Simina woke many hours later as a pained whimper escaped her. First, the throbbing pain in her skull greeted her, and then came the overall aching of her entire body. As feeling returned to her body, she blinked her eyes open to see a bright light shining. At first, she thought she was dead, but realized that if she were dead, she wouldn't be feeling so much pain.
She laid upon a cloud-like surface, soft and cushiony. Her body melded into it, the strange yet comfortable surface contouring with her. Smooth, silk sheets graced her skin. The place was very unfamiliar. Everything looked ornate and expensive, with stone walls made of black concrete and a marble floor. A small, very pretty crystalline chandelier hung above Simina's head.
Out of the corner of her eye, Simina saw the figure of a man standing by a window, looking out of it. The light made it too bright for her to see, so she squinted. But whoever it was looked as beautiful as an angel. She stared at him. Simina was sure she recognized him: She'd seen him somewhere before.
She tried to move, to shift her position so she could see better, but that only caused her pain in her limbs and torso. Simina cried out sharply, wincing, and settled herself back down again. At this sound, the Prince snapped his head sharply in her direction. A pair of purple eyes met hers. Instant fear flooded her soul at the sight of him. Oh, my Zormon, not him again. How did he find me?
The last thing Simina remembered was being flung out of the carriage and into the snow after the driver lost control of the horse. After that, she remembered only black. Simina pushed herself into a sitting position, no longer feeling the pain in her body. She didn't care about that, she just wanted to get away from him. Simina recognized him now. His black hair, pale olive skin, and she could never forget those eyes.
His expression did not change when he saw that she was awake. It remained blank and unreadable. His lips pursed ever so slightly that Simina barely noticed. "Do not be alarmed." His deep, robust voice startled Simina even more. She pulled the blankets tighter around her, feeling they'd somehow provide her with security.
The Prince wore a beige long-sleeved shirt that showed off part of his chest and tight black leather pants. He held himself in a very dignified, graceful manner, with his back straight and his hands folded neatly behind him. He stared at her curiously. Simina had no idea how she had gotten there. "Where am I? How did I get here?" she asked in a frightened voice. The Prince answered her curtly.
"This is my castle. I carried you here." Simina's stomach churned at the image of him carrying her, of her being in his arms. She held her stomach with both hands and wanted to vomit. He touched her. Simina shivered and hugged herself, uncomfortable with the violation of his action.
"You carried me?" Simina nearly shouted this at him, about ready to shed off her skin. He nodded.
"It was either that, or let you die," the Prince spat. "Believe me, I considered the latter." He took a few steps toward the foot of the bed. Simina flinched.
"Don't come near me!" she shouted. A sudden fever swept over her, her cheeks flushing.
He sneered at her. "This is the thanks I get for saving your life? I should have let you rot."
He took another step. "Nevertheless, you are under my care. I need to check your wounds."
With a shriek, Simina leaped off the bed, landed on the floor, rolled, and jumped to her feet at the opposite end of the room.
Breathing heavier than usual, Simina sucked in the air as her muscles began to burn. The Prince blinked in surprise, raising his eyebrows. Despite her wounds, she still displayed amazing dexterity. He was impressed. Simina blinked a few times, a worn-down feeling coming over her. She took a deep breath and shook it off. Somehow, she had to escape from him. The Prince treaded carefully towards her. He liked her spirit and couldn't help but smile. She pointed a sharp, wavering finger at him.
"Stay back!" she trilled.
"Do not run," the Prince warned. She'd only be making it harder for herself. Without a second thought, Simina turned right around, swung the door open, and ran, ran for her life.
Annoyed, the Prince rolled his eyes and sighed with exasperation. There really is no point in running, he thought. I can just catch her anyway.
"Why do they always run?" he muttered.
Simina, on the other hand, was running down a long hallway. She ran until she found a spiraling staircase, her momentum nearly causing her to topple down the grand set. She quickly descended the stairs, arrived in a foyer, and ran out two big double doors. She ran outside, stumbling into the bright blue snow.
Her breath swooped out into the air in little vapor clouds, swirling in curly cues. The biting cold chewed her skin with teeth made of icicles. Simina ran staggering through piles of snow, heading for the Snowy Woods that was easily within her reach. She wanted to get as far from him as possible. He'll probably come after me.
Within moments she was out of breath but made it to the trees. Simina slumped against one, terribly out of breath, panting and wheezing. She placed her hand against the tree's trunk, stopping to catch her breath momentarily.
No sooner than when she stopped, she looked up to see the Dark Prince standing three feet from her. Simina choked, and whirled back around to run again, but somehow, he was already in front of her, when a second ago, he was in the opposite direction. Gasping, Simina pressed her back against the tree. How did he get here so fast? Simina's head spun. She had to leave; she had to.
"You are not well," the Prince said. Simina couldn't stand it. She had to look anywhere but at those freaky purple eyes. She wanted to scream. Simina observed everywhere but his face. She noticed a sword strapped to his waist. The silver hilt gleamed, studded with diamonds, but embedded in the top was a dark amethyst crystal. It sparkled in the bright light. With a quick, sure movement, Simina slipped the sword from