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The Emperor’s Castle was quiet in a way that made every sound feel dangerous.
Hunter knew the rhythm of the place better than most people twice his age. He knew when the guards changed shifts. He knew which corridors carried echoes and which swallowed footsteps whole.
Most importantly, he knew when his uncle was busy.
Tonight was perfect.
Hunter slipped through the dim hallway like a shadow. His boots were soft enough that they barely whispered against the stone. If anyone asked, the Golden Guard had every right to be walking the halls at night.
But if anyone asked why he was heading toward his uncle’s private study, that would be harder to explain.
He paused outside the tall doors, heart thumping against his ribs.
Just a quick look. That’s all.
Hunter eased one door open a crack.
Inside, the room glowed faintly with candlelight. Belos had left hours ago, Hunter had watched him disappear down the eastern tower stairs, but the smell of old parchment and apple blood still lingered heavily in the air.
Hunter slipped inside and closed the door behind him.
His gaze went straight to the cabinet.
Everyone in the castle knew his uncle liked apple blood. The kitchens kept plenty stocked for official functions, but Belos had something better hidden away. Bottles darker and richer than the watered-down stuff served to coven scouts.
Now he walked in strides to the large cabinet and opened the doors.
There they were.
Rows of glass bottles caught the candlelight, dark red liquid gleaming inside them.
Hunter’s stomach fluttered with nervous excitement.
He shouldn’t take one.
Definitely shouldn’t.
But his uncle had dozens.
And Hunter had had a long week.
Training drills. Strategy lessons. Hours of studying. And yesterday… the punishment.
His mind flashed with memories of his Uncle’s switch on his bare back.
Belos believed discipline made strong soldiers.
Hunter swallowed.
Just one bottle.
He reached in and carefully slid one free from the row.
The glass felt cool in his hands.
He turned it slowly, watching the dark red liquid slosh inside.
Hunter grinned faintly.
No one would miss one bottle.
He tucked it under his cloak.
The cabinet closed with a soft click.
Hunter froze.
Silence.
No footsteps in the hall.
No guards.
He exhaled slowly.
Then he slipped out of the study and hurried down the corridor.
Hunter arrived at his bedroom and locked the door behind him, untucking the bottle from where it was hidden under his cloak.
Then he knelt beside the bed.
The floorboards here had a tiny crack, almost invisible unless you knew where to look.
Hunter pried it open carefully.
His secret stash waited underneath.
First came the ration bars.
Five of them, wrapped in paper. Hunter always kept extras hidden here, just in case his uncle decided he needed another lesson. Sometimes discipline meant meals were skipped.
Next came the books.
Volumes bound in worn leather.
Hunter had stolen them from the forbidden archives in the castle.
The first one was “Bones to Earth - A Study of Wild Magic”
The second was titled “The Elemental Magic Practiced in the Savage Ages”
Hunter loved them. He knew he shouldn’t study wild magic but…
They were fascinating and unpredictable and nothing like the rigid training Belos insisted on.
Wild magic felt… alive.
Which meant it was dangerous.
Which meant if his uncle found them, they would vanish into the castle incinerator before Hunter could even explain.
He slid the books aside gently.
Then he placed the bottle of apple blood beside them.
For a moment he just stared at it.
The glass gleamed faintly in the moonlight coming through the window.
Hunter imagined what it might taste like.
The regular apple blood served in the dining hall was sweet and thin. But this… this looked stronger.
Maybe it would help him relax after training.
Maybe it would stop the knot of worry that lived permanently in his stomach.
He reached down and tapped the bottle lightly.
“Emergency supplies,” Hunter murmured to himself.
Ration bars for when meals disappeared.
Books for when curiosity got too loud.
And apple blood for…
Well.
Hunter wasn’t entirely sure yet.
But it felt important.
He carefully closed the floorboard.
Hidden again. Safe.
Hunter climbed onto the mattress and flopped onto his back, staring up at the ceiling.
