The Autobiography of the Dark Prince

by Dan Wingreen

  Chappy laughed. It was a very rich, deep laugh, and Elias was startled—and not a little disturbed—by how similar it was to the Prince's.

  "I would hardly need to." Then before Elias could ask what he meant by that, he continued. "And he is not so interesting a subject as you, sir."

  "Are you stalking me, then?" Elias glanced around the room, looking for some kind of weapon should Chappy suddenly develop a Connolly-esque fixation on him.

  Chappy laughed a second time. "I merely wish to ask you a question."

  "I notice you aren't answering mine."

  Chappy smiled, adding a dozen lines to his already time-ravaged face. "You are very intelligent, sir. Surely intelligent enough to answer a simple question from a humble servant."

  "What are you—"

  "Why do you think you deserve to be with the Dark Prince?"

  Elias froze. "Excuse me?"

  Chappy merely waited silently.

  Elias had never been one to obsess over the unbreakable lines separating servants from commoners and nobility, nor did he generally care when those lines were crossed, as long as it didn't impact the duties of those doing the crossing. But to have some servant, a chaperone no less, dare to question his relationship with the Prince…

  It was really quite beyond the pale.

  "How dare you," Elias said quietly. "The particulars of my relationship with the Dark Prince are of no concern to you, servant. Your job is done. Which means you leave. You do not come back and ask questions. You do not follow me or the Prince. You do not speak to either of us unless first spoken to. You have violated all of these rules, and unless you leave, silently, the moment I'm done speaking, I'm going to inform the Prince of your question upon his return. You were there when he punished the baron. I have little doubt he will be equally inventive when punishing you."

  Silence filled the room as Elias paused to let his words sink in.

  "I'm done speaking, now."

  He hadn't exactly been expecting the same reaction of tears and panicked pleading Connolly had given the Prince's threats from Chappy, but he would be lying if he didn't admit that getting only a raised eyebrow for his troubles was severely disappointing.

  "At least I don't have to worry about you not having a backbone," Chappy muttered. "But I'm afraid I still need an answer to my question, and though I am very loath to do this, I think we'll need to be properly introduced before I can get one."

  Elias was seriously considering resorting to physical violence, when a curious thing happened. Chappy's eyes, which were a clear, sky blue, suddenly burst into purple flame.

  Elias, who had leaned in close to deliver his threat, barely managed to contain a shout of surprise as he jumped back. The flames spread quickly, covering every inch of the tiny old man before flaring up with a sudden roar, stopping just below the ceiling. Then, just as suddenly as it started, the inferno was snuffed without so much as a wisp of smoke left behind.

  Instead of a small, wizened chaperone—or the much more likely pile of blackened bones—there stood a tall, powerful man clad in dark iron armor which seemed to be made of nothing but sharp, curved edges. Surrounding his head was what seemed to be a solid piece of some sort of metal Elias couldn't identify, black as night but gleaming like polished stone. Jagged spikes protruded from the top of the helm, somehow managing to look as regal as any crown Elias had ever seen. The only break in its solidity was two small, curved slits about eye level, where two burning orbs of purple fire hovered.

  "Greetings, Elias Sutterby." The man's voice was deep and smooth. It reverberated as if he was speaking in a cavern, yet Elias thought he could still detect faint traces of Chappy's inflections in the words he spoke. "I am the Dark King."

  Considering his appearance, it was perhaps the least surprising thing Elias had ever heard.

  "Ah. I-I see."

  In hindsight, it wasn't the most elegant thing he could have said.

  "You seem less than terrified."

  Elias wasn't sure if it was approval or annoyance he heard in the Dark King's voice, but either way, he found himself scowling and before he could think better of it, said, "Why do you both seem so surprised that I'm not wetting myself at the sound of your names? Is it a family trait?"

  A very long silence filled the room. One in which Elias mentally berated himself for being utterly unable to control himself around, apparently, the Prince's entire family, and in which the Dark King merely stared at him.

