The Cursed Prince
The morning was quiet in the royal palace. Inside a vast and luxurious chamber, a boy slowly stirred awake. He rubbed his eyes, and when he opened them, a pair of hauntingly beautiful red eyes glimmered in the soft light. His skin was pale, his shoulder-length crimson hair tangled from sleep.
A knock echoed at the door.
"Come in," the boy murmured.
A maid entered, bowing low. Her voice was sweet as she greeted him.
"Good morning, my prince. I hope you rested well."
The boy lifted his hand, signaling her to rise.
"I did. Thank you."
She straightened and spoke again.
"Your Majesty and the princesses are waiting for you at the breakfast table."
"I'll be there shortly," the boy replied softly. "You may go."
The maid bowed once more and quietly left.
The boy rose, stretching his limbs, before walking into his adjoining washroom. A hot bath was already prepared. He removed his nightgown and sank into the water, steam curling around his pale form. After several minutes, he stood, wrapped himself in a robe, and moved to his closet. From there he chose a simple black outfit, tied back his crimson hair neatly, and stepped out of his quarters.
His footsteps echoed against the white marble floors as he descended the grand staircase. Ahead, in the great dining hall, four figures sat around a long table, already enjoying their meal. As he approached, their faces lifted with warm smiles.
The boy bowed slightly.
"My king. My princesses."
He walked up to the man seated at the head, kissed his hand, and received a gentle pat on the cheek.
"How was your night, Atta?" the man asked.
"It was good, Father, as always," Atta replied, taking a seat beside him.
As he began to eat, his thoughts surfaced:
I am Atta, prince of the Human Kingdom. I think I'm fifteen years old… though I don't remember exactly. Nor do I wish to.
A playful gust of air poked at him. Atta glanced at the green-eyed woman across the table. He smiled softly.
"Good morning, Sister Fiza. And forgive me—I forgot to greet you."
Princess Fiza smirked, satisfied with her trick, before returning to her food.
That's my eldest sister, Princess Fiza. She's twenty-two. Protective… and endlessly teasing. She wields wind magic.
Atta's gaze shifted to the other woman at the table.
And that's my second sister, Princess Izza. Strong, fiery, and the closest thing I've had to a mother. She's molded me into who I am.
Their father, King Rauf, looked up from his meal.
"Atta, in just a few days you'll be leaving for Saint Athepia, the elite magic academy. Are you prepared? I know you cannot use magic yet… but I'm certain your power will awaken soon."
Atta smiled reassuringly.
"Don't worry, Father. I won't let you down."
The king nodded, satisfied.
That's my father—King Rauf of the Human Kingdom. The weakest of the four great realms. The strongest is the Angel Kingdom… high above in the skies. I know little of it.
Fiza's teasing voice broke his thoughts.
"Maybe you'll be in the same class as Princess Isha of the Elves. She's your age… and very beautiful. I saw her at the recent summit. But of course, you never attend."
Atta flushed, averting his gaze.
"Oh, come on, Sister…"
Izza chuckled softly, cutting in.
"Leave him be, Fiza. He must be overwhelmed, knowing he's leaving the palace so soon."
Atta gave her a grateful smile while Fiza only rolled her eyes.
My sisters… sweet, caring, and strong. They are the only reason our kingdom still stands. Each of them bears a white mana core—the purest and most powerful. But me? Mine is dark brown… broken, impure. I can barely use magic at all.
Suddenly, a fit of coughing seized him. Atta dropped to his knees, clutching his chest. His father and sisters rushed to his side.
"Water! Hurry!" Fiza shouted to the guards.
As the soldiers scrambled, Atta's red eyes blazed like fire. He gripped his head, writhing in pain.
"Aaaaaaaaahhhhhh!" His scream echoed through the hall.
To be continued…