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In an opulently decorated chamber, a dark trail of blood snaked across the floor, ending in a crimson pool where a man lay lifeless. His eyes were wide open— hollow, as if frozen in a final moment of terror.
Seated against the wall was another man, whose knees were drawn up to his chest as though they were the only barrier between himself and complete collapse. His hands cradled his head, fingers digging into his scalp as though he were trying to hold himself together.
Exhaling softly, he lifted his head, his golden eyes catching the corpse sprawled out in front of him. No remorse touched his expression, whilst his gaze flicked to the syringe that had rolled from the corpse's loosened grip.
Sweeping his long, dark lustrous hair away from his face, he stood up, dropping the bloodied silver knife on the floor. He made his way to his nightstand, retrieving a sketchbook and a set of paintbrushes he had kept in his cupboard. When he returned to the corpse, he settled onto the floor and dipped the brush into the blood, using it to paint the very scene before him. He carefully captured the stillness of death with eerie precision, and each stroke triggered a blurry scene in his head.
However, he was soon interrupted when the doors to his chamber suddenly burst open.
Several guards marched in with their weapons on the ready, but none dared to approach the young man. They kept their distance, quietly watching as he resumed his sketching without a flicker of fear. They couldn't see his face since his hair had curtained them, but the aura he emitted was more than enough to make them maintain their distance.
"Leviathan!"
A voice boomed with rage, and in no time, the owner of the voice, who was a man in royal garb, approached the chamber, only to halt at the threshold.
His gaze swept over the macabre sight, unable to believe what he was seeing. Meanwhile, his special advisor who stood at his side, looked pale and speechless, the horror of the scene sinking in as silence pressed down on the room.
The advisor finally leaned in to whisper. "Your Majesty, perhaps bringing him back to the palace was a mistake? The prince is clearly not stable yet. Everyone's too afraid to speak to him, let alone go near him. The awakening ceremony is in a few days. How do we fix this?"
The king simply stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his eyes fixed on his son who refused to acknowledge him. His brow furrowed, except it wasn't out of pity, but something colder. This happened to be the tenth specialist they had called to take care of Leviathan, and like the rest, this one had also been killed for simply trying to approach him.
"When will you grow up?" King Abel's voice was filled with pure irritation as he confronted his son. "How many more lives will you take before you understand how the gravity of your actions is affecting the entirety of the kingdom? Remember the reason I brought you back to the palace and pull yourself together this instant!"
Leviathan's hand stilled on the sketchbook. The world around him was starting to spin once more, but he closed his eyes, shaking off the dizziness.
"Something's not right,"he murmured to himself, ignoring the presence of everyone in his chamber. He ran his fingers through his hair, pushing the strands away from his face again. "Why can't I remember?"
While he was busy talking to himself, the king's gaze noticed the syringe lying discarded on the floor– a stark reminder that the specialist hadn't even had a chance to administer it to Leviathan before being murdered on the spot.
"What did you do to me?"
Rising to his feet, Leviathan tossed the sketchbook aside and began approaching the king, hands clenched into fist. "I SAID WHAT DID YOU DO TO ME?? ANSWER ME YOU OLD MAN!!!" Before Leviathan could get any closer to the king, the guards immediately pounced on him, seizing the rare opportunity as they threw Leviathan on the ground. About six guards had him pinned on the ground, while one of them retrieved the syringe on the floor.
"GET OFF ME!" Leviathan struggled desperately to break free, but his entire body tensed when a sharp pain skittered through him. The guard had successfully plunged the syringe into his arm, injecting him with the drugs. Leviathan's gaze was on the man who claimed to be his father. He just stood there, watching with a stoic look on his face while they did this to him.
Of course, he was the one who ordered it.
Within moments, the drug soon began to take effect, making Leviathan slip into a state of unconsciousness. King Abel finally released the breath he had been holding, and his son's body was soon lifted and taken to the bed, leaving him there.
"He should be fine when he wakes up," said the king, before he turned and walked away. The advisor stayed behind and pointed at the body on the floor.
"Get someone to clean this mess, and get that body out of here. Burn it," he ordered without hesitation. The guards could only nod in acknowledgement.
While they swiftly disposed of the body, the advisor's attention drifted to the sketchbook that had been left behind. Out of curiosity, he picked it up, half-expecting another disturbing display of Leviathan's morbid imagination. The prince had been doing that for years. However, as his eyes scanned the unfinished piece, he paused.
Despite its incompleteness, the painting was hauntingly vivid. Levi hadn't been sketching the corpse– he had captured the moment of death itself, rendering it with such delicate precision that even the unfinished strokes breathed life into the image. From the subtle curve of the jaw to the faint shadow beneath the brow, it was unmistakably a woman.
The advisor looked toward the prince slouched on the mattress, his expression softening. With a shake of his head, whether from disappointment, admiration or pity, he quietly left the chamber with the sketchbook.
Meanwhile, Prince Dorian had returned and was waiting patiently in the throne room for his Father. He lowered his head in a respectful bow the moment his father walked in.
"Greetings, Father," Dorian said courteously, though he didn't dare say anything more after sensing the tension clinging to his father like a storm cloud. That kind of silence only ever followed one of the king's darker moods, and Dorian could already guess who had stirred it.
"I visited the Alpha of the Evernight pack as instructed," he reported. "The courtesans scheduled to perform during the awakening ceremony have been informed per your orders. But I'll return tomorrow to select additional candidates who might better serve as attendants for the event…if that is fine with you."
"What use is the ceremony," came a sharp voice from the doorway, "if the mad prince isn't even stable enough to attend the very celebration meant for him?"
A woman swept into the room with her escorts, her presence commanding attention from both the king and her son. She waved her hand dismissively at her escorts, sending them away before joining the king where he sat, sitting on the arm rest of the throne.
"My husband," she purred sweetly, the affection in her voice as deceptive as a serpent's smile. "Given his condition, do you truly think it's wise to parade that lunatic before the court during the ceremony? It's been twelve years since the kingdom last laid eyes on him. You can imagine the scandal, the humiliation we'll have to endure once they discover what Levi has become."