  "Perhaps you would like to rephrase your previous statement," the Dark King said finally.

  Elias shivered at the ice in his tone, but he very quickly found himself distracted by the way the Dark King's eyes seemed to narrow, for all that they were balls of flame set into a metal helm—the Mournhelm!

  How it had taken Elias this long to understand the significance of what was right in front of him was a question he wasted little time contemplating. He had the Mournhelm itself and the Dark King—the Dark King!—close enough to touch. Very little else seemed to matter, right then, aside from attempting to keep from having an apoplexy as he tried to decide which of his million and four questions to ask first.

  "Is it heavy?"

  The Dark King's eyes seemed to sort of wink out of existence for a moment—was that a blink?—before he spoke. "Excuse me?"

  "The Helm," Elias clarified. "Is it heavy? Because it looks heavy. And incredibly uncomfortable. Although, I suppose if you have access to magic you could spell it not to be. And your shape shifting! How does that work, exactly? Can you form any shape you want? Is it an illusion, or does your body actually change?"

  Elias was so excited he was practically vibrating.

  The Dark King, as much as Elias could determine with only a metal face and two burning eyes to go off of at any rate, seemed somewhat bemused.

  "You have a lot of questions," the Dark King said finally.

  Elias nodded. "You may answer them in any order you wish."

  Judging by the way the purple flames darkened, he rather thought the Dark King wasn't taking that as the deferential statement it was meant to be.

  "You refuse to answer my questions, yet badger me with your own while refusing to address me properly," the Dark King stated, his calm words completely at odds with the malice Elias could almost feel pressing against his skin. "I have killed people for less."

  Elias was, for the first time, starting to realize just what kind of danger he might be in.

  "Ah. Yes. My apologies, majesty—"

  "Dread Majesty."

  "Dread Majesty. Of course." It came out much more sarcastic and much less placating than Elias intended. He barely held back a wince.

  Don't insult the lord of all evil.

  —But seriously, Dread Majesty?

  Elias bit the inside of his cheek. Hard.

  Stop. That.

  The Dark King seemed to be appeased, though, and even with his newfound caution, there was one question Elias desperately wanted an answer to.

  "Were you Chappy the entire time?" he asked. Then he quickly added, "You only have to answer this one, I withdraw all my other questions."

  For now.

  He was Elias's future father-in-law, after all. Surely they would interact again at some point.

  "The only question I have to answer?"

  This time, Elias did wince. "Ah, I, of course, meant 'the only question I would like you to answer'." He wondered if this was how it felt to be the Crown Prince, and winced again. Then, just because politeness never hurt anything—and because he hated the comparison he'd just made—he added, "Please. If it wouldn't be too much trouble, Dread Majesty."

  He hated jumping through hoops and sounding obsequious while doing so, but the Dark King seemed to be contemplating his words, so it was worth it.

  "Yes," the Dark King said. "I was Chappy the whole time."

  Elias nodded, mostly to himself, and ignored the flush creeping across his cheeks as his mind insisted on playing back every interaction he'd had with
the Prince in Chappy's presence. He'd figured that was the case.

  "Then," Elias said, narrowing his eyes, "since you were there for most of our significant romantic interactions, you should have little doubt as to why I'm with the Prince, and why he's with me."

  "That isn't what I asked," the Dark King said, ignoring Elias's glare. "I asked why you thought you deserved to be with my son. You aren't a warrior and thus can't protect him. You aren't a prince, bringing him prestige and an alliance with a potential enemy. You aren't even a noble with money or lands to offer. You are little more than a peasant, in both your kingdom and mine. How my son feels about you is irrelevant, as are your feelings towards him. If you don't deserve him, you will never have him. So, again, I ask why do you, of all people, deserve to be my son's consort?"

  Elias clenched his jaw. Somehow, hearing the question from the Dark King instead of a servant was even more insulting and infuriating. The only difference was, this time he wasn't insulted on his own behalf.

