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The Devil From Deira
The Devil From Deira
Author: Jamilah

1

Author: Jamilah
last update Last Updated: 2022-03-12 16:37:18

       "You should smile a bit. You should not have wrinkles at your youthful age," Claudius, king of Angbotain said to Isabelle, his daughter and the crown princess.

   She had a pale, almost translucent skin, rosy cheeks, crimson lips, white teeth and sparkling eyes. She was slim with elegant collarbones. She was not interested in the food she had on her table anymore. The news she had just heard was disturbing.

    "She will smile later," Aravis, the queen approached the table and took her seat as the king smiled. Isabelle was an exact replica of her mother. There was no distinguishing between them. They could easily pass for sisters as the queen was not that old.

  "Mother," Isabelle spoke up as she placed her fork on the table. "I just celebrated my twenty first birthday last week. Why are you doing this to me?" 

  "That makes it so important for you to get married now. You're already too old to be in our house," Aravis answered as she brought her cup to her red lips.

"Father," Isabelle pleaded with her father. "He is a total stranger."

"Isabelle," Claudius called his daughter affectionately. "You have been preparing for this all your life, why are you behaving this way?"

  She sighed as she accepted defeat.

"I would have definitely accepted this alliance if you had just informed me earlier. How can you give marriage as a birthday gift?"

   "It was really hard to get King Augustus to form this alliance. It is a golden opportunity for Angbotain," Aravis said as she rubbed her daughter's hand.

"Still, how can I go as far as Deira?" She exclaimed as tears threatened to spill out of her eyes. "I do not want to be far from you."

"You are a princess Isabelle," Claudius stood up. "It is your duty."

  "A wedding in two days?" She stood up and pulled her father's robes. "It is too sudden."

  "You'll get over it," he said and left the table as his guards followed him.

   Isabelle knew it was over. Once her father makes up his mind, there was no talking him out of it.

  "Isabelle," Aravis called and looked into her eyes. "I had you when I was seventeen. I managed to make you become fully matured before getting you married because I didn't want you to go through what I went through. An alliance with Deira was the best option I could present to you. Even when we're gone, King Augustus promised you'll be taken care of." 

   "He is too old!" She shouted. 

Aravis was taken aback by the sudden outburst. The court ladies were surprised too but they dare not speak out.

"He's older than my father!"

"Isabelle, you are not getting married to King Augustus," Aravis explained.

    Isabelle's nerves calmed down and her body settled.

"I'm not?" She asked and Aravis nodded.

"But, you said I was getting married to a Deira royalty."

"You're getting married to Prince Adrian, the third prince of Deira."

  Isabelle smiled widely. 

"You should have said so earlier," she breathed in relief. "It is better that way."

  "He doesn't live in the palace so you'll be away from everyone. He has his personal residence away from the kingdom. You shall be treated with the respect you deserve."

  "Why does he live away from the palace?" Isabelle asked with curiosity. "Was his mother a consort?"

   It was believed that consorts who weren't of royal blood shouldn't live together with queens in the palace.

"His mother was a commoner," Aravis explained as the court ladies cleared the table of dirty plates. "He lived in palace while growing up. He left when he was eighteen years. He has been at his residence for ten years. He often goes to war and return victorious."

"So you're getting me married to a general?" Isabelle smirked mischievously at her mother.

"It is your gain," she gathered her blue attire and left the table as her court ladies followed behind.

     Isabelle was left with her own thoughts,a court maid and a guard. Marriage in two days to a complete stranger. People have gone through it and survived and so will she. But she was really curious about the groom.

Meanwhile in Deira...

    He walked upright in his armour. A handsome man covered in blood of the enemy, his attire dropped with blood. He smelled of murder. The aura he exuded was beyond comprehension.

   "Prince Adrian is here," the eunuch at the entrance of the grand hall announced and commanded the guards to open the door. 

