Grim decorations lining the castle’s corridors passed by as a shadowy blur in his vague peripheral. Only the peeking pale light of the moon glinting in through tall, tapered windows guided his hooves forward. Every turn, each cracked stone, and the broken step on the second staircase were memorized. The portraits of his mother and stepfather, every vase and empty set of armor were all the same since exploring the castle as an adolescent. His vision saw only Cyrah’s soft, frightened face, and no amount of blinking made her disappear. Her words played in his mind like a record with only one engraved song.
“Master,” called the timid voice of a servant, interjecting on his thoughts. He responded with only a grunt and continued walking without care. “A report from the village. A cottage burned to the ground.”
He stopped, staring directly ahead and hesitating before the appropriate questions found his lips. “Are there survivors? How significant is the damage?”
“The building is lost. No survivors. Neighbors say an odd woman lived there with enough animals to provide for herself,” the servant advised.
“Clean up must commence in the morning, and then preparations to rebuild,” he instructed flatly.
“Yes, your majesty.”
The king dismissed his servant, thoughts wandering aimlessly again as he continued moving toward his destination. If it was her home that fell victim to the fire, why would she have run as far as his castle? He turned a corner to climb a set of stairs leading to the corridors of the west wing, and eventually his private chamber. A bright fire in the hearth illuminated and warmed the vast room. He removed his cloak from his shoulders and hung it from a tall wooden post with a rounded top just inside the room. His claws tapped against horns growing from the top of his head when he placed his hands on his face, and avoided his snout as he drew his fingers down across his cheeks. He paced across the room, toward the balcony opposite the door, but stopped beside a lone stand that stood waist high. The only item supported by this small, round tabletop was a sapphire coffer. He inspected the inscriptions for the hundredth time, until his eyes rested on the diagram of the demon. Rubies set for eyes, and emeralds for its torso. The fingers he grazed along the gemstones tensed, gripping the coffer’s edges. Black lips peeled back over his fangs into a silent snarl. He was cursed to remember Cyrah as a young, innocent girl, full of curiosity and imagination that earned her ridicule from the other children, while she gazed upon him with fear worse than if he were merely another stranger.
“All because of this,” he grumbled. A sinister snicker caught his attention and he turned his back to the coffer, hiding it behind his broad frame.
George had quietly entered the chamber, and closed the door behind him. “I see the castle servants have a fresh meal, or should I say a new chance to break this damned curse?”
The king scoffed in ridicule. “No, not her. Cyrah will not be won, nor is she to be made a meal by my servants,” he commanded.
“Ah, I thought the girl was familiar,” George declared. “An echo from the past. I dare venture a guess that your appearance hindered her memory.”
Crossing to the canopy bed, the king confirmed his butler’s suspicions. “She does not remember me.”
“One cannot blame her,” George stated bluntly, peeling back a layer of covers on the bed.
“Even if I were human, I would be of no interest to her. I spoke to Cyrah once when I was a naive boy, just after my father passed. I saw her many times during my travels but never mustered the nerve to approach her. My mother would never have approved of a peasant girl,” he complained, lying down with his head elevated on a tower of soft pillows.
“Your mother and father have both passed, leaving the kingdom they united to you. This is no longer about the status of a woman you love.”
“I do not love her, George,” he harshly corrected, narrowing his ruby eyes to scowl at the butler.
“As you say,” he responded humbly, but firm. “Regardless, we will remain in this form, all of us doomed forever because of your greed, if you do nothing,” he reminded, kind voice freezing over.
“Or if I commit an immoral deed,” he replied, matching the butler’s cold tone. “I know. I have read the scriptures dozens of times to find another way.”
“You may wish to consider that there is no other way, and that you have not been able to find love because you have waited for her,” George suggested, composing his demeanor toward his master.
“Absolutely not,” he barked. “As I’ve said before, no one will ever love me, let alone marry me or bear my children. I’m a monster, inside and out. That’s why the relic turned me into this demon!”
“King Nikolis,” the servant scolded firmly. “This is your opportunity to change. Do not squander it because you have lost hope. There is hope and she is resting miserably in your dungeon. Open your heart, allow her to remind you what it means to be human.”
“Good night, George,” Nikolis growled, dismissing him with an embittered glare.
“Sweet dreams, your majesty,” George responded calmly, drawing the azure curtains closed around the beastly king.
Kilena Shrelack 