Kisshu awoke in a feverish state. Nightmares of a girl dressed in white filled his mind. She looked distressed, scared, and beautiful. She looked like she needed help. His help. He scoffed to himself, and turned over, shivering against the cold. Staring out the window, Kisshu thought about the Princess he had seen in his dreams, for it was definitely the eloquent Ichigo he had seen; all dressed up in a pretty white frock for her wedding day. His heart strings began to dance around each other, until they became tangled into the painful realisation that he was falling in love with this girl.
He became angry. It was all her fault! If it weren't for her, he wouldn't feel like this. He wouldn't have to make such a difficult decision. If it were anyone else, he'd waltz him or her up to the chapel and sacrifice them himself, just like his father would have. Instead, he was left tossing and turning all night, every night, not knowing which path he wanted to walk down. Turn traitor to his province, the only of the three to accept him, or sacrifice the one woman who had ever attracted his interest?
Moana. He sat up in bed. What about Moana? He thought about the slave girl. She was pretty. She was his. Why didn't he feel anything for her? He'd been sleeping with the girl for nearly ten years, and although she always satisfied his physical needs, he was always mentally disappointed. Not with her, though. He was disappointed with himself. He hated having to use her, he hated not having a warm, slender being beside him as he slept whom he loved, and who loved him in return. Tossing the covers off himself, he stepped out of bed and over to the open window.
He shivered again. It was cold, he knew that, but he didn't care. He didn't care about anything. "I'm so confused…" he murmured through gritted teeth, his head dropping, his eyes clenched shut, his hands clutching the window frame tightly; so tightly, he grazed his fingertips against the rough stone.
This was his land. This was his province. This was his responsibility. And he didn't know what to do about it. "Father…" he whispered. "Father… I don't know what to do. About Mother, about our people, about anything. I wish you were still here." Opening his eyes, they were hardened. "It's all their fault. The Earthian and Angilorous. It's their fault," he muttered harshly. "I'll make them pay!" he shouted through the window. "They did this to us!"
His infuriated gaze swept over the dead fields, the crops that never grew, the run down houses that couldn't be repaired. Ever since the war, ever since they killed his father, things had been like this. It was their entire fault.
X
He looked over at his father as he crossed the hall in his armour, his helmet at his side.
"Father?" he called out, confusion evident in his voice. King Pai heard his five-year-old son, and stopped. He smiled at the boy. "It's okay, Kisshu. You'll understand soon enough," he said warmly, and stepped out of the room. There were a lot of men in the room, all dressed in armour as well, and they followed him out, leaving Prince Kisshu alone with his mother, who placed shaking hands on his shoulders.
"Mamma, what's wrong? Why are you crying?" he asked her, looking up at the beautiful queen. She shook her head and hurried away, hiding her face in her hands. Kisshu looked around, confused. "What's going on?" His voice echoed around the empty room.
Kisshu watched the smoke rise into the sky from his bedroom window. He watched, horror struck, as the village was burnt to the ground and any people who fought back were cut down mercilessly. He ran down the stairs. He'd stop them. He'd stop them all.
He saw strange men in the castle. They had dark sin and weird light coloured hair. One of them noticed him, and stopped. Kisshu became afraid. Tears welled up in his eyes. "Mu-Mu-Mummy!" he cried out, crouching down. He screamed, and screamed, and screamed, but nothing happened. After a small while, crying, Kisshu stood up shakily, and stumbled outside.
What he saw only made him cry harder. There was blood everywhere. All his friends, all the friendly villagers who showered him with praise, and a few of the weird men he saw in the castle - their bodies were strewn across the ground. He ran, tears still spilling from his eyes. "Father!" he cried out desperately. "FATHEER!"
He ran for as long as he could, and collapsed onto his knees. He looked up, and saw two men standing before him. One had dark, charcoal skin, with wispy blonde hair. The other looked like a Demorous, except his hair was fair, like the other man. Sobbing, he stood up and backed a way a little, fearful of the two men, whose armour shown with the blood of their victims. "Shintaro, Aoyama. You leave my son out of this."
Kisshu looked past the two men, and met eyes with his father. He was hurt, badly - he could see the blood splattered against his face, and the way he clutched at his ribs.
"Kisshu. Go look after your mother," Pai said, a small smile appearing on his features. Kisshu nodded hesitantly. "F-Father… Everyone's dead!" he announced fearfully. Pai nodded, a grim look on his face. "I know, son. Go look after your mother. Look after her for me." Kisshu nodded again. "You'll… You'll be coming home soon, r-right?" Pai smiled, a caring, fatherly smile. "I'll be right behind you."