Tomorrow would be another training day.
Another lecture.
Another chance to prove he deserved the title Belos had given him.
Hopefully not another punishment, as much as Hunter knew he deserved it.
Hunter turned onto his side, pulling the blanket around his shoulders.
Under the bed, the bottle waited quietly beside the forbidden books.
Hunter fell asleep already thinking about it.
Hunter usually liked mornings on the training court. It made everything feel calmer, more controlled.
Today wasn’t calm.
The scouts had already formed a sparring ring when Hunter stepped into the arena.
Conversation died for a moment.
Then someone snorted.
“Well, look who it is.”
Hunter kept walking. He had learned that looking nervous only made things worse.
Still, he could feel their eyes following him.
One of the older scouts leaned against the railing, arms folded.
“Careful, everyone,” he said loudly. “The Emperor’s little prince is here.”
A few of the others laughed.
Ignore them. Hunter told himself.
Another scout spoke up behind him.
“You know why he got the mask, right?”
“Oh yeah,” someone else said. “Family connections.”
Hunter’s grip tightened on the staff.
“He’s twelve,” the first scout continued. “You really think he beat everyone fairly?”
Hunter turned around before he could stop himself.
“I did.”
The scouts exchanged looks.
Then someone laughed outright.
“Sure you did.”
Hunter’s chest burned.
“I passed the trials.”
The tall scout stepped closer, towering over him.
“Doesn’t change what you are.”
Hunter’s jaw tightened. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
The scout smirked. “You know.”
His voice dropped slightly.
“Half-a-witch.”
The word landed like a slap.
Hunter felt heat rush into his face.
“I’m not-”
“You don’t have real magic,” the scout cut in. “Everyone knows it.”
Another voice chimed in.
“That’s why the Emperor gave you that fancy fake staff.”
“Maybe he feels bad for you.”
Hunter’s vision blurred with anger.
“I earned my place here.”
The tall scout leaned down.
“No,” he said quietly. “You didn’t.”
Hunter shoved him.
The motion was quick and stupid and completely out of line.
The courtyard fell silent.
The scout barely moved from the push.
Then a cold voice echoed across the training yard.
“Golden Guard.”
Hunter froze.
Every scout immediately stepped back.
Hunter turned slowly.
His uncle stood at the far end of the court.
Sometimes he came to watch Hunter train. Hunter hadn’t realized it, but today was unfortunately one of those days.
Hunter’s stomach sank.
“Come here,” Belos said.
And Hunter obeyed, because he always did what he was told.
The throne room was colder than the training yard.
Hunter stood alone in the center of the massive chamber, staring at the polished stone floor.
The throne towered above him like a monument.
Belos descended the steps slowly.
“You struck a fellow scout,” he said.
Hunter swallowed. “He insulted me.”
Belos stopped in front of him.
“And that gave you permission to lose control?”
Hunter clenched his fists. “He called me-”
Belos’s voice sharpened. “I asked you a question.”
Hunter stared at the floor. “No, sir.”
Belos studied him for a long moment.
“Your temper is becoming a problem.”
Hunter felt his chest tighten. “I was defending myself.”
Belos’s eyes hardened slightly. “You were overreacting."
Hunter’s voice slipped out before he could stop it.
“He started it.”
Silence filled the throne room.
Belos looked down at him.
“You will hold your tongue, boy. That will be enough.”
Hunter realized his mistake. He had talked back to his Uncle.
Idiot! I’m so stupid, surely he will punish me now…
Belos gestured toward the stone pillar beside the throne.
“Come here.”
Hunter’s stomach twisted.
He already knew what was coming.
Yesterday’s punishment still burned across his back.
But disobeying would only make it worse.
Hunter walked to the pillar.
“Remove your cloak,” Belos said.
Hunter did.
“Shirt as well.”
Hunter hesitated for half a heartbeat.
Belos’s gaze sharpened.
“Now.”
