Chapter LXXXIV: Care
Damian's fingers fumbled with his belt buckle, the gleam of triumph in his eyes, when a sudden agitation swept through his men.
"The king!" one of them screamed, the panic in his voice echoed by others as they scattered into the dark forest. But it was too late. The king's men, fierce and unyielding, had already surrounded them, cutting down Damian's soldiers with ruthless efficiency.
“Damian!” The prince froze at the sound of his brother’s voice, loud and commanding. The king approached on his black stallion, the shadow of his dragon looming menacingly overhead. Damian, caught off guard, remained kneeling over Isabella, his grip on her tightening in desperation.
The king's eyes blazed with fury as he dismounted. “Get away from her!” he ordered, his voice cold and unforgiving.
Damian hesitated, his defiance faltering under the intensity of his brother’s glare. Finally, he released Isabella and slowly rose to his feet.
Prince Damian raised his hands in mock defeat, then unsheathed his sword in one smooth, swift movement. The king reacted just as quickly, drawing his own blade. They clashed with a ferocity that sent echoes through the dark forest.
“Are you doing all this for a whore?” Damian taunted, a cruel smile playing on his lips.
“Shut up!” the king growled, his voice filled with venom. “You started this, Damian! You don’t get to steal from me and not face the consequences of it!”
Damian laughed, a hollow sound. “I was going to give her back, brother! Whole! Probably pregnant, but whole!”
The king’s fury ignited, burning hotter with every word. Their duel intensified, each strike and parry fueled by years of rivalry and betrayal. The clang of steel against steel was deafening, a violent symphony of sibling conflict.
In a blinding moment of rage and precision, the king delivered a fatal blow. Damian staggered, his sword slipping from his grasp as he fell to the ground. The king stood over him, his breath heavy with exertion and anger, but as he watched his brother’s life ebb away, his fury gave way to a profound remorse.
The king knelt by Damian’s side, the reality of what he’d done sinking in. He reached out, his hand trembling as he touched his brother’s shoulder, his eyes filled with a mixture of sorrow and regret. Damian’s eyes flickered one last time before closing forever, leaving the king alone with the weight of his actions.
The king raised his gaze and saw Isabella, practically naked, her lips turning blue from the cold, her face streaked with tears, and her body covered in bruises. He walked towards her with purpose, removing his cape and wrapping it around her shivering form. She trembled, and he could sense it was both from the cold and fear.
Gently, he took out his dagger and cut the rope binding her hands. As he picked her up in his arms, she began to sob, her body convulsing with the release of pent-up terror and relief. The king held her close, whispering soothing words, though his own heart was heavy with the night's events.
One of his men approached, his face filled with concern as he saw what just happened there. “Your Majesty, what are your orders?”
The king looked down at Isabella, then back at the knight. “Take Lady Isabella back to the palace. Ensure she is safe. And warm.”
“What about you, Your Majesty?” the knight asked, his voice hesitant.
The king glanced back at Damian's still form, his expression hardening. “I need to take care of my brother.”
With a nod, the knight took Isabella gently from the king's arms and mounted his horse with her, ensuring she was secure. The king watched them disappear into the darkness before turning back to where Damian lay, his sword still piercing his chest, the weight of the night settling heavily on his shoulders.
The king removed his sword from his brother’s body, the blade glinting ominously in the dim light. He cleaned it methodically, refusing any offers of help to carry Damian. With a resolute expression, he hefted his brother's body onto his shoulders, feeling the full weight of his decision and the night's tragic events.
They reached an open field where Kallirion, the king’s dragon, awaited. The magnificent beast was restless, sensing the gravity of the moment. Kallirion had once been Damian's companion, the dragon he rode after their other brother, Eron, had perished in battle. When Alaric’s dragon, Thanatos, had died, Damian passed down Kallirion to him, since they both always struggled to get along. Alaric wondered if maybe that struggle was because both Damian and Kallirion shared the same temper.
The king approached Kallirion with Damian’s body, allowing the dragon to smell him. Dragons grieved their lost riders deeply, as deeply as riders mourned their fallen dragons. Kallirion’s mournful growl resonated through the field, a testament to the bond shared with his former rider.
With a heavy heart, Alaric mounted Kallirion, securing Damian's body in front of him. The dragon lifted off the ground with a powerful sweep of his wings, carrying the king and his brother back to the palace. As they soared through the night sky, Alaric’s thoughts were a tumultuous mix of grief, guilt, and a grim resolve for what lay ahead.
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