CHAPTER 466: HE SHOULD BE .... (2)

Prince Syla had become a joke without even trying... The whispers had started as hushed murmurs, but they quickly grew, rippling through the crowd both inside the room and in the whole land like a cruel tide.

They all remained kneeling but couldn’t help but exchange glances with each other.

The Faes couldn’t help but compare the two scenes ... one from before and the one unfolding bore them.

Those who had witnessed it could still see Syla in their mind’s eye, in all his glory and grandeur, climbing up the same stairs, woven in his own sweat as if he was about to collapse - his desperate, floundering attempt that had nearly cost him his life but had cost some of them their lives, versus the effortless ease with which this other man had done it. The contrast was almost comical, except there was no laughter, only silent scorn.

What was the essence of flaunting his royal blood when, in the end, it had meant nothing? The royals were supposed to be the best of the best, but then, what were they seeing? When another - someone seemingly unqualified, someone without the weight of a title -an unknown person... had rendered him, the most qualified Prince, a spineless nobody with a single act?

The realization struck deep, clawing at Prince Syla’s pride, at his very identity. His hands clenched at his sides, but he dared not meet their eyes, those silent judges who now saw him for what he indeed was.

His head was lowered in his wheelchair, which most assumed was because of his emotions, but they were not aware that Syla was using his everything to keep himself seated in his wheelchair, but his head would not obey him – he was basically paying homage to this new person, who had taken his throne!

Sweat beaded on Syla’s forehead, trickling down his temples as his heart pounded violently against his ribs. A suffocating sense of foreboding wrapped around him, thick and inescapable, dragging him back to that wretched day ... the day he had suffered the greatest humiliation of his life.

The day that all of the Faefolks were thinking of. Those who had not witnessed this day had been told of it. So, this open secret was known by even a new infant. It was the day Prince Syla had been marked, not just by shame, but by an injury so cursed that even the witches, with all their ancient magic, had failed to mend it, binding him to that chair for the rest of his life... but even that had been the least of his issues from then.

His breath hitched, and Syla barely managed to glance out of the corner of his eye.

Then he saw her... Ash... His beloved .... on her knees, her head nearly pressed to the cold, unforgiving floor.

’WHAT. THE. HELL’.

A bolt of disbelief and fury shot through him.

’VASHTA’NORÉ!!’*

His fingers twitched, his vision swam, and for a moment, he forgot the weight of his own failure. Nothing else mattered. To Syla, nothing except the sight of her in that degrading position. He felt uncomfortable, but Syla couldn’t help himself, so how could he help another?

Ian cradled his wife, but as he raised his head to take in the scene before him, he first frowned and then raised a brow.

Then he turned to Currey as if asking what was going on.

Currey went on one knee and bowed, "I’m not sure, your Highness,"

In the crowd, Brain was too dumbfounded to even realize that he had made himself some enemies by giving up Prince Simon earlier... from when he had told Ian, ’But I told you that she was bonded?’

Ian just wanted to go in and get out of there with his wife, but he was getting an overwhelming feeling that there was something else that he had to do.

"Why are you kneeling?"

It sounded like a ridiculous question to the Faes....

Brain was obviously the one who responded, "Only our true king can sit on that throne...."

"Hahaa.... So you think that I am?"

"You are!"

A voice shouted from the crowd, making Ian bellow out in laughter.

"You all make sitting on a chair to be such a big deal...."

"S-itting on a c-hair?"

Did we hear him right? This was all this was to him? Sitting?!

"Zai’shira?" [Am I hearing this right?]

’Vashta’noré!!’ [What the hell!]

They could not believe their ears.

"Now, get up, for I am not your king.... You should go look for that person..... but I do agree that it can’t be this Velis’koth! Right?"

Ian had not noticed that some of his words had started changing to common Fae words. The word he had used was referring to someone who was shallow... like a shell of his being. But the word just came to him instantly.

"Your Highness...."

Ian raised his hand to stop Brian mid-sentence....

