The Death of a Prince

Chapter I: The Prince

Sinking to his knees, he looked up at the sky; everything was blue, not a cloud could be seen, and the sun shone brightly down, its rays bouncing off the pools of blood around him and rising back up to heaven along with the recently released souls. As his vision darkened, he felt the electricity flow through his body once again, his rage causing it to surge forth once more before he fell...

* * * * *

The rain and wind slammed against the window of Kazmir's room, preventing him from sleeping at all that night. Instead of trying to fight it, he decided instead to make good use of this time. Closing his eyes for a brief second, he conjured up a bit of fire to light a candle and immediately got to work. Sitting down on the floor, Kazmir proceeded to lay out the papers and envelopes he had hidden under his mattress. First, he found the letter that he had received from Duke Erwin's son George a few months ago. After studying it intently for some time, he began writing out a new letter in almost exactly the same handwriting - he had been practicing copying others' writing styles for as long as he could write, and the opportunities for mischief that skill had created were endless. Now, even at his prime age for marriage, 19 years old, Kazmir could not resist the childlike urge to embarrass and tease others. This habit, of course, did not help him make too many friends, and on more than one occasion, a haughty nobleman would take extreme offense at Kazmir's jokes and make his life hell for as long as possible. This brought Kazmir to the conclusion that the life of a Prince can be hard at times, and that he must simply persevere in the face of defeat. Thus, Kazmir had decided to get back at one specific duke, Duke Erwin, by writing a love letter from his son to the daughter of a rival duke. As he began to write, the words began to flow, the sentences almost finishing themselves as he got into the rhythm.

Dear Ophelia,

My heart is wrought with passion for your luscious figure - I can hardly contain my love for your being. Your hair falls on your shoulders like a deer being washed down a waterfall and plummeting to its grim fate on the unforgiving rocks below. Your sweet face is the rising sun in the morning, when the rooster crows endlessly. And, since we are on the subject of flightless birds, your eyes shine brighter than that of a hen in heat, and your neck is like an ostrich, stretching out majestically to the heavens. Your laugh is as the gorilla in autumn, and your smile like the stars reflected off the water and shone back into a mirror and then reflected into yet another mirror. Also, I wrote you a poem.

I die forever and ever
Because you are not in my arms
My limbs you sever
Because you don't give me your charms
My organs you devour
Since you never to me enchant
And you tend not to take a shower
And you refuse to give your love - supplant

With all my love,
George

With a smile and a flourish, Kazmir finished up the letter and placed it into an envelope and then hid it once again under his bed. Walking over to the window, he ran a hand through his dark, thick hair and stared out through the window, watching the drops of rain slam into it over and over again. Although most tend to enjoy warm, sunny days, Kazmir felt most at home in this sort of weather - it tended to draw out his power more easily than other days. Even as he watched the flashes of lightning off in the distance, he could feel that same energy reverberate beneath his skin.

Suddenly, as the thunder grew increasingly louder and louder, the window shattered with a resounding crash and a deluge of rain began flooding into Kazmir's room.

"Damnation! I told them these windows were-"

Before Kazmir could finish his sentence, a dark figure swept into the room and struck Kazmir across the jaw, sending him reeling to the floor. Walking slowly toward him as he lay soaking on the cold floor, the figure drew a long, thin blade from his cloak and held it up to Kazmir's neck. The young prince gulped, his eyes darting back and forth, hoping to find something that might help him out. Before he could attempt to amend his situation, Kazmir felt the cold steel pierce the skin of his neck and his assailant began to drive it all the way through to the other side. Just before the dark figure could finish the job, however,  the floor, which already had started to crackle with energy, exploded in a grand flash of blue light.

* * * * *

When Kazmir awoke, he tried to sit up, but his body prevented him. Every part of him was in pain. Looking around, he realized that he had been placed in a strange room - it certainly did not seem like the castle. His surroundings resembled more of a hut, or a cabin. As he wondered what had happened, a door to his right opened up and an old woman bustled in, holding a tray of soup and a glass of orange juice. Addressing the woman, Kazmir tried to figure out where he was.

"Hey, where the hell am I? What happened? Who are you? Am I dead? They didn't look under the mattress, did they? Are you my long-lost grandmother? Who attacked me? What kind of soup is that?"

Before answering, the woman insisted on forcing the prince to drink something. Once he had finished, she gave her response.

"Unfortunately, I have some bad news. Although pretty much everything else in your room was destroyed, scorched beyond recognition, the letters under your mattress managed to survive."

Kazmir's expression immediately turned to one of complete horror.

"That means... They know. Everyone knows."

"Everyone knows."

"That was going to be one of my best..."

"Oh, well, it still managed to cause quite a stir. What caused more of a stir, however, was your sudden disappearance."

"My... What?"

"As soon as I saw the blast, I knew it was time. You need training - they almost killed you last night, and I never would have forgiven myself if I hadn't saved you."

"You saved me?"

"Well, yes, of course, you idiot. How else do you think you survived? Even if your doctors had gotten to you in time, they would have done something barbaric to you like using a leech to suck out your poisoned blood."

"I was poisoned!?"

"Very much so. You still are, in fact."

"Oh dear god... That's why I can't move?"

"Precisely."

"I thought that was from the blast."

"Oh no, no! Not at all. That was you! Your magic! You can't injure yourself with your own magic. Well, that's false. Most of the time, you can't injure yourself with your own magic."

"So... This isn't permanent, is it?"

"No, no! Far from it! It will only last a few months, at most."

"MONTHS!? But... I..."

"It's quite alright, I'll inform your father of where you are. For now, sleep. I'll explain the rest sometime later..."