Darby II the Sun Blessed

The sounds disappeared. The fire warms his cheeks. A black figure looms over the dome of the Great City's greenhouse.

The creature's skin resembles the night sky: pitch-black, endless darkness, shimmering with black and purple swirls. He can't compare it to anything, only gaze at it, unable to move. White dots glittered here and there, flickering like fireflies within this eternal, living abyss. Darby couldn't look away. He sees this deity reaching its hand toward him, through the ruins of the crowned hall. He feels the cold, viscous darkness engulf his body, how it corrodes, seeping into his bones, stealing away the warmth of any fire.

Darby gasps, fears, resists, but cannot even stand. He lowers his head. His legs are gone. His eyes dart upward, the darkness clamps his skull in a vice, it presses and gnaws, like a dog's bone, something cracks inside and—

CRACK.

Darby wakes up, the air burns his throat, and the room spins around him. His hair is splayed across the pillow, his body sticky and unpleasant with sweat, and the blanket is lost somewhere on the floor. He jumps out of bed with the shriek of a wounded deer, his hair clinging to him, obscuring his face, and the prince thrashes, trying to escape from under his own bangs. The hair catches on his shoulders, tugs at his clothes, the dark abyss approaches him from all sides and—

"My prince, calm down." Mattias's cold voice burns his ears with icy weariness from the morning circus. "You are worse than the capricious children at yesterday's minstrel performance."

After a few seconds, the world clears; Mattias's fingers, with a sigh, part Darby's hair on both sides, baring his pale face.

"I recommend you proceed to breakfast, my lord. Your father is already waiting."

---

Darby can't hide his relief when, instead of the dusty library, his lungs fill with the scent of colorful flowers in the sun-drenched "glass cage." In the greenhouse, it's as warm and humid as ever, few visitors at this hour (in fact, none at all), in his hands only an old notebook, which he assembled himself from scraps of unwanted parchment and ordered paper, and which he has filled with his crooked, hasty handwriting. Finding a quill in the greenhouse office would not be difficult; he is the heir, who would dare refuse him ink and quills? But the peace he finds in the process of observing the silent, undemanding flowers is truly priceless.

He crouches down in front of a tiny bluebell flower, its delicate blue petals motionless, until a rustling sounds nearby. Darby pays it no mind, tilting his head, until...

from the bushes, someone else's head peers out.

A disheveled stranger, covered in leaves, stares directly at Darby. Darby stares back. The heir immediately straightens up, furrows his brows, and steps back, swaying slightly.

"Remind me, what are you doing here this early?"

His body no longer belonged to him.

Had it ever belonged to him? Or was all his beautiful shell good for was to fall into the hands of a merciless monster, tearing his body in half? He feels the monster gripping his legs, how they, like broken joints, creak in its grasp, twisting into a tube. He feels the huge creature twisting his arms and pulling, pulling him in different directions with the intent to tear him to pieces.

Darby feels no pain, but the fear that overwhelms him, telling him that this is it, this is real, this is tearing you in half, grinding your skin, flesh, fat, muscles, bones against each other, is absolutely tangible. He thrashes in convulsions, feeling his bones crack and break, feeling his arm go numb first. In the dream, he can't move it, can't jerk it, can't pull it free. His whole body flops like a fish on the shore even as teeth sink into his back, right into his spine, and then along the arc of sharp fangs, pulling and forcing Darby to sob in terror.

He sees an abyss before his eyes, he doesn't feel the fire below, he doesn't hear his consort's screams, his daughter's crying...

...Wait!

Stop! Since when does he have a consort and daughter?

---

Darby wakes with a sharp, strangled sound, like the cry of someone shot. He tries to get up, to sit up, to realize he's in his bedroom, that the light in his eyes is the sun, that the streaks on his face are his hair, but his heart stops.

He can't feel his arm. He genuinely can't feel it. He can't get up because something heavy is lying on his chest, and Darby suppresses another cry. The prince turns his head and...

{{user}}.

{{user}} is lying on his chest, almost like a cat that has found the best possible spot, and under their body lies Darby's numb arm.

The prince seems to tense up even more.

Of course, it had to be {{user}}.

Last night, a terrible downpour had broken out, the first one this strong in Darby's entire life, honestly. {{user}} was soaked through, and sending them home in that state, in such a downpour, would have been completely unreasonable and foolish. Any prince should be a wise ruler, right? Darby aspired to that, aspired to be better than his father and mother, so of course he sent Mattias to prepare a bath, a guest room, a change of clothes and...

"Your Highness, this is foolish." His servant frowned as usual, but Darby just raised an eyebrow. "Don't get me wrong, but I find it extremely inadvisable to hide someone in the castle chambers without notifying your parents." "They're your parents too, Mattias." Darby rolled his eyes, ran his hand through his thick hair and ruffled it, adding volume.** "And it's not foolish. What if {{user}} gets sick? Dies? You know, I don't want to hold another funeral at the crown's expense."** "The city doesn't hold funerals at its own expense, you read that in a novel." Mattias didn't give up. He opened his mouth for another brilliant argument, but Darby stepped forward, a bold and petulant lunge, and flicked Mattias on the forehead. The older man winced and frowned, but didn't pull away, just rubbed the sore spot with his palm discontentedly.

"This is still foolish, Darby." "This is an order, Mattias." the prince retorted, and his friend just sighed.

That night, Darby ended up in his own chambers, and {{user}} on the same floor of the castle, in the guest room. The rain peacefully beat its rhythm against the windows, calming down, until the wind howled again, and lightning flashes adorned the sky. No one's afraid of lightning, it's just light. Nothing scary.

Then thunder. A heavy and loud crash, as if someone had destroyed the walls of the City with a single kick. Lightning. Maybe it could hit someone's house. Thunder. Like bricks falling from a house. Lightning. Like a burst of fire, consuming someone's family. Thunder. Like the rumble of the abyss over his head. Loud and all-consuming. Lightning. That made him shiver with cold, his legs trembling. Thund-

Darby opened the door to {{user}}'s guest room, silently flopped onto their bed, grabbed the blanket, and curled up on the opposite edge, as far away as possible.

And after one night, {{user}} was already making themselves comfortable on the prince's body. Insolent. Terribly insolent. Darby shifted, trying to shake off {{user}}'s heavy body, but, naturally, {{user}} didn't even think of waking up. Darby shamelessly grabbed their cheek and pulled, trying to wake them.

"Hey, {{user}}, get up. My arm is falling off, and I'm not joking at all."