Hunter pulled the shirt over his head.
The air in the throne room felt cold against the healing welts across his back.
Belos stepped behind him.
The thin switch in his hand flexed slightly.
“Discipline is necessary,” Belos said calmly.
Hunter braced his hands against the stone pillar.
“I expect better from the Golden Guard.”
The first strike cracked across his back.
Hunter gasped.
Pain flared sharply over yesterday’s injuries.
The second blow landed before the first had faded.
Hunter squeezed his eyes shut.
The switch struck again.
And again.
Each lash burned like fire across skin that hadn’t had time to heal.
Hunter bit the inside of his cheek to keep quiet.
The throne room echoed with the sound of the switch cutting through the air.
Finally Belos lowered it.
“That will do.”
Hunter stayed still for a moment, breathing carefully.
“Compose yourself,” Belos said.
Hunter slowly pulled his shirt back on.
The fabric scraped painfully against his back.
Belos rested a hand on his shoulder.
“You must learn restraint,” he said quietly.
Hunter stared straight ahead.
“Yes, Uncle.”
By the time night fell, Hunter felt hollow.
He barely touched the food during dinner.
And when the castle finally went quiet for the night, Hunter slipped into his room and locked the door.
The silence pressed down on him from all angles.
Hunter leaned against the door and slid slowly to the floor.
His back ached.
His thoughts spun in circles.
Emperor’s little prince.
You really think he beat everyone fairly?
Half-a-witch.
Hunter squeezed his eyes shut.
He had earned the title.
He had.
He worked harder than anyone.
He studied longer.
He trained until his hands shook.
But it still wasn’t enough. It was never enough.
Something inside him cracked.
Hunter pushed himself to his knees and crawled beside the bed.
His fingers found the loose floorboard immediately.
He lifted it.
The stash waited underneath.
Ration bars.
Wild magic books.
And the bottle.
Hunter picked it up slowly.
The dark apple blood sloshed against the glass.
Hunter stared at it for a long moment.
He could still hear the scouts laughing.
Still feel the sting of the switch.
Still hear Belos’s disappointed voice.
Hunter pulled the cork out. The smell was sharp and sweet.
He took a small sip. It burned going down.
Hunter coughed.
“That’s awful,” he muttered hoarsely.
But the warmth spreading through his chest wasn’t awful.
It softened the day's hardships.
So he drank again.
And again.
Hunter sat on the floor beside his bed, back against the mattress.
The bottle slowly grew lighter in his hands.
His thoughts blurred.
The scouts’ voices faded.
The sting on his back dulled slightly.
Hunter wiped his sleeve across his eyes without realizing he was crying.
“I earned it,” he whispered.
Another drink.
“They’re wrong.”
Another drink.
“I’m not…”
The sentence never finished.
By the time the bottle was two thirds empty, Hunter wasn’t thinking clearly at all.
He pushed himself to his feet.
The room tilted slightly.
Hunter laughed weakly.
“Oh,” he mumbled.
That was new.
He steadied himself against the wall.
Maybe he should get some water.
Hunter grabbed the door handle.
The corridor outside was dark and empty.
He stepped into it anyway.
The floor shifted strangely beneath his feet.
Hunter leaned against the wall, trying to steady himself.
Then he started walking down the hall without even noticing how badly he was swaying.
The castle was quiet.
Not the normal quiet of night patrols and distant footsteps, this was the deep empty silence that came long after midnight, when even the guards started to drift toward exhaustion.
The hallway tilted.
Hunter tilted with it.
“That’s… rude,” he informed the floor.
The bottle in his hand sloshed when he took another uneven step. He had already drank more than he meant to. The apple blood burned less now, replaced by a warm fuzziness that made everything feel slow and floaty.
Unfortunately, it also made walking difficult.
Hunter braced one hand against the wall and shuffled forward.
His boots scraped loudly against the stone.
He didn’t notice.
He also didn’t notice the tall figure rounding the corner until he walked directly into him.
