Planning The Psychotic Prince's Demise

A flurry of giggles bounce against the walls of the empty hall. They halt for a passing moment, then come again, louder this time.

"Why are you laughing?" A deep, masculine voice asks, amused.

"I don't know."

It's a strange thing—being aware that you're speaking but not being able to control it. There are a thousand thoughts rushing through my mind and it's as if only the wrong ones make it out of my mouth.

"You," I slur the syllable, unthinking.

A wave of nausea washes over me—what was I trying to say?

"You?" The voice repeats.

I don't know either.

My feet step on the wrong places, my limbs hang on like sacks of stone. There's no stopping the way I sway and threaten to fall face-flat on the ground—gravity calls to me like a siren to a homesick sailor.

The urge to sleep is overwhelming. The ground looks passable, cozy. I'm sure the carpets in the palace cost a fortune.

A firm body holds mine steady, however. And for a moment, I feel inexplicably annoyed.

"You're no fun! Let go!"

The sound of my yelling echoes, as if to mock my insolence.

"What?" The masculine figure laughs as if my feelings are a lighthearted matter.

I assure you, they're not. Don't these princely bastards know who they're dealing with?

"Let go of me, Arthur!" I exclaim, the prospect of freedom and sleep powering me through the struggle. It's a challenge—the arms wrapped around my body are built, strong, like an experienced soldier's.

Mine are weaker by a milestone, but my nails prove to be a valuable weapon. I scratch and draw blood, hoping I'm let go the next second and allowed to doze off on the floor.

"I'm not Arthur."

There's no way to achieve instant sobriety, especially when you've downed half a bottle of who-knows-what in a grizzly two seconds.

But trust me when I say this, my mind has never been clearer than when those words reached my ears. The buzz remains, but the beating of my heart has caught up, racing a mile a second.

"What?" My throat tightens like it's been stuffed with cotton.

Instead of warm hazel with subtle flecks of gold, I'm met with cold, silver eyes—ones I've grown to resent.

"I didn't expect you to give in to my brother's whims so easily." Valerius, my husband of a few hours, stares back at me, smug. "I'm not disappointed. Shallow women go for shallow men, I suppose."

I push against him. This time, Valerius steps away willingly.

"Where are we? Where did you take me?"

He looks at me as if I'm stupid. I'm not. I've already figured it out—denial holds my sanity together. 

"Our shared bedroom, wife." The prince answers. "Where else?"

He starts shrugging off his jacket. If it weren't for the air in the spacious room, I would've suffocated already.

My eyes follow as he unbuttons his inner layers—this time, he's slower, deliberate.

Is he teasing?

No. This isn't that kind of marriage. There's no attraction, no infatuation. I look away when the first inch of skin is revealed.

"Well?" He voices. I still don't look at him.

"What?" I blubber, unwilling to acknowledge the heat traveling from my neck to the tip of my ears.

"You're not going to stay clothed throughout the entire ordeal, are you?"

I feign ignorance, "Why would I need to be unclothed? We don't want each other like that. Let's just sleep. I'll take the floor, you take the bed."

Valerius doesn't look convinced.

Outrageous. It's simply outrageous. There's a subtle churning in my stomach—nervousness, maybe something else.

"Hah," He breathes out.

Before I can blink, I'm shoved onto soft sheets, calloused hands holding mine apart. It's as terrifying as it is exhilarating, having a large body press against mine, pinning me to the bed.

There's no room for escape. He can do anything to me if he wills.

My blood runs hot. Is it fear or anticipation? I can't tell.

Wait, what?

I end those thoughts before I spiral into madness. Right now, there's no room for baseless desire, especially not for a psychotic bastard.

"Look," Valerius' eyes look electric, ignited by a feral need. He resembles a predator more than he does a man which, in this scenario, makes me his next meal.

"I've been listening to brain dead pests squabble all night. I don't think you understand. If I'm giving up this much, don't you think it's fair I get something back?"

Spit lands on his cheek. Maybe it's the alcohol hindering me from realizing how reckless I'm being, but it's too late. There's no taking it back.

"Let go of me, you brute." I snarl.

His face darkens, smirk stretching wide.

"You were the one who begged for my hand in marriage." His right hand travels to my chin, holding it firm. The other has both my wrists bundled and unmoving. "Don't forget that, princess."

There's barely a hair's width between us. His breath, his bare skin—I can't tell which is warmer.

"I'll kill you." The promise leaves my mouth.

He chuckles. "Why? You're the one getting what you want."

The prince moves his face closer to my neck, nuzzling the sensitive skin with his chapped lips. Startled, my hands attempt to rise from the bed. They're down in an instant.

Shit. There's no point. He's too strong.

"Don't worry. You'll be screaming for more in no time." Valerius promises.

A loud rumble leaves my stomach.

"What was that?" He asks, pulling away.

Finally. It arrived just on time.

"Val," I call him—a habit from when I used to play Thorn Garden. "If you don't let go of me right now, there's going to be a very disgusting puddle on this bed and it won't be humiliating just for me."

There's a look of contemplation on his face, but when the second rumble arrives, louder, it's gone.

My wrists are freed. I don't waste the opportunity and crawl away, movements hasty.

"What did you do?" He asks. I make sure to imprint the look on his face into the back of my eyelids. For once, I have the upper hand.

I snicker. "Foreign concoctions, they're full of surprises."

As I run to the bathroom, I make a mental note to thank Prince Arthur's immaculate timing. In hindsight, it was a ridiculous plan. There was more risk than reward.

Still, victory is mine tonight. Val's unwanted advances have been evaded.

I haven't been consumed, haven't been torn apart and used as a spoiled prince's toy. My dignity is the only thing I have in tact and it's my priority to protect it, apart from trying to save my own life.

There are some considerable losses. My guts are being rearranged, crawling and contracting. The bathroom stinks of spice and other smells. By the time I'm finished, the first sign of the sun has started breaking through the night sky.

Good.

I almost hear the chime of the visual novel when the player makes a good choice.

Day one. Survived.