   The whole assembly was present. The ministers, the males of royal family and King Augustus were all in the hall. Augustus sat on his throne, Fredrick, the crown prince was seated in a lower seat beside him. Malcolm, the second prince was standing next to Frederick. Leopold and Louis, the twins born from Fredrick's mother, Indira were standing beside Malcolm. Nefertiti, the crown princess and sister of Malcolm was not present as women were not allowed in the grand hall, not even the queens.

      Adrian walked in with a tiger like posture and a perfect waltz. His sword was still dripping with blood and it made a mess of the floor. He stopped in front of his father's throne and went on one knee. 

  "The war against Sorok was in our favour. We have defeated them," he shared the news.

   Augustus let out a small smile as the entire assembly cheered.

"The minister of war has began to build a station at Sorok and had buried their king."

   "Be on your feet," Augustus gave out the order and Adrian stood up.

"As expected!" Alastair, the minister for internal affairs shouted with joy. "Prince Adrian never disappoints."

"You're right Alastair," Augustus stood up and walked down to Adrian. "That is why he is my son."

     The twins were giving Adrian goofy looks which he caught. He tried to force a smile but it wasn't who he was. Fredrick was giving Adrian a thumbs up from where he sat and he bowed. Malcolm looked at Adrian with contempt.

    Adrian felt suffocated. This was why he could never live in the main palace.

"Before you went off to war, I knew it would end in victory," Augustus commended Adrian. "Which is why I have prepared a reward."

   There was murmuring amongst the assembly.

"Silence!" Augustus called out and it became silent like a graveyard.

"You are already of marriageable age," he patted Adrian's shoulders,"so, I have arranged your marriage with Princess Isabelle of Angbotain. You will get married in two days."

  

    Adrian's world collapsed. He looked like a deer caught in its highlights. Alastair's face shouted disappointment. Something in Adrian told him to speak up but he had no will. What has been decided has been decided. A prince had no  control over his life.

   "Are you not happy?" Augustus asked the assembly with a stern face.

"Congratulations, Prince Adrian!" They chorused.

"I would like to go and rest," Adrian asked for permission from Augustus.

"Of course, you deserve it. You will set out to Angbotain tommorow so stay here for the night and leave in the afternoon tommorow."

  "As you wish," he said.

"You may leave."

    He bowed slightly and trudged out.

"Why does he look so disappointed?" Leopold whispered to Louis.

"Why do you think?" Louis replied. He seemed like the wise one.

"It is not because of Juno, is it?"

"I highly doubt that," he replied.

   The assembly was concluded just after Adrian left. He bathed himself which was not a surprise to anyone. Unmarried princes usually got their bath from young court ladies bit Adrian never did.

   He would scowl at them and made them promise to never see his nakedness.

He was sitting in front of his former residence enjoying the cool breeze. He glanced briefly at his mother's grave. It was neat. They were doing a good job of keeping it clean.

    "Are you okay?" Fredrick asked as he walked in. His red clothes made him stand out.

"Not really," Adrian answered. 

   Fredrick was the only one he could talk to at this point.

"It shall pass."

  "What?" Adrian asked with a confused gaze.

"I thought you were angry about the alliance," he also replied, confused.

"The alliance? No, it was bound to happen anyway," Adrian waved him off.

  "So what's bothering you?" Feed pressed further.

"The battlefield."

    Fredrick sighed to show that he understood what Adrian was saying.

"Adrian, do you still have nightmares?"

"No," he answered calmly. "They do not appear in my dreams anymore. I see them now." 

"What do you mean?" Fredrick asked with concern.

"I see them now," he looked around. "There they are," he pointed at nothing.

   Fredrick sighed. Adrian was hallucinating but he couldn't say anything about it.

"I know they are not real," Adrian chuckled dryly. "That is why I'm still alive."

    "Brother!" Leopold ran in and tripped on his royal gown. 

"I told you not to run," Louis followed behind, carrying himself with poise. "It is not worthy of a prince."

"Whatever," Leopold scoffed as he continued to run towards Adrian.

  "A prince should not run like that," Adrian smiled as Leopold embraced him. 

