Prince Damien's Pet

ROSALIA

When I found it hard to sleep, I made it a habit of staring at an open flame. The way the ribbons danced as they burned out the wick seemed to always bring peace to me and before I knew it, I would be drifting to sleep.

It was already working when I heard a clash happen just outside the window of my bedroom.

"Who are you and state your business?" The guards outside my chamber had demanded and I had heard them unsheathe their weapons.

Quick on my feet, I blew out my candle and crawled to the crack of my window to see what was happening.

A flood of men holding burning torches were facing my father's men.

Even in the dim of the night, I noticed the gold emblem on the opposing sides' armor.

A lion devouring a snake. The royal family's emblem.

"Put your weapon down innocent men." A burly man from the opposing side commander, stepping forward. "We have come for the traitors in the house. Not you lot."

"On whose orders?" My father's men demanded.

The burly fellow brought out a scroll from his sides and stripped it open. "His Majesty's orders!"

The tension in the air was thick as the men from both sides faced off, their weapons at the ready. My heart raced as I watched the confrontation unfold from my hidden vantage point.

My father's men exchanged wary glances, clearly unsure of how to proceed. The mention of "His Majesty's orders" carried significant weight, causing a ripple of uncertainty amongst them.

"We are loyal to Lord Muller," one of my father's guards spoke up, his voice firm yet heavy with apprehension. "We cannot simply stand aside and allow you to enter without proper authorization."

The burly commander narrowed his eyes, his expression hardening. "Lord Muller is suspected of treason against the crown," he declared, his voice booming with authority. "We have been tasked with apprehending him and any who stand in our way will be dealt with accordingly."

My breath caught in my throat at the revelation. Treason? My father? It seemed unfathomable, yet here it was, unfolding before my very eyes.

"We demand proof of these accusations," another of my father's men challenged.

The commander hesitated for a moment before producing another scroll, this one bearing the royal seal. He unrolled it and held it up for all to see, the moonlight casting an eerie glow upon the parchment.

"This document bears the official decree of His Majesty," the commander announced. "It authorizes us to search this premises and arrest any individuals suspected of treason."

A tense silence descended upon the scene as my father's men deliberated their next move. Caught between loyalty to their lord and obedience to the crown, they stood at a crossroads. Their allegiance was tested more than ever but I knew who was going to be picked.

Without wasting time, I crawled back to the one person I shared a room with. My younger brother.

I put a hand over his mouth as I roused him to life. The boy was going to whine like he always did. But seeing the scared look I wore told him this was no time to be a brat.

"There are intruders outside." I whispered. "We have to find Father."

My brother's eyes widened with alarm as he processed the urgency in my voice. He nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation, and quickly got to his feet, casting a wary glance around our dark room.

Together, we moved swiftly and quietly, our footsteps muffled against the cold stone floor.

My mind raced with worry for our father, knowing that if he was indeed implicated in treason, he would be in grave danger.

Navigating the labyrinthine corridors of our ancestral home, I couldn't shake the feeling of dread that gnawed at my insides.

Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.

Every shadow seemed to loom menacingly, every creak of the floorboards echoed with sinister omen.

Finally, we reached our father's chambers, where we found him pacing anxiously, his brow furrowed with concern as he threw papers and all sorts of letters into a fire pit in his study.

"Father, what is happening?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. "The royal guards are here, and they're accusing you of treason."

My father's eyes widened in shock and disbelief. "Treason?" he echoed, his voice barely a hoarse whisper. "I have been loyal to the crown my entire life. If loving my wife is what the crown counts as treason, then so be it."

Shortly after my father mentioned his wife, she arrived, panting and in tears.

"Husband, we have been found out." She was sobbing hysterically.

She couldn't even carry herself up. She simply fell to the floor.

My father ignored his terrified wife and continued to pour more papers into the fire.

There was no denial about the situation.

The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the chamber. More royal guards streamed in, their torches casting long, menacing shadows across the room. My father continued burning documents, his movements frantic and desperate.

"Stop!" The burly commander bellowed. "By order of the crown, cease immediately!"

But my father didn't stop. His hands moved faster, feeding more papers to the flames. My mother continued to sob on the floor, her body trembling uncontrollably.

My brother and I stood frozen, watching the scene unfold with growing terror.

A guard lunged forward, grabbing my father's arm. Another grabbed a bucket of water and doused the fireplace, extinguishing the flames. Steam rose, and with it, the charred remnants of half-burned documents.

"Lord Muller," the commander said, his voice cold and calculating, "you are under arrest for high treason against the crown."

My father said nothing. He stood silent, his shoulders slumped.

The guards began collecting the burned and partially burned documents, carefully placing each fragment into sealed pouches. I could see the tension in their movements, the careful precision with which they handled the evidence.

"What's happening?" I demanded, stepping forward. "What treason? What are you talking about?"

The guard nearest to me turned, his face a mask of contempt. Before I could react, his hand struck my cheek with such force that my head snapped back.

"Do not raise your tone when you speak to me, slave born," he snarled.

The slap echoed through the room. My cheek burned, tears welling in my eyes more from shock than pain. My brother let out a small whimper.

My mother's sobs grew louder, a desperate, broken sound that seemed to fill every corner of the room.

The guards began binding my father's hands. My mother was roughly pulled to her feet, her legs seemingly unable to support her weight. The guards didn't seem to care, dragging her like a piece of discarded fabric.

"You will all be taken to the royal prison," the commander announced. "Charges of high treason will be formally presented at your hearing."

I touched my burning cheek, the guard's words – "slave born" – ringing in my ears. My world was collapsing around me, and I had no idea why.

Why had a guard referred to me by such a low and demeaning title?

What treason could my father have possibly committed? What secrets were hidden in those burned documents? And why had the royal guards come with such overwhelming force?

As they began to march us out, I caught a glimpse of one of the partially burned documents in the hands of a guard. Just for a moment. Just enough to see a glimpse of something that made my blood run cold.

"Indenture concluded with Lady Aurora, former servant of low birth, liberated under the auspices of Lord Varen Muller, with full title and estate privileges transferred to their issue.”