Hunter bounced backward.
The other person didn’t move at all.
“Well,” a deep, unimpressed voice said.
Hunter blinked up slowly.
Purple.
There was a lot of purple.
Purple cloak. Purple hair. Purple abomination goo.
Oh.
That was bad.
“Coven Head,” Hunter said carefully.
His words came out… wrong.
A little slower than they should have.
The man studying him was none other than Darius Deamonne, head of the Abomination Coven.
Darius raised one eyebrow.
“Golden Guard,” he replied.
Hunter straightened immediately.
Or tried to.
The hallway tilted again and he grabbed the wall to stay upright.
Darius watched this with growing suspicion.
“Well,” he said slowly. “This is unusual.”
Hunter nodded seriously.
“Yes.”
“…I didn’t ask a question.”
“Oh.”
Hunter squinted at him.
Darius folded his arms.
“What exactly are you doing wandering the halls at this hour… little prince?”
Hunter tried very hard to focus.
Little prince.
That nickname sounded vaguely familiar.
“I’m… patrolling,” Hunter said confidently.
Darius glanced down at the bottle dangling loosely from Hunter’s hand.
“Are you?”
Hunter followed his gaze.
The bottle slipped from his fingers.
It hit the stone floor with a loud clunk.
For one horrifying moment both of them stared at it.
Then Hunter lunged forward, snatching it up.
“You din' see nothing,” he said quickly.
Darius stared at him.
Hunter hugged the bottle to his chest protectively.
“Little prince.”
“Yes?”
“Are you drunk?”
Hunter opened his mouth.
Closed it.
Opened it again.
“…No.”
Darius waited.
Hunter’s expression went thoughtful.
“…maybe?”
Darius exhaled slowly through his nose.
“Marvelous.”
Hunter swayed slightly where he stood.
He took another swig from the bottle when the warm fuzziness from earlier had begun shifting into something less pleasant.
His stomach twisted suddenly.
Hunter blinked.
“Oh.”
Darius narrowed his eyes.
“Oh?” he repeated.
Hunter pressed a hand to his mouth.
“I don’t feel-”
His face turned pale.
Darius’s expression shifted instantly from irritation to resignation.
“Oh, Titan preserve me.”
Hunter gagged.
Darius sighed deeply.
“Of course.”
He grabbed Hunter by the shoulder before the boy could collapse.
“Come along, little prince. Quickly.”
Hunter stumbled as Darius steered him down the corridor.
They reached a large door only a few turns away.
Darius pushed it open.
Deep purple curtains hung over tall windows. Velvet cushions and polished furniture filled the space, accented with gold.
Hunter barely noticed any of it.
Darius dragged him straight toward a door.
“Here.”
The bathroom inside was equally extravagant, but Hunter only had time to register the shining porcelain before his stomach revolted.
Darius pushed him down in front of the toilet just in time.
Hunter got violently sick.
The sound echoed unpleasantly in the quiet room.
Darius leaned against the doorway with a long suffering expression.
“Well,” he said after a moment. “That answers the question.”
Hunter groaned miserably.
His entire body felt awful now.
His back burned where the lashes had been earlier.
His head spun.
And his stomach refused to settle.
He gagged again, gripping the edge of the toilet.
Darius stepped forward with a quiet sigh and held Hunter’s shoulder.
“Easy.”
Hunter flinched at the sudden contact but managed to regain his composure.
He figured he should apologize to Darius for his sorry state, and for wasting the Coven Head's time. “Sorry.”
“You should be.” Was all Darius said in response.
Hunter wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes watering.
Darius handed him a cloth.
“Use that, little prince.”
Hunter obeyed.
The room swayed slightly again and he leaned back against the cool tile wall.
Darius crouched beside him.
“You drank most of a bottle of extra strong apple blood,” he said.
Hunter stared at the floor.
“…maybe.”
Darius rubbed a hand over his face.