His hugs were warm, everyone knew it but Adrian rarely hugged people. The twins were hard to say no to.

"Welcome back," Louis bowed slightly with a smile.

  "Prince Louis, you are becoming more charming with each passing day," Adrian teased.

"I have always been charming," Louis said with pride and they all laughed.

"Charming?" Leopold scoffed. "The charming one is me. The girl from the market said so too."

  "The market?" Fredrick asked as if his hearing had failed him.

  Leopold and Louis shared mischievous glances.

"Did you sneak out again?" He hollered.

"I am going to kill you!" Louis yelled as he went in pursuit of Leopold who had already started running.

  "Wast he not just talking about a prince's character now?" Fredrick's eyes bulged with disbelief. 

"They are now seventeen," Adrian patted Fredrick. "They are mature enough to be cunning and rebellious."

"They shall never learn until father catches them," Fredrick said as followed in their direction.

   Adrian smiled widely as they left, showing his dentition.

"I have never seen you smile like that," a female voice said.

   He looked around and saw Nefertiti approaching him with a smile and her court ladies behind her. 

   His face returned to its original scowl. The smile left his eyes.

"I recognize that look too well," She smiled as she sat beside him. "No matter how much you hate me, we are siblings."

"Excuse me," Adrian stood up but Nefertiti spoke up.

"I heard about your marriage, congratulations."

"Thank you," he replied coldly.

"It is my fault you're getting married," she stood up.

   Adrian looked back at her with a confused and cold gaze. 

"I am old enough to get married, you know? You have to be married for me to get married."

"I wish you all the best," he said.

  "I'll probably get married to a prince of Ploretina."

    Adrian stopped on his tracks.

"Ploretina?" He said weakly.

  He turned around to see his sister's tear stained face.

"He is selling you off, Nefertiti," he moved to her.

"I know," she sniffled. "I have no choice, do I?"

    He engulfed her in a hug and she was crying.

Fredrick watched them from a distance and shook his head in sorrow. Princes and princesses do not have a say in their own life.

Not in the world they live in.

Ploretina was about a week's journey from Deira by horseback. Their father was probably giving them Nefertiti to achieve something else. He was going to recieve something else in return.

    Malcolm was passing by with his entourage and saw the closeness between Adrian and Nefertiti.

"Will you step away from my sister?!" He hurled.

   Adrian was shocked as he released Nefertiti. 

"Nefertiti!" Malcolm said as reached them. "How can you hug this commoner in front of the servants?"

  "He is no commoner," she defended him. "He is your brother."

"I have no brother."

  "Do not get the wrong idea," Adrian glared at him. "I do not consider you my sibling either."

   He walked off into his residence without another word. Nefertiti looked at her brother with hatred and stormed out with her court ladies.

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  • The Devil From Deira   46

    The months that followed were unlike any Deira had ever known. The smoke had long lifted from the hills, leaving behind the smell of earth and rain. The once-ruined streets now rang with laughter, the kind that felt almost foreign after years of fear. Farmers returned to the fields that had been trampled by horses, their plows cutting through the same soil that once drank the blood of soldiers. Markets reopened, children chased each other through the courtyards, and the bells of the cathedral tolled for life rather than death.Peace was not an announcement; it was a slow, trembling rebirth.In the heart of this renewal stood the castle, rebuilt stone by stone, though some walls still bore the faint scorch marks of war. Yet even they were left untouched, as though Deira herself refused to forget. Within those new halls, Queen Isabelle moved softly, her steps careful but assured, her hand often resting on the swell of her belly.Each morning, she stood by th

  • The Devil From Deira   45

    The night after the battle was eerily silent.No drums, no horns, only the sigh of wind through charred stone and the faint toll of the mourning bell that rang for Deira’s fallen. The war was over, but peace did not yet know how to settle its wings upon the kingdom.Queen Indira was captured before dawn.She did not resist. Her silks were torn, her crown gone, her once-imperious face calm as she was escorted through the ruins of her own making. Servants and guards alike watched her pass in mute disbelief. The woman who had ruled their lives through fear now moved like a shadow among the ashes.She was confined to her chambers under guard. The same room where she had once plotted her empire now stood stripped and dim, the mirrors draped in mourning cloth.That night, she requested parchment and ink.When the guards returned at sunrise, they found her seated by the window, her head tilted slightly as though she were still deep in thought. The goblet beside her was empty. The poison had