Kisshu turned and ran. At the end of the road, he looked bad. His eyes widened as the blade cut through his father's neck, as he saw the head fall loose of the body and land with a distant 'thud' on the ground. He saw one of the men turn and look at him. And he ran.
"Mummy!" he cried, running through the castle. "Mummy!" He tripped over one of the many pieces of debris on the ground. Sobbing, he pressed his face into the ground. He didn't understand. What was happening? Why was it happening? "Mu-uh-uh-mmyyyy!" he sobbed. He heard a lock click, and a door was thrown open. "Kisshu!" he heard his mother's voice call out. He crawled into the room, into her arms. She closed the door, locking it behind them, and hugged her boy as hard as she could against her heavily pregnant frame.
X
Kisshu punched the wall, and it felt like a knuckle or two broke. Cursing, he left the room, heading down the hall. He climbed a flight of stairs and knocked on the first door. It took only 30 seconds for the door to open slightly and Moana's face to become illuminated in the moonlight. She looked confused, as well as half asleep. "M-My prince, whatever is the matter?" she asked, rubbing her eyes as she opened the door wider for him. He stood in the doorway still, staring at her. He whispered her name, and she looked nervous.
She stared at his face. He looked upset. Hesitantly, she reached out for him. He came easily into her arms, leaning all his weight upon her small frame as he buried his head into her shoulder and her arms gripped onto his back in a supportive embrace. This was strange, she thought. She lead him into the room and sat him on her bed.
"Little Marie?" he questioned softly, looking over at the small sleeping form on the other side of the bed. "She had a nightmare…" Moana answered softly, looking away. Kisshu nodded. Looking over a Moana, he grabbed her chin in his hand gently. "I'm sorry," he said, earning much surprise from the servant. Closing his eyes, he leaned forward slowly and pressed his forehead against hers. "I don't understand, Moana. I try so hard to make myself love you. It's hard. And I don't know why. You're beautiful, kind, and humble. What's wrong with me?" Moana's body froze up in shock. The Crown Prince Kisshu wanted to love her? This was indeed strange. But she shook her head and reached up to brush away the frustrated tears that were threatening to spill over.
"It's okay, my Prince. You don't have to love me," she offered, but he grabbed her hand. "No, it's not okay. I've deflowered you, and defiled you, all in a state of hormonal lust. And I'm sorry for that. It was wrong of me, and I wish to make amends."
Moana just nodded, her eyes downcast; her hands in her lap. Kisshu felt Marie roll over in her sleep, and looked over to see she was now in the middle of the bed. He smiled softly. She was so young, so pure. She was untainted by war, uncorrupted by betrayal. He stood up and walked around the bed, and lay down next to the sleeping child. Brushing a strand of soft hair over her ear, and looked over at Moana. She looked scared, nervous. "Come to bed, Moana. I just need some company tonight…" he murmured, closing his eyes. He felt her body shift into a sleeping position, and when he opened his eyes again, she saw her closed ones, her pale, delicate hand resting over her chest.
Within minutes, everyone was asleep.
X
Ichigo fingered the ragged piece of material she held in her hand. The dark green fabric showed signs of poverty, even though the man whom it belonged to had claimed to be a Prince. Was he an impostor? She pondered these thoughts as she headed towards the library. She felt like doing some research.
Walking through the aisles of huge, well-kept books, Ichigo trailed her bandaged finger over the great volumes, tracing history. "The Demorous War…" she read aloud, and pulled the book from its place. It was smaller than the others, being only two centimetres thick, and she flicked through its pages as she walked to a reading desk.
What she found in the book horrified her.
X
Sorry about the prolonged absence, though I'm sure you're all used to it by now. Sorry, again. I noticed a few errors in the last chapter when I read through it again, such as little Marie walking into the locked room and such, so I hope you'll forgive me for little mistakes such as that. Perhaps I should enlist the help of a beta-reader/editor? With their help of course, I'd deliver much more proficient chapters, and if they pressure me enough, faster chapters.
Regardless, I hope you enjoy this chapter.
Also, reviews are much appreciated. As a few reviewers may have noticed, I tend to update faster with the motivation that people like my tale. Though, if you're going to review, at least make it decent and offer me some criticism. Simple reviews like: "Cool chapter, update soon," aren't very inspiring.
Thanks for all your support.