“You’re twelve.”
Hunter shrugged weakly.
“Bad day.”
Then his stomach twisted again.
“Oh no.”
Darius sighed.
“Yes, little prince. I’m afraid it’s going to be that kind of night.”
He steadied Hunter as the boy leaned forward again, and stayed there beside him, one hand resting carefully on his shoulder, until the worst of it passed.
Hunter stayed hunched over the toilet for a long moment after.
The room was quiet except for his uneven breathing.
Slowly, cautiously, he leaned back against the cool tile wall again. The spinning had dulled a little, though the world still felt… loose, like everything was slightly out of place.
Darius was still crouched beside him.
The head of the Abomination Coven studied him carefully, one eyebrow faintly raised, purple sleeves draped elegantly over his folded arms.
“Well,” Darius said after a moment, his voice calmer now. “Are we finished attempting to empty your entire digestive system?”
Hunter swallowed.
“…prob'ly.”
“Reassuring.”
Hunter wiped his face again with the cloth Darius had given him earlier. His movements were slow and clumsy.
For a moment neither of them spoke.
Then Darius sighed.
“Little prince,” he said, quieter this time, “why did you drink so much hard apple blood?”
Hunter stared at the tile floor.
His fingers twisted loosely in the cloth.
“Bad day,” he muttered.
Darius tilted his head.
“Yes, you mentioned that. I’m asking for details.”
The alcohol had loosened his thoughts too much to keep everything neatly locked away the way he usually did.
“They hate me,” he mumbled finally.
Darius frowned slightly.
“Who does?”
“The scouts.”
Hunter picked at a loose thread on the cloth.
Darius leaned back slightly, studying him.
“And why would they hate you?”
Hunter gave a small, humorless laugh.
“They think I cheated.”
Darius blinked once.
“Cheated?”
“Yeah.” Hunter sniffed and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his hand. “They think I only became Golden Guard 'cause of my uncle.”
Hunter kept talking, words slurring together.
“They say I’m too young. That I din' earn it.”
He looked down at his hands.
“They call me half-a-witch.”
The words came out quieter.
Darius went very still.
Hunter shrugged weakly.
“They’re prob'ly right.”
Darius’s voice was suddenly very cool.
“They are not.”
Hunter didn’t seem to hear him.
“I pushed one of them,” he continued miserably. “During training.”
Darius sighed.
Hunter sniffed again.
“And then my uncle saw.”
There was a pause.
Darius’s voice softened slightly.
“And what did your uncle do?”
Hunter shrugged again, a sloppy motion.
“Punished me. With the switch.”
Darius’s eyes narrowed.
“Again.” Hunter gave a tired little laugh. “I’m kinda a screw-up.”
“That is not-”
Hunter talked over him.
“I talked back.”
His voice wobbled.
“So it was my fault.”
Darius stared at him.
The boy sitting on the tile floor looked impossibly small for someone who held the title of Golden Guard.
His hair was a mess.
His eyes were red.
And he was still clutching the mostly empty bottle like it was evidence of a crime.
Darius exhaled slowly.
“Well,” he said, standing, “we will unpack the many problems in that statement later.”
Darius walked toward a tall wardrobe across the room.
Hunter watched him blearily.
The room tilted again.
He leaned his head back against the wall.
A moment later Darius returned holding a folded bundle of dark purple fabric.
“Here,” he said.
Hunter squinted at it.
“What’s that?”
“Clothing.”
Hunter frowned in concentration.
“…why?”
“Because,” Darius said patiently, “you are not sleeping in uniform, these will be much more comfortable.”
“Oh.”
Darius held out the bundle.
“Put these on.”
Hunter took them.
The pajamas were soft. Far softer than anything he owned.
“Oh,” he repeated faintly.
Then he stood up.
The motion made him wobble dangerously.
Darius grabbed his shoulder automatically.
“Careful.”
Hunter steadied himself against the sink.
“’m fine.”
