“Flagitious. Such an odd descriptor.”
Rising from his chair, he neared the beaten man. Flesh torn to ribbons. Blood dripping into the seams of the floor. Hung from rusted chains by his ankles. Naked, cold. Mortified.
The old man’s expression held little humanity, defining features bruised and broken. “Yet it is so.”
He walked around the shivering form with a wide berth. Cleaning blood from leather boots was much too tedious. The stone dungeon had a single torch, flamelight catching the intricacies of the wounds. The prisoner struggled to breathe, ribs caving in.
What did such pain feel like?
Straightening his blue jacket, he waited. No questions, no demands. Simply waited for the last breath. He’d expected more from a wizard. Perhaps a spell or two. Maybe a curse.
The frail man sputtered blood, his long beard forever stained. “What did I do to deserve this, my prince?”
Pleading. Quite pathetic. “If you don’t know, then I’m doing the world a favor.”
More words spewed through the old man’s bloody teeth. Killer, sadistic, unstable. Heartless.
A pinging tapped the nape of his neck. Nothing physical, simply a thought. One that didn’t understand itself. So it didn’t matter.
“One day, you’ll pay for your crimes,” the husk groaned. “You can’t prevent the coming. You won’t know the face of your executioner, yet you’ll have known them for a lifetime. Your reign will end in blood and fire, your flagitious nature revealed to the people. Your future is death.” Venom slipped through his final words, a hacking cough ripping the last of his organs. His body stilled.
The prince walked away, letting the body dangle with the other skeletons. The heavy door shut with a whoosh, the air suddenly clearer. No must, no decay. A little further, he climbed the spiral staircase to the ground level. Afternoon sunshine blinded him. As did the white-washed walls. Large paned windows, crimson carpet. Gold fixtures and detailed portraiture. Opulence incarnate.
“Is it done?”
The princess advanced with a stiff posture. Her frilled skirt nearly filled the hall, dark curls teased and tied with golden ribbon. Her pampered nose hid many secrets, namely the bloodlust in her eye.
“He shan’t defy you anymore.”
A coy smile graced her cherry red lips. “Well done, brother. I told you it was your gift.”
That pinging again. Something seemed wrong. Yet he didn’t know what. He pulled the thread a little, hoping the answer would near his conscious mind. Gift. Murder. Heartless.
His sister’s pleasure faded. Removing her fan, she swatted the air in front of her nose. “Something troubling?”
“No.”
“Are you certain?”
Before he could respond, a burst of pink flitted into his face. His eyes stung, nostrils tingling. He sneezed, water pricking his eyes.
Then, nothing. The tears vanished, the pain faded. The thoughts silenced, the thread loosed from his grasp. He straightened, feeling normal again. “Nothing troubles me.”
Her fan snapped shut, smile returned. “Good. As for the wrinkled hermit’s last words?”
“Your future is death.”
With a squinted gaze, she motioned to walk down the hall. “I would’ve expected him to beg for his life. Maybe craft the potion I’d requested out of terror.”
“Your reign will end in blood and fire.”
A tinkling laugh left her lips. “I’ve barely begun, my dear brother. With father gone, God rest his soul, I shall make the kingdom prosper. All I need do is convince the King of Welshire to take my hand in marriage.”
“Isn’t he married already?”
She stopped, cold eyes matched with a curt snarl. “Hence why I needed the crotchety welp.” A thoughtful look crossed her visage. “But there are other ways. Accidents do happen, little brother. Especially when I require them.” A precious smile lighted her lips. “Do you understand?”
Something quiet nagged at his mind, but it didn’t matter.
His sister required his gift.