George POV
This can't be real... it just can't....
"Drista...?" His voice broke, mouth agape in astonishment.
She rolled her eyes. "So I was right. That was you up there."
George threaded his hands through his wet hair. He tugged the strands, wishing he could squeeze logical thoughts from his brain. "You're supposed to be dead!"
Drista, the sole female heir of Kinoko's dragon royalty, and the wild younger sister of his ex. Dream never spoke of his sister, the girl having died of sickness when she was ten years old. The grief had hit the dirty blond hard, and young George remembers numerous nights attempting to calm his heartbroken sobs.
The whole Kingdom grieved, George's family heavily assisting in Drista's burial in an attempt to help the family. Standing outside the grave of someone so young had felt wrong, and he didn't blame Dream's parents for never trying at another child. Later, their mother passed from poor health suspected to be caused by grief.
"Obviously not." Drista stared at him as though he'd the intelligence of a fly. "Do I look dead to you?"
George studied her condition, unable to laugh at the bloodstained clothing and purple bruising. Her body seemed to be made entirely of scars, cuts, and bruises. Heat rose in his throat, and he swallowed his anger. "What happened to you?"
"What do you think happened?"
"Drista." George took a deep breath. "Please, whatever happened, I'm sorry. I really don't know."
She blinked at him from beautiful emerald lined with shadows. Her stubbornness and sharp tongue reminded him painfully of her brother, he doubted Dream knew his sister was alive.
"Well... obviously I didn't die." Drista sighed, and the energy seeped out her battered body. "The whole 'sickness' thing was actually deliberate poisoning. It didn't kill me, but it allowed my death to be faked."
He pictured her bright smile, the gaps between her fangs and her unkempt braids. Her pout when Dream told her she couldn't come to sword practice, and how she'd get in trouble following him anyways. The thought of someone targeting such an aspiring and spirited girl made him sick.
"Who would poison you? We all loved you." George searched her eyes, silently begging her not to say it.
To her credit, Drista's face softened with sympathy. "Who else? Where do you think I am, George?"
His name.
She used his name, not 'your highness' or 'prince George'. After all this time, she still called him by his name, and the familiarity hurt all the worse.
"What would anyone gain from hurting you?" George argued. He gestured to her chains, unable to look too closely at her wounds.
"Research." Drista tried to shrug, but winced in agony as her restraints put pressure on her injuries. "They are working on a drug to suppress our dragon forms, and second-form dragons too."
"R-research?" In other words... she was a lab rat?!
The girl lifted her chin, and he slowly followed her pointed direction. Sure enough, beyond the final rows of cells were closed doors. He didn't think he wanted to know what sort of horror lab was behind those slabs of wood.
"You shouldn't stay down here long you know, they will be back soon." Drista interrupted his train of thought. "If you hide and wait for them to be busy with us, you can sneak out the way they came in, since my well idea clearly worked."
"It did... but..." His mouth went dry. The whole world was spinning around him, and he needed a moment to calm down. "I can't just leave you here, and— and now everything is..."
He clutched his head with a groan.
"There's just one more thing." Drista lacked sympathy to his inner torment. "You can't tell my brother I'm alive."
"What?" George stared blearily at her. "He grieved you for years, why wouldn't you want him to know?" He almost said know you're okay, but she certainly wasn't 'okay'.
"He'll act too rashly. I know him, once he finds out I'm alive that's all he'll focus on. The idiot will make a reckless mistake and ruin everything."
The intensity of her gaze burned him, and he wondered just how much she'd heard from down here. Did she know they hated each other now? That he couldn't pass on the message even if he wanted to?
"You don't have to worry about that." He croaked out. "I won't say anything."
"Thank you. You know you're really wrong about—" She broke off, head snapping up abruptly. Her nostrils flared, emerald widening in horror. "George, you need to go. Now."
"What? Where do I go?" George jolted to life, glancing around wildly. He saw nothing to trigger her sudden reaction.
"Go, run! Now!" She hissed.
The alarm in her voice was enough to send him scattering. He ran to the nearest door, diving inside and shutting it firmly behind him. In hindsight, he should've hid in the storage room he'd emerged from, but if she was right he'd need to sneak out a different way.
His heart hammered in his ears, scanning the room he'd locked himself in. Vials of every shape and size littered the surface of a massive table, the counters covered in assortments of herbs and liquids.
He ducked behind a group of barrels, ordering himself to breathe slower. Judging by the smell, these barrels contained more plants. He wondered if these were the drugs Drista mentioned, and if—
"Well, would you look here. I found the rat."
A hand seized the back of his collar. Air ripped from his throat, shirt tightening unbearably on his neck. George flailed, swung to face a dragon he'd normally go to for protection.
Sam's skin glittered with scales, his lips drawn back in a fanged grin. There was no formal air of safety around him anymore, dripping with cruelty. "Hello there, your highness. You've certainly gotten yourself into quite the predicament."
"Put him in an isolated cell." Another voice chimed in from the doorway. "I don't want to make a mess of our laboratories."
Father....
George tried to catch sight of the king, but the lack of air was slowly flooding his head with shadowy nothingness.