  "Do you truly think so little of your son?"

  The Dark King's eyes blazed. "I don't believe I heard you correctly," he said slowly. "Please repeat yourself."

  Elias met his burning glare evenly. "You heard me perfectly well." He squashed the inner voice screaming at him to shut up. "And since you feel the need to bully me into a retraction rather than answering my very simple question, I can only assume the answer is 'yes'."

  The Dark King took one threatening step forward, and it took all of Elias's control not to flinch. "You had best consider your words more carefully. My son's feelings will not protect you indefinitely."

  "I'm surprised they're protecting me at all, since you seem to hold the Prince in such low esteem," Elias snapped. "You mentioned warriors, as if the Dark Prince is somehow incapable of protecting himself. You mentioned princes and alliances with enemies, as if the Prince can't deal with his adversaries without his title to shield him. And you mentioned nobles, as if you think he respects a title more than the actions the holders of those titles take. In short, Dread Majesty, you paint a picture of a man who is nothing like your son, and you do him, and myself, a great disservice in the process. Yourself as well, because while I may not be a warrior, or a prince, or a noble, I am a scholar. Just like you."

  Silence fell once again, and Elias was almost positive the only thing breaking it would be his screams as the Dark King murdered him. He didn't care. He finally understood what the Prince must have been feeling every time Selma or someone else had insulted Elias in his presence, the all-consuming fury at having someone daring not to see how wonderful the person he loved truly was. Except, Elias probably felt it more, because this was the Prince's father, and he knew exactly how much regard the Prince had for him. That it wasn't returned was unconscionable.

  It was about then Elias noticed he wasn't being killed or tortured. He wasn't even being threatened. Instead, the Dark King was staring at him, his constantly burning eyes utterly unreadable.

  "Is that why you think you deserve my son? Because you're a scholar? Do you think drawing comparisons between us will make me respect you?"

  "I deserve your son," Elias said, "because I know everything about his life; his desires and dreams, his hates and regrets. And he knows mine. I deserve him because out of everyone the both of us have ever known, we have only ever found someone worthy of our full attention in each other. But most of all, I deserve him because he says I do. Because I love him, and I care about the opinions of the people I love. As for your respect? I have read many of your books over the past weeks, and I find myself greatly respecting you as a scholar. If you would like to read mine and show me respect in a similar manner, I would be flattered.

  "But if you're talking about earning your respect as a person? I don't think I could possibly care less, at the moment. As much as there is to respect about you as a scholar, I have seen little to respect as a human being."

  He had barely finished speaking before the Dark King lunged forward and wrapped a gauntlet covered hand around Elias's throat. The Dark King squeezed just enough so Elias couldn't make any noise aside from a few wheezing gasps as he desperately tried to breathe.

  I'm going to die.

  It was all he could think. He was about to be murdered by his future father-in-law.

  "How easy it is," the Dark King mused. His eyes flared up as Elias feebly struggled to get free. "You claim to hold my son's heart, yet you can do nothing to keep it safe."

  I wonder if the Prince will ever know what happened to me?

  "He may be able to protect himself, but the same cannot be said about you. And while I may not hold my son's heart, I know it better than anyone, and I know that no enemy's blade will pierce it more deeply than the one that goes through your chest." The Dark King leaned in, bringing his burning eyes just inches away from Elias's face. "So tell me, scholar, how do you plan to safeguard that which is given to you?"

  It was, Elias realized, a valid question. One he had never thought of. He was the weak link in the Dark Prince's armor, and he was suddenly so very afraid he would one day be the cause of that wonderful laugh being silenced forever. Because Elias, too, knew the Prince, and he had no idea if the Prince would ever be able to recover from losing someone he let himself fall in love with.

  And yet, Elias had been wrong about something as well. And the solution to this new problem was in the question itself. In the fact it was even being asked.

  "I…don't…need…to."

  "What?"

  "Can't…speak…"

  The Dark King's eyes blazed, but his hand loosened enough to make speaking easier. Elias gasped as he swallowed the precious air.

