Prince of the Blood

It is the day.

I take my sword and sheath it to stow it hidden in my wardrobe. As I dress, I can feel a thrill within me. Finally, it is another day to escape the palace. I take some clothing I stole from the peasant kitchen. I cover myself with coal powder and take the aging hat to cover my fair head. I can't have anyone recognizing who I am.

All the Mythical Creatures hate our rule. We, the werewolves, have been despised for hundreds of years due to our "tyranny". Fools, they are. We are not tyrants. They are fortunate enough to have places at court. Our rule has made everything fair. All mythical creatures can be rewarded with titles and lands, unlike the unicorns that came before us. They took every land and made them theirs without hesitation. It is our right to rule anyway. The right has been given to us and it cannot be taken away.

Still, this does not stop me from desiring my own freedom. I pass through the palace for they think me as nothing but a kitchen boy. I scurry down the winding stairs out into the courtyard. I go to the castle gardens and find a little gate hidden within the hedges. I unlock the gate and I find myself free once more. Finally! There, I see my friends.

"It took you a long time, Rordan," Melchior says as pats me on the shoulder. He looks at me as if his fangs would pierce me, but I've learned to deal with that fear. I'm not afraid of the vampires. In fact, his father is a great duke at court.

"As long as he's here," Aretha says in a melodious voice. Though she is a water nymph, Aretha likes our company better than her sisters at the lake.

"There's no need to rush anyway," Olghar says calmly in his little voice. We have loved Olghar even though he is small. Elves are quite useful when it comes to building stuff, and that is the skill we all wish we had. "We're only going hunting."

"And probably a little fun down there at the human village," Melchior says easily.

*

We walk into the dark forest that separates our world from the humans. It is a bright autumn day. Leaves of brittle yellow leaves fall from the trees and over our heads. Many animals graze upon this forest during autumn. They seek food to store for the winter and rest until spring. Winds brush Aretha's long flowing mahogany hair. Melchior relishes in this time for the sun is not too bright to pierce through him. As for me, I could not care less about the seasons. Though seasons change, I can still be in my true form whether the sun may rise high or fall low. Soon enough, there comes our chance.

A little deer passes by to eat the bush not too far from us. Gracefully, it walks over the fields as if it does not see the threat. With a nod of agreement from all of them, we begin our work. Aretha sings an enchanting song to attract the deer. As soon as the deer is hypnotized with the beauty of the song, Melchior changes to his true form and frightens the deer. As soon as it attempts to run away into the trapped direction, the deer falls into a booby trap created by Olghar. With him trapped, it is now time for my turn. I have to do the job. I change into my werewolf form and let my sharp claws out. I use one of them to cut through the deer's heart and fall into its unsuspecting death. It is yet another kill for us.

"Who's going to carry it this time?" Melchior asks wryly.

Blood spills out of the deer. As my furs slowly change to soft and clear skin and claws to tiny fingernails, the others look away as if they despise even the idea of touching the deer.

"I'm not carrying it!" Olghar immediately exclaims.

"Well, you can't make Rordan carry it!" Aretha exclaims. "He's our prince."

"A rebel prince, that is," Melchior replies.

"You're a vampire, I'm sure you're used to sucking blood."

"What about you? As a nymph, you must have used your skills to harm people more than once."

"Oh, please, shall I shine the sun on you, my lord?"

As Aretha and Melchior continue to bicker around, Olghar cannot help but simply shake his head in dismay. Quietly, he climbs on my body to my shoulder to whisper his words.

"Just carry it, Rordan," Olghar whispers. "No one wants it."

This is our argument every time. As much as we seek the blood of animals, nobody wants to carry a corpse. Somehow, they punish me by pressuring me into carrying it. Though they are my acquaintances, I know they all carry a grudge against me as the Prince of the Blood. They know that our kind is the one that used an iron fist to maintain its rule. They want me to smell the blood of another.

We carry it to the nearest human village. We can't carry a game of deer in court as they would wonder its source. Blending in is the hardest part. With a nymph, a vampire, an elf, and a werewolf in one crew, I would think they would have burned us already if they knew who we are.

Some old man desiring some game buys the deer for a few coins. It is enough for some food for the day, but I don't think I'll ever need it. The village seems to be at peace today. Men are going about the town buying and selling their goods as they whore around. Women can be seen cooking, cleaning, or sweeping the autumn leaves away. One man even sits in one corner begging for coins. We give our hunting money to him and he silently smiles in gratitude. No one recognizes us here as we blend amongst them. Olghar is tucked inside Melchior as we go about the busy, yet unusually quiet, town.

It was all going well until this happened.

"Damn you, and you, and everyone in this damned village!"