The next chapter is here!

Warning: This chapter contains some not-so-cartoon violence. This is something that might have pushed this story to T-rated, but I didn't want this chapter to be the sole reason for changing the rating of the entire story. So I'm making this announcement here. Only this chapter will contain things that are probably not suited for K+, but it's this chapter only (and maybe a little bit of the next chapter).

With that said, I hope you'll enjoy reading!

The Prince and His Valet

iv. – part 3

His sword clattered to the floor as he looked at the detailed porcelain mask held before him, too shocked to even gasp. Images that had haunted his dreams during his first three years in the palace came rushing back to him. He fell to his knees, seeing things that weren't there.

Flashes of metal against metal.

A hand gripping his own small one tightly.

Running. Running.

Blue. Blue and white mask.

Mask with flowers and swirling lines and leaves. Splattered with red.

Red. Red everywhere.

Red red red red red…

White. Red on white. Feathery white.

"Mother!"

"Donald, watch out!"

He heard the shout and pulled back on reflex. The blade that had meant to severe his head now only glazed his arm. He cried out in pain and pressed a hand on the new wound, coming completely back to reality. He looked up at his attacker, and felt nothing but fear when he saw the mask. Mortimer laughed behind it, clearing enjoying every moment of this.

"I see you finally remember now, my lad!" He crooned. He strode up to the trembling duck and kicked him hard in the stomach, sending him flying into the pillar. Donald felt the wind knock out of him and something break inside him upon impact. Gravity then pulled him to the floor coughing and wheezing. He collapsed on his stomach, feathers flying. He could taste blood in his bill.

"Why yes!" Mortimer sang. He again advanced towards the mallard. Donald tried to scramble away, but it hurt too much to move. He could do nothing as he watched the boots come closer and closer, and couldn't help but scream when the last step landed hard on his left hand. "I was the one hired to massacre the Duck Family!"

The evil man then leaned down, shifting more of his weight to the foot on Donald's hand. Donald whimpered and choked in pain as the already fractured bones grinded against his muscles. Through the pain-filled haze, he felt Mortimer's hot breath as the mouse whispered to his earhole. "I was the one who killed you mother."

Donald choked again, this time unrelated to the physical agony he was in. There was nothing he could do to fight the gut-wrenching fear he was feeling right now. He had thought he had gotten over the Duck Massacre and the effects it had on him, but apparently he was wrong. All he saw was mask, mask, mask, mask, bad, pain, red. Red was everywhere. And it was so different from the red he usually saw when enraged. That red was powerful. It was vibrant. It was welcoming. But this red was foreboding. It was dark and hollow and terrorizing. All he knew was that he needed to run, run, run, but his feet wouldn't listen to him. He couldn't move. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe.

Somewhere above him, he could hear the one he feared still talking. Phrases like "let you live", "observe you", and "entertaining" reached his ears but held no meaning to him. The foot that had crushed his hand had long since been removed, but he could still feel the white-hot pain there, burning its way up to the slash on his arm and to his core. He just wanted it all to stop, stop, stop, stop. Somewhere in him, though, he knew that with his luck, it probably wouldn't stop until he had been completely broken.

And he wasn't that far from breaking. He could feel it.

Suddenly, he was hoisted up from the ground and slammed against a hard surface, forcing him to focus on what was happening around him. He tried to gasp in pain, but found that he couldn't. He choked, raising his unhurt hand to his throat instinctively. There was a hand around his throat, pressing firmly into his windpipe. Donald cracked his eyes open and looked down, only to see Mortimer's face smirking darkly back at him.

"Well, I can see I made a mistake letting you live." The tall mouse said as Donald struggled for breath. Then the teen realized something else. Mortimer was taller than him. He was looking down at the mouse. His feet couldn't reach the floor. "It is time to finish what I had started a decade ago."

His vision was starting to darken around the edges. He watched numbly through tears he didn't remember shedding as Mortimer raised the sword to deliver the finishing blow. From his higher perception, he could just make out the Prince in the background, still struggling against the knives pinning him to the wall.

Heh. So this is how it ends.

At least…at least I'll get to see Mother again.

…Mother…

He closed his eyes, letting the Prince's voice lull him into the darkness. He didn't understand the words anymore, but he could still feel the emotions in them. He wondered why the words sounded so scared and desperate.

"No! What do you think you're doing?! Unhand him! Put him down! Stop it! Please! Donald! Donald!"

Then everything went black.

To be continued…

This chapter is considerably shorter, but I wanted to end it there. What can I say? I love cliffhangers. *bricked*

Writing this chapter was…interesting. People who know me know that nothing good come out of being my favorite character, because if you do then you'll get hurt. A lot. But I had fun with this chapter. It was my try at writing fear, and I hope I did okay. Poor Donald. Maybe I should be nicer to him…

Is Donald going to live (well, of course he will, or the events in the movie will never happen)? And where does the Prince and his valet's relationship go from here?

~ruth~