  "You—" Elias coughed. "You do care about the Prince. So you will protect me with all your power, and in doing so, protect him as well."

  "Moments ago, you were so sure I cared nothing for my son," the Dark King said evenly.

  Elias smiled slightly. "A ruse, I believe. To determine how much I truly cared about him." He thought for a moment, then laughed. "And probably an effort to make me scared or angry as well, if you're anything like the Prince."

  The Dark King stared at Elias for the longest time before finally releasing his throat and taking a step back.

  "I can see why he likes you," the Dark King admitted, rather reluctantly.

  Elias rubbed his throat, not at all surprised to find it wasn't sore at all.

  "Is anyone in your kingdom truly evil? Or is it just your family which excels at pretending?" he asked.

  The Dark King growled. "Did my son not tell you about the torture?"

  "Yes, yes," Elias said dismissively. "Torture isn't evil. True evil is nothing more than a lack of empathy, a problem which neither of you seem to have. It's rather fascinating, actually."

  The Dark King's fiery eyes narrowed, but Elias thought it was in contemplation, rather than anger.

  "My son never stood a chance, did he?" the Dark King said, amusement threaded through his deep voice. "You seem tailor-made for him. If he managed to resist falling in love with you for more than five minutes I'll hand Mournhelm over to him on a gilded platter."

  Elias smirked. "It took him several days, in fact."

  "My statements are nonbinding."

  Elias let out a surprised laugh that was cut short by the door slamming open.

  "My apologies for being late, my dear," the Dark Prince said as he stalked into the room. "But I—"

  He froze mid-step, his eyes wide as he finally looked up and noticed who was with Elias.

  "Oh." The Prince glanced back and forth between Elias and the Dark King. "Well, I suppose this explains the note asking me to wait in a broom closet on the other side of the castle for a spy who never showed up."

  Elias looked back at the Dark King with a raised eyebrow. "You said he was summoned by the King."

  "I never said which king."

  Elias could almost see the satisfied smirk through the helm.

  "Ha! That was wry smugness if I've ever hea
rd it." The Prince grinned. "You like Elias. I knew you would. Although, I probably don't want to know exactly what happened to make you like him. I've already trapped a man inside an endless cycle of mental torture for trying to kill him; I'd hate to have to do something similar to you."

  "He told me off for being a terrible father," the Dark King said, ignoring the threat with the ease of someone used to them.

  "Really?" The Prince looked delighted. He walked over and put his arm around Elias's shoulder. "He broke my nose for putting a desire spell on him."

  "You touched him before you even began your courtship?" the Dark King asked, his voice laced with very Chappy-esque disapproval.

  "Weren't you listening? He touched me. With his head. On my nose." The Dark Prince narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "And please don't tell me Chappy was actually you."

  "Among others, yes. And I seem to remember specifically telling you not to antagonize the local nobility while in Ellington." The Dark King's eyes narrowed. "Especially the Crown Prince."

  The Prince blanched and Elias remembered him saying Chappy spent his days following him around at court. Perhaps these "others" did as well?

  "Hmm. Yes. I seem to recall something along those lines," the Prince said, flashing the Dark King a charming smile. It faltered after a long moment of silence. "I suppose pointing out the Crown Prince's insistence on seeking me out for confrontation, and the fact that you were the one who decided to send me into a potentially volatile situation knowing full well how I am won't do me any favors, will it?"

  "I should say not."

  "I thought not," the Prince said, wincing.

  "However"—the Dark King went on after a moment—"you managed to extricate yourself from a very delicate situation without forcing me to take regrettable actions, and you managed to find yourself a spouse I approve of in the process. I think you can be forgiven for your…lapses. Consider it a wedding present."

  The Prince seemed almost comically relieved, and Elias wondered just what kind of punishments were handed out for failure. And if he would ever be on the receiving end.

  "Thank you, Father. You are most generous."