Cold seeped through his flesh into his bones. Heavy weight pressed on his wrists, and his shoulders ached from his suspended arms. George groaned to wakefulness, faintly becoming aware of Sam's voice announcing his awakening.
Blinking in the gloom, he stared at two figures towering above him. He sat on a grimy floor, his wrists pinned to the wall above his head with thick chains.
"Fa... father...?" His throat felt dry and scratchy, the words coming out grated.
He gazed into eyes he'd reached for a hundred times over, having sought comfort and reassurance. Now, he searched those eyes devoid of emotion and found nothing but blue chips of ice.
He should've known from the pain in his body that his father's love was a lie.
"Let's not make this more difficult than it needs to be, son." King Henry raised his hand, and his personal guard approached the prince.
Sam's forest colored irises glittered with sick pleasure, a glinting blade held in his clawed grip. A curled whip hung at his hip, and another dagger strapped his thigh. He stopped close enough for their ankles to touch.
"What are you doing?" George thrashed against unyielding chains, straining his head away as a cold hand gripped his chin. "Father tell him to get aw—"
His chin seared, hot liquid dripping onto his own chest. Tears pricked his eyes, and he couldn't stop the strangled sound of pain and shock. Sam withdrew the blade now smeared in crimson.
"Who informed you of this place?" King Henry questioned.
"I found it on my own." George hissed the lie through gritted teeth.
His father's gaze flit to the guard, and another slice tore pain across his shoulder. Fabric and flesh split, red painting the gray canvas. The prince sucked in a breath, head banging into the wall behind him.
"Who informed you of this place?" The King repeated. His tone lacked emotion for his son's agony, gazing disdainfully at the bleeding brunette.
"Why did you not tell me of this?" George turned the questioning around. Anger bubbled in his core, and he raised his heterochromatic eyes to glare daggers at his father.
Sam's fist collided with his skull, the world jarring into a dizzy mess. He breathed hard through his mouth, choking on metallic streaming from his nose and clogging his throat.
"I didn't want to resort to this, son." King Henry's voice tinged with malice. He was losing his patience. "There is no point resisting, you've already lost any freedom you once had."
Too bad for the king, who'd forgotten that George got his stubbornness from him. Gathering the mouthful of blood, he spat the crimson chunk at his father's feet. "Fuck you."
Pain exploded in his stomach, the air smashed out his lungs with violent force. Sam's boot pressed on his ribs, leaving a dirty print on his soiled clothing.
"M— mom would be horrified if she knew what you became." George coughed, his entire body shaking and rattling the chains. "How could you lie to me, hurt me, like this?"
That sparked a reaction. King Henry walked soundlessly to his son, lowering himself onto one knee. Icy rings studded with diamonds pierced George's skin as he chin was grasped in a vile grip.
"Oh, I've hurt you in ways you haven't even comprehended yet." Hot breath tainted the brunette's blood smeared face.
George opened his mouth to ask what the fuck that meant, when Drista's earlier comment came flooding back. You know you're really wrong about—
Freezing shock and hot rage whipped into a torpedo in his chest. Tears stung his eyes, washing shiny trails down his cheeks. The salty water darkened with the blood on his face, dripping to the floor in deep red drops.
And yet you assume I am? Dream's voice growled in his ears.
Suddenly everything clicked, in the most sick and twisted way possible. His tear filled eyes met cold blue oceans.
Masks came off and his reality shattered. His 'enemy' was not a wolf in sheep's clothing. He embodied the wolf who'd silently guarded the sheep who'd shunned and misunderstood him. The one who'd painted the castle halls crimson and twisted the knife lodged in George's back had been the same man who'd cunningly patched his wounds. His true enemy sat a devil on an angel's throne.
His father handed him poisoned chalices on a plate of lies.
And he'd eaten them all without a single doubt.
"I hate you." His throat closed, sounding far more heartbroken than he'd like.
"You know, son. There are two sides of a coin, but no matter how much you wish for life to be different, that coin can only land on one side." His father's cold gaze held no love, any regret nonexistent, maintaining his bruising grip on George's chin. "Perhaps, in another universe, you could have won."
"I hope one day you realize how fucked up what you did to me was. I would have taken an arrow for you, father." Taking a shaky breath, George waited for more tears to come and found only numbness. "I never thought you'd be the one to release it."
His heart had no blood left to bleed.
"What do you want to do with him?" Sam's arms crossed formally behind his stiff back, awaiting orders. "Shall I dispose of him?"
George hung his head, wondering if he really would die like this. Sat in his own chilled blood, skin bruised in blossoming purples. His beauty that turned countless heads stomped out beneath his stains of filth.
"No." His father's gaze scrutinized his wounded state, a smile anything but reassuring suddenly stretching his lips. "I have a better idea."
King Henry turned abruptly on his heel, walking breezily toward the cell door. Sam raised an eyebrow inquiringly, angling his body to watch the king.
"Prepare a messenger to make a trip they may not return from." King Henry threw a malicious glance over his shoulder. "Until then, my only order is to keep him alive."
"Understood, your majesty." Sam bowed. "What will we tell the castle of his absence?"
"My son has come down with an illness he is unlikely to survive." The door clanked shut behind the king, his final words hanging on the frozen air.