Chapter 3
1643 Words
Kearan
I wished I was dead. Most days, the thought came to me the way a tired breath escapes the lungs. Death wasn't a fear anymore. It was a promise I kept waiting for, a shadow I had learned to walk beside. Some men longed for glory, others for love, but I... I longed for an end. A clean stop. A release from the weight that had been chained to me since birth.
It was strange, waking every morning in a palace carved of marble and gold, only to feel like a ghost wandering his own tomb. From the outside, I was Prince Kearan Vale son of Alpha Valerius, second-born prince of the Vale Kingdom, a man feared enough to be whispered about in corridors.
But beneath the title, I was the cursed son of a cursed line.
People called my father the Rogue King, but the real monster... was me. They just didn't know it.
Rhyland my older stepbrother by five years was the kingdom's pride. The first heir. The polished sword. The golden son. He had been ten and I had been five when our father fell gravely ill, his condition spreading fear through the palace and beyond.
And then came my own catastrophe. At first, no one understood what was wrong with me. A young prince should have been vibrant, healthy, already showing signs of strength. Instead, something inside me went silent snuffed out like a candle. And the older I grew, the more wrong everything felt.
The curse didn't reveal its full cruelty until I turned seventeen.
It began with pain. Then darkened veins spreading beneath my skin, twisting like inked vines. A sickness that tied itself to every full moon, trapping me between forms never fully human, never fully wolf. My body became a battlefield, my blood a prison. The transformations that should have been natural became torment instead.
Some nights I woke screaming. Some nights I couldn't wake at all.
The palace, of course, painted a prettier lie. They couldn't have a cursed prince, a weakened heir, a boy whose body shuddered at moonlight. So they spun stories. Whispered tales of my "temper," my "rebellious nature," my "dark potential." They hid my illness behind a curtain of fear and mystery.
And in doing so... they made me the kingdom's suspicion. While Rhyland became its shining hope.
People adored him. Respected him. Told their children stories of the future king who would bring prosperity. I didn't envy him. I didn't want the throne. I didn't want the crown. I barely wanted existence.
So I stayed out of his way. Out of everyone's way.
My world reduced itself to my room, my books, my restless, broken body. I didn't poke my nose into Rhyland's affairs, didn't join the councils, didn't attend feasts. The only place I felt even remotely steady was in the quiet isolation of my chambers.
And I trusted only one person. Nanny Rhosyn.
She had raised me after my mother died. I was told my mother passed away giving birth to me. To me, Rhosyn was simply the one person who cared without expectation. The only person who knew the truth of my sickness, who sat with me through the nights I couldn't breathe, who held my hand when the curse dragged me toward madness.
She was the closest thing I had to family. The rest of the kingdom? They just saw the cursed prince who rarely left his room.
I exhaled slowly, watching the horizon where sunlight touched everything except me. Below, preparations for the End-of-Year Celebration were underway grand decorations, banners, preparations for nobles and powerful men soon to fill the palace.
A knock echoed through my chambers. "Your Highness?" a timid voice called. The servant barely dared step inside, hands trembling as she held a folded bundle of clothing. "Your outfit... it's been prepared by Ma'am Rhosyn."
I didn't even glance at her. She knew better than to linger. Servants never dared to stay once they were sent to me. The bundle thudded softly to stool of my vanity, and she fled, the door clicking shut behind her.
Tradition. That's all this day was. The end-of-year celebration, was more like an honor of the late great King Valerius.
I picked up the clothing, and rolled the fabric over my hands. I didn't allow anyone to dress me. Never had, never would. The only person that have that access was Nanny Rhosyn.
The outfit was black. Black as the blood that ran dark beneath my skin when the curse stirred. The cape was long, heavy, perfect for covering my face if my veins decided to surface no one needed to see the rogue shadow in me.
I dressed methodically. The cape draped over my shoulders, the hood pulled forward, hiding most of my features. My gloved hands slid over the fabric, adjusting, tucking, ensuring no hint of the darkness would betray me.