"You knew of our bond? How?"

The Faes had started to get up one after the other, but their heads still hung heavy. On the contrary, Ian felt refreshed. When he had come in, he wasn’t in peak condition at all, but he had sensed what Shelby had done. But Ian knew even without asking that Shelby was not the initiator. He just wanted to deal with the problems so that it would not reoccur. As for the new development, Ian dismissed it.

Step one was to deal with that Lirash [idiot!].

"It was Lyth’vhan! [a joyous moment] for me because I had only read it in books and then ....."

A few moments later....

"My apologies.... Your majesty! I am the records keeper, so I know about this inherently. I saw the ring apparition on Her Highness’ finger." Brian went on to explain even the king-making process.

Ian nodded, then turned to the head of a mess on the floor. It was none other than Prince Simon.

At that moment, a newcomer would have laughed if anyone said that he was the king-to-be earlier that day.

Simon was shaking so much that it was pathetic to look at. His tears fell freely, and his voice croaked like that of a child crying for a long time. His frame shook from the power that emanated from Ian. Simon had long lost the urge to fight. He knew that he had failed his people, his family, his many females and Fae infants, but all those were far from his thoughts. Simon was terrified of Ian. He was terrified out of his wits.

He couldn’t care about dignity or whatnot anymore. His cries filled the empty space around him, echoing in the ears of all - a desperate plea for forgiveness that no one could answer. His hands pressed to his face as if shielding himself from the weight of the truth. He had never felt so helpless, so utterly broken.

His world felt so cruel at that moment. How had he not seen the danger? How had he let all the caution slip through his fingers?

He cursed his head guard in his head. At that moment, many things made sense, but it was too late. Simon had failed to realize that if anything is too good to be true, then it usually was. And now, the weight of it all felt unbearable. His heart ached between the desire to make things right and the overwhelming sense of having already lost everything.... And he was right because Ian never gave second chances when it came to his Elfin!

Prince Simon wanted to scream, to shout at the heavens for this agony, but instead, he sank deeper into despair, sobbing like a baby.

"What’s the punishment for s-"

Ian stopped. In as much as he wanted to tear that stupid Prince into pieces, something was holding him back. Before he even heard himself, Ian found himself saying,

"For coveting my woman, may your shadow betray you and your reflection refuse to mimic!"

"Huh?" Shelby frowned, wondering what that meant, but when she turned to look around, she saw the ashen faces of all the Faes around. Was this something serious? Why was she the only person who did not understand what these words meant?

"What did that mean?"

Ian stroked her arm fondly,

"Nothing much; I feel he is too much of an eyesore. So, he will spend time in that dungeon that he placed you ... and then experience the feeling of losing control over his own body and identity.

This will be for trying to steal what did not belong to him. He will feel disoriented and will never be able to make a decision or act on his own. He would be haunted by the feeling that his own shadow and reflection are out to betray him, making him second-guess his own sanity. It’ll be like an eternal unrest, where he will be at war with himself for as long as he breathes. That will teach him never to seek what does not belong to him!"

The silence in the place seemed to deepen....

Simon stopped sobbing with one thought, ’Can he do that? Isn’t he overestimating himself?’

Yes, Simon had been terrified moments ago, but these were ancient curses that only a few Faes knew about and even fewer knew how to invoke. How could he invoke such with just words? They had to -

Just then, a terrified scream tore out of Simon.... Startling all gathered,

"Stay away from me! Ahhhhh!!!!! GET AWAY!!!! Thar’kal! [I WILL DESTROY YOU!]"

This made the handful of doubtful Faes exchange glances,

’Did he really invoke that ancient curse? Who was this man?’

Before their thoughts could settle, a child’s voice was heard, "May the thorns of the earth rise against you,"

The few close to the front of where all this was happening could not hold by taking hurried steps back, their faces turning even whiter than paper. This was a precedence never heard of in their kingdom. Two ancient curses in a day!

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