Three

The dank hallway led to a set of spiraling stairs.

            Curse the gods, she should have asked where the Guest Wing was. Nay, she figured she could find them on her own. On the way to the staircase, she passed by several empty rooms of storage and work stations where the king kept his healers, seamstresses, and the like. The castle was heavy with traffic and noise for the upcoming royal wedding of his first daughter. His highness was a Broslan after all, known for their lavish soirees and feasts that always outdid the last one.

            Grasping her skirts in one hand, she ascended the stone steps, gripping the wall for support. Granted, she didn’t know exactly where she was going but, Devyn Morenheure was an adventurous maiden after all. She was always getting lost in the forests behind their keep often finding herself daydreaming by a steady stream of clear water overlooking a cliff that opened up to the hidden secrets of Asna. Occasionally she’d spot an elfin warrior riding a majestic beast on the borderlands of Edrein and Drovalor, scouting for any signs of intruders or burglars along the main roads.

            Once at the top of the stairs, Dev faced an extravagant lobby with several large wooden doors lining on both sides with ample space in between each. These must be the royal chambers, she thought and made to back down the stairs. With King Davorin’s temper and demeanor, being caught here could mean death. He was a private Broslan, wanting to protect the prince at all costs. But what kind of life could that be?

            Or this could be the Guest Wing for all she knew. Shrugging and knowing she really had nothing to lose other than never seeing Elissa again, Devyn marched onward, turning left at a corner. A hanging balcony stood in front of her, creating a view of the Tides of Demise Sea. Burrowing her brows over her eyes, Devyn often wondered why that was the name of the sea; it wasn’t dark in color, in fact, it was quite beautiful, a blue so bright it almost hurt her eyes to look at.

            Moaning and gasping occurred to her right. Thinking somebody must have been in trouble, she rushed to the end of the open lobby, passing by numerous arches that led to the balcony. On sunny days like today, the arches were left open but on stormy days, she’d heard, there would be glass pulled down to shield the interior from the rain damage. Pressing her ear against the tall double-wide door, she listened for any more signs of torment and pain. A groan that resembled a slave being whipped was muffled due to the thick wood. She fingered the handle before pulling it up and pushing her body against the door, Devyn stumbled into a large chamber room fit for a king.

            Matter of fact, she thinks this could have been His Highness’s royal chambers to begin with. An expansive bed, most likely filled with down of Ieslal’s own rasraffe chicks, completely covered in several shades of the finest threads of softcloths and leathers ranging in color matching that of the throne room. It was really unique and excessive but she secretly yearned for the same possessions as the royals so often had. Sitting chairs lined a stone fireplace with scandalous paintings of Broslanian females in scant clothing. With her cheeks heated, Dev crossed to the bed where a thrashing form writhed in agony.

            A pale figure with a lean body and scars going across his back, turned over, revealing his front to him. More mutilations lined the front of his body, dipping into the muscles of his stomach and chest, diving well below his leather breeches that hung low on his hips. As he fisted the woven thread sheets, Devyn wondered what could be wrong with him. She glanced up at his face, noticing his closed eyes that were pressed so hard together, she wondered if they would ever open again. He was dreaming, horribly, and was in deep agony as his mind created false images of whatever that had him groaning. His mouth was open, revealing the sharp teeth in the back that his kind so often had. Strange lines were drawn over his eyes, resulting in a straight formation that started above his angled brows and ended well below his cheeks. His black hair matted to his forehead from sweat. It brushed against his shoulders in a thick mop but she noted his ears. Slightly different from most Broslan’s, they were a little sharper but not unusual. He also had dark gray cuffs taking up most of the rounded edge of the ear.

            She tilted her head. Something about his scars and those ears… she gasped upon her realization. This was the Scarred Prince! The king’s one and only heir to the throne! A hand flew to her mouth and she felt the floor crack her knees as she fell to kneel before him, forgetting he was sleeping. Then, the overwhelming urge came to her to trace the thin scars that marred his handsome face. Those were not drawings but disfigurements caused by something. She could not remember the rumors about his blemishes but knew he was known as the Scarred Prince amongst the three kingdoms.

            Her delicate fingers first lingered over the marks on his chest, following the long incisions down past his ribs. About six in all covered his front but she knew more lined his back. Her next choice was down his arms, the marred flesh of tight muscle stretched and strained under her touch. He shuddered under. Her final tracing was on his face; the scars over his eyes. Jagged and rough, the flesh was raised due to something sharp scraping across his face. They were done in perfect precision, not all over the place, but in straight lines.

            As she was on the furthest scar from her, his right eye, something caught her moving wrist. She yelped as his hand wrapped her thin bones. She must admit, she did like the way his skin felt against hers: warm and smooth and something comfortable. She watched in wonder as he slowly blinked his eyes open, his pupils dilating, focusing on her. Silver eyes peeked at her framed by thick, dark lashes. The scars had travelled down his mobile lids but she could no longer see them until he blinked. Broslans were known for having beautiful eyes like gray, blue, or green whereas Elves typically had just golden or green and humans were stuck with brown and blue. But she had never seen silver eyes before and she felt herself growing lost in those shimmering depths.

            Thinking back to that memory, Devyn was thankful that the slave girl had broken the vase when she did because she felt herself leaning in to his touch. She rubbed at her wrist where he held her, relishing in the feeling of him. And then there was that shock! Her body still pulsated from the intensity of how he felt. She thought of his voice too, with that distinct Broslan accent of rolling r’s and accentuated vowels. It was deep and rich like the summer pies they often shared after a great feast.

            Then, Devyn wringed her hands together, twisting her fingers until they nearly bled, sliding the ring she always wore up and down her third finger. She was in the sitting chair of the guest room that neighbored the Tworidge’s room. Gods she was nervous. Her future was uncertain. She had invaded the prince’s privacy, a law nearly punishable by death because of his highness. Had the king’s personal advisor not walked in on them, she would probably be safe, with little to no chance of being discovered. Alas, she was nothing, no royal or noble, she did not deserve to stumble into the prince’s chamber room. And, when Lady Thora and Lord Steffanos threw the door open with slaughter in their eyes, she knew all was lost.

            “What have you done?” Lady Tworidge hissed.

            All Devyn could do was bite her lip.