the Queen’s cries still tore through the air like the wail of a restless spirit. The great healer sat beside her, hollow-eyed. Bitter herbs, whispered prayers, nothing worked.
The King sat by her side, holding her trembling hand. Her eyes glistened with tears; her lips moved in a jumble of delirious words.
“I’ll save you, my love,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I swear I will.”
The healer rose shakily. “My Lord… perhaps it truly is the curse of the Black Kite.”
King Caedes clenched the bedsheets until his knuckles turned white. His eyes blazed with fury.
“Enough! I will hear no more of that name!” The King's eyes were red with suppressed anger. But deep within that anger, there is a sadness that cannot be expressed in words. For the King, the Queen is the world. The Queen keeps half of her soul.
“But, My Lord… what if the curse is meant for the heir—”
“STOP!” the King roared, the ground seeming to shake with his voice. Even the Queen flinched, silenced by his wrath.
He exhaled sharply, then turned his gaze on the healer. With a single motion of his eyes, he ordered him to follow. They left the chamber, the door closing behind them with a heavy thud.
In the grand hall, the King sat upon his throne, cold and unyielding. The healer knelt before him, trembling. The room was silent save for the faint clink of the chandelier.
“I don’t believe in curses,” the King said coldly.
The healer bowed lower. “And yet, My Lord… the Queen still suffers. Surely that must mean—”
“Even if fate itself curses me,” the King growled, “I’ll carve my own destiny!”
He rose, shouting toward the guards at the gate.
“Mobilize the army! Burn the sea! Banish the fog! I will carve it into stone that Caedes rules this world — and I will crush every myth of the Black Kite!”
- Writer