“Your current condition suggests otherwise.”
Hunter ignored him. Drunken determination had taken over.
He tugged his shirt over his head.
Darius froze.
Across Hunter’s back were thin, angry red welts.
Some were darker than others. Some were fresh. Others looked a day older.
The fabric of the shirt had clearly been rubbing against them.
Hunter didn’t even seem to notice.
He was busy trying to figure out which way the pajama top went.
Darius’s voice went very quiet.
“Hunter.”
Hunter blinked.
“Hm?”
Darius gestured toward his back.
Hunter glanced over his shoulder vaguely.
“Oh.”
He shrugged.
The movement made him flinch slightly.
“Those?”
“Yes, those.”
Hunter waved it off.
“It’s nothing.”
Darius stared at him.
“Nothing.”
“Yeah.”
Hunter pulled the pajama shirt on backwards.
“It’s jus' discipline.”
Darius’s jaw tightened.
Hunter kept rambling.
“I deserved it.”
“You-”
“I talked back,” Hunter continued. “'N I pushed someone. 'N I messed up training yesterday too.”
He yawned mid-sentence.
“So it’s okay.”
Darius stared at him for several seconds.
Then he said, very firmly, “No.”
Hunter blinked slowly. “What?”
“That,” Darius said, pointing again at the welts across Hunter’s back, “is not ‘okay.’”
Hunter shrugged again.
“Uncle says... discipline makes strong soldiers.”
Darius’s expression darkened.
“Well,” he said coolly, “your uncle is not currently here, is he?”
Hunter looked confused.
“…no?”
“Good.”
Darius turned and walked to a nearby cabinet.
Hunter swayed slightly where he stood.
A moment later Darius returned holding a small kit.
He set it on the counter and opened it.
Inside were cloths, ointment, and bandages.
Hunter squinted at it.
“…what are you doing?”
“Treating your injuries.”
Hunter waved a lazy hand.
“They’re fine.”
“They are not fine.”
“They’ll heal.”
“Yes,” Darius said dryly, “assuming they do not become infected first.”
Hunter considered this.
Then shrugged again.
Darius stepped closer.
“Sit.”
Hunter looked at him.
“…why?”
Darius gave him a look. The same look he used on incompetent scouts.
Hunter sighed and sat down on the edge of the tub.
“Bossy.”
“I prefer ‘competent.’”
Hunter mumbled something unintelligible.
Darius gently pushed the pajama shirt back off Hunter’s shoulders again.
The boy barely protested.
Between the alcohol and exhaustion, his resistance was weak at best.
Darius dipped a cloth into cool water.
“This will sting slightly,” he warned.
Hunter snorted softly.
“I doubt it.”
The cloth touched the first welt.
Hunter sucked in a sharp breath.
“…okay maybe a little.”
Darius carefully cleaned the injuries, his movements precise but gentle.
Hunter leaned forward slightly, too tired to hold himself upright.
His head eventually rested against his arms.
“You’re very quiet,” Darius said after a moment.
Hunter mumbled something into his sleeve.
“What was that?”
“…sorry.”
Darius paused.
“For what?”
Hunter’s voice was barely audible.
“Bein' trouble.”
Darius stared at him.
Then he returned to applying the ointment.
“You are not trouble, little prince,” he said quietly.
Hunter didn’t respond.
His breathing had already started to slow.
Half asleep.
Darius finished bandaging the worst of the welts, his expression unreadable.
The boy had nearly passed out sitting up.
Darius sighed softly.
“Well,” he murmured to himself, “this evening has certainly become complicated.”
Carefully, he helped Hunter pull the pajama shirt back on.
Then he steadied the exhausted, drunken Golden Guard before he could topple over completely and carried his limp body to the purple pull-out couch in his living room.
Darius laid the boy down, putting a pillow under his head and a blanket over top of him, before whispering “Goodnight, little prince” as Hunter drifted into a deep state of unconsciousness.