Page 4 of The Demon Prince

Maybe he liked it a bit. The judgment. The disgust. The hatred for everything that he wanted, and so he continued to be a monster because it tasted so fucking good on his tongue.

Already it burned again. The need to devour, consume, and to feel their very life force trickling down his throat. His brothers didn’t understand this need, but how could they? They couldn’t put it in perspective that they all had their faults.

Lust fucked himself into oblivion. Greed stole every priceless object that he could. Envy took from others just because he had to, and Sloth lingered in his castle without ever leaving it.

They were all flawed monsters. He had just accepted it about himself long before his brothers.

Running a hand down his face again, he felt the prickles of his beard and the general unkempt nature of his form. When was the last time he’d bathed? He smelled like a lab. Like chemicals and sulfur had sunk so deep into his skin that he’d never be able to get them out.

This wasn’t him. Gluttony had always at least kept himself clean, and he’d been presentable. But right now, he’d been so engrossed in punishing himself for all that he was that he’d forgotten to even eat.

Or had he?

He felt the crust of dried blood on his mouth and licked at it. Too savory. He winced at the faint, smokey flavor that now covered his tongue again. Gluttony had forgotten about the woman who had come to his keep, begging for coins, and offering her neck like it was a prize to be bought.

He’d been weak. Tired. Hating himself so much that it only felt right to throw a bag of coins at her and sink his teeth into that neck offered so freely. But the blood had tasted wrong, tainted with a thick layer of alcohol that streamed through her body and years of misuse. Too much like pork and red meat and not enough of a healthy diet.

She’d tasted like poison. He’d wrenched himself away from her, gagging, and trying so hard not to vomit on what he knew was an open wound. And without another word, she’d fled.

He couldn’t remember much else, only his self loathing that always threatened to swallow him up.

Sighing, he stood from his desk and staggered toward his bedroom. He needed to change. Scrub himself from top to bottom to get the flavor of her out of his mouth.

He gagged again, the memories suddenly blooming up from his stomach until every exhalation tasted like her. He barely made it to his bathing room before he fell to his knees in front of the toilet and threw up what only felt like a mouthful of blood. But it was still the same taste, and he spent hours gagging, trying to get the taste of her out of his mouth.

Exhaustion settled in a half hour later, but he still needed to get clean. Now he was coated in her blood and vomit and a mixture of what he guessed was probably red wine, but couldn’t be certain at this point. So he dragged himself to the tub and filled it.

He sank deep, ducking his head underneath the water and watching the ripples warp the candlelight. Nothing would happen if he just stayed under here. He couldn’t die, and he’d tried every creative way to make that happen. So he could just stay here for hundreds of years, until someone eventually found him and tried to reanimate his body.

Maybe they’d succeed. And all he would have done is left his entire kingdom to deal with six other demons who would absolutely go to war over a kingdom none of them wanted.

He came back out of the water, shaking his head like a dog. Water droplets sprayed from his long, dark hair, soaking into the peeling wallpaper that covered the bathroom. He’d forgotten about it, honestly. So much of this castle had been decorated by other people, and it had all just turned to dust in his mind. He rarely even noticed the finer details of his home. But this wallpaper was shredding. It used to be a scene of the sunny moors, only rarely seen a few times a year. And now there were pieces torn and faded.

Perhaps he should fix the castle up. He could hire some of the townsfolk from the area nearby, and could even hire people from the outer reaches to come to his castle. It would get more money for them. Money that apparently they were now willing to get through offering their blood.

Gagging again, he pulled himself out of the tub and got dressed.

When was the last time he’d slept? He couldn’t remember. Sleep wasn’t really all that necessary these days. All he did was have nightmares, anyway. It seemed like a waste.

By the time he’d staggered back through his dark bedroom, he realized there was a shadow at the base of his door. An open door, so he should have been able to see what cast that shadow. But it was… nothing. A dark mass stood in front of him, about knee high, and it waited. As though it wanted him to see it.

And then, strangely enough, it rolled into the hall.

Was he hallucinating? Had that woman taken drugs before she’d gotten to his house and was that why he was feeling like this? Surely not. Surely she wasn’t so foolish as to poison him by poisoning herself? It wouldn’t be the first time someone had tried to do so.

But no, that made little sense.

Trailing along behind the mass, he saw it roll through his candlelit hall and down the massive spiral stairwell. Frowning, he continued to follow it all the way to his door. Was it a spirit?

He couldn’t remember what a black spirit was. They all had some sort of color or shade to them. He knew there weren’t any white ones, so why was there a black one?

Maybe he shouldn’t be following it, but he’d long ago lost any sense of self preservation. So he followed the mass out of his castle, down through the ancient gardens that used to be filled with countless plants that grew with no light at all. Now, they were all dead. He hadn’t taken care of them in years, or centuries was it? His castle looked rather like a mausoleum surrounded by a graveyard these days. The mass continued down the boardwalk, though, so he kept going.

It was long into the night. Nothing would bother him, anyway, although many of the creatures grumbled as he strode past them. A rather lovely blonde rusalka even touched her hand to his boot. He didn’t pause to see what she wanted, nor did he really care to know. His kingdom was full of more magical creatures than any other. They flocked here, knowing that he saw them as his people, as equal to the humans. And yet, he still didn’t know how to help them.

Not really.

Gluttony was a rather lousy king. Always had been. But his kingdom wasn’t exactly set up for success.

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