  • The Devil From Deira   44

    The night over Deira bled crimson.Queen Indira stood by her chamber window, the smell of smoke seeping through the silken curtains. The distant palace glowed faintly, the rebellion had failed. Adrian lived. Malcolm’s silence was damning.Her rings scraped against the windowpane as she turned to Alastair. “End it,” she hissed. “If the son lives, the mother must burn. Burn them all, the castle, the woman, the unborn seed.”Alastair hesitated. “Your Majesty, the winds…”“Do it,” she snapped. “While the night hides our shame.”Outside, the loyalists gathered with torches and oil. The plan was cruel and simple. Surround Adrian’s castle, bar the gates, and set it aflame. Let the smoke finish what the sword could not.But fate, that treacherous hand, turned their cruelty inward.As the first torch touched the outer walls, the wind shifted. The flames, instead of crawling toward the castle, curled back, fierce, hungry, alive. The oil spilled. Sparks leapt like spirits seeking vengeance.“Wat

  • The Devil From Deira   43

    The first screams came with the sunrise.From the high walls of Adrian’s castle, the watchmen saw the royal banners advancing — crimson silk and black-armoured riders moving under forged decrees that bore the Queen’s seal. Alastair’s plan was perfect on parchment: strike before dawn, seize the prince, present him to the throne as a traitor.But parchment burns faster than flesh.Before the soldiers reached the capital gates, Adrian’s scouts intercepted the message. By the time Alastair’s men entered the royal grounds, Adrian’s army had already crossed the river under cover of mist, steel whispering from scabbards.When the sun rose fully, it rose upon chaos.Flames licked the velvet banners that hung above the marble corridor. The air reeked of smoke and iron. Adrian’s blade met the first wave of palace guards with merciless precision. His black cloak, slashed and ash-streaked, swept behind him like a shadow made flesh.“Hold the eastern wing!” he shouted over the din. “No fire near t

  • The Devil From Deira   42

    The days after the poisoning bled into one another — long, heavy, and gray.The once-lively corridors of Adrian’s castle had turned into a place of whispers. Every creak of a floorboard seemed to carry suspicion. Every unfamiliar face, danger.Adrian had not been seen outside the west wing for two days. He kept to Isabelle’s bedside, his voice low, his fury colder than steel. When at last she could sit up without trembling, she reached for his hand and found it rigid as a soldier’s blade.“Adrian,” she murmured, “you must let this rest. I am alive. That should be enough.”He turned to her then and the look in his eyes frightened her more than any sickness. “Enough?” he said softly. “They tried to take you from me. They dared to reach into my home, into our lives, and you say it should be enough?”“It will destroy you.”“It already has.”He stood abruptly and left the room before she could say another word.Outside, the castle’s courtyard echoed with the metallic clang of training swor

  • The Devil From Deira   41

    The palace doctor’s visits had stopped days ago, at Isabelle’s insistence. Since that night in the room, she had learned to hold her pain where no one could touch it, deep enough that even Adrian would not see. Her body still bore faint bruises where Malcolm’s hands had gripped her arms, but it was her silence that ached the most.The world was already heavy with secrets; one more, she thought, could drown quietly without notice.So she smiled through her morning walks and recited her duties as though nothing had cracked beneath her ribs. Spencer was the only one who noticed the tremor in her voice.That morning, they walked along the castle gardens, a stretch of dew-kissed roses and gravel paths shaded by budding trees. The air smelled faintly of rain. Spencer, ever the loyal knight, trailed half a step behind, speaking softly about the soldiers stationed near the gates.“Adrian’s orders were firm,” he said. “No one without clearance enters these grounds. Still, I saw new faces among

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