Finally ready, I moved to the first door of my chambers. The door led into the main hallway beyond. The sound of music, the clinking of glasses, laughter spilling from the open space ahead.
Through the open doors, I could see Rhyland moving among the guests with his wife. She had been his for barely three months, and already, the smiles between them were rehearsed yet intimate, effortless in a way that reminded me of what I would never have. They laughed together, greeting nobles, bowing to high-ranking officials.
I adjusted my cape, letting the hood cover the edge of my face, hiding my expression. No one could know how much I despised it all, how much I despised the charade. I stepped forward, my boots silent against the floor, ready to move through this celebration like a shadow among light.
I sat at the edge of the celebration, half-shadowed by stone pillars watching the hall move without me. Music played too loud, too cheerful. Laughter rose and fell. Glasses clinked. Nobles gathered in clusters, trading alliances with smiles sharpened like blades.
They knew better than to come near me.
The cursed rogue king. The price of curiosity was fear, and fear kept them at a distance. Good. I preferred it that way.
My head began to throb. It started as a dull pressure behind my eyes, a familiar warning. The kind that came when I stayed too long among noise and people and heat. My fingers flexed beneath my gloves, veins itching, restless.
Enough.
Rhyland had this handled. He always did. This was his world his court, his crown in waiting. I rose quietly, already turning away from the hall. My chambers called. Darkness. Silence.
Relief. I moved along the side corridor, keeping to the edges, when someone collided with me.
Hard.
The impact struck my arm, jolting pain up my shoulder. I stopped instantly, my body reacting before my mind could catch up.
"Watch where you're going," A voice snapped.
Rude. Sharp. Feminine.
I turned. A guard stood before me slim build, slightly shorter than most, dressed in standard palace uniform. His cap sat low, shadowing his face, but not enough to hide the line of his jaw or the intensity in his eyes.
Something... shifted in my chest. Something unfamiliar.
He stiffened, clearly realizing he had bumped into someone important, but instead of bowing or stammering apologies, he hesitated then frowned, as if annoyed with himself more than me.
"I—" He stopped, then cleared his throat. "Sorry. I'm looking for the... ah—" He gestured vaguely. "The bathroom. Or whatever it's called here."
I stared at him. No fear. No recognition. He doesn't know who I was?
The headache pulsed again, but this time it felt distant, muted by the strange pull in my chest. I should have pointed down the hall or dismissed him with a word. Should have continued on my way.
Instead, I heard myself say, "Follow me."
The words surprised me. His brows lifted slightly, but he nodded without question, falling into step beside me. He walked easily, confidently.
We moved through a quieter passage, away from the music, the noise fading with every step. I stopped before a discreet door carved into the stone wall.
"Here," I said.
He glanced at it, then back at me. "Oh. Right. Thank you."
"Are you... new here?" I asked.
The question slipped out before I could stop it.
He looked back at me fully then, eyes assessing, like he was measuring whether the truth was worth giving.
"Something like that," he said.
He stepped past me, then paused and glanced back. "You okay standing there like that, or are you waiting for me?"
He laughed softly and nudged my shoulder like we were equals. "Relax. I won't disappear."
I froze. I had no words.
His eyes flicked over my black robes, the cape hiding most of me. "All black, huh? Bold choice. Everyone else is drowning in color."
He stuck out his hand. "Name's Aler."
I looked at his hand. No one had ever offered me one before.
He chuckled. "Right. Not a handshake person."
He leaned back against the wall, completely at ease. "So, do you always come to these things? Or is this a special occasion for you too? Word is the prince doesn't show his face much."
Before I could answer, footsteps echoed behind us.
A servant rushed forward and bowed low. "Prince Kearan. Your bed has been prepared."
The guard stiffened. Slowly, he turned to look at me. His eyes widened.
"Oh—" He stepped back at once. "I—I'm sorry. I didn't know. I didn't mean to—"
I said nothing. He bowed quickly this time, awkward and rushed. "Forgive me, Your Highness."
He disappeared through the door without another word.
I remained where I was long after he left. Who exactly is this young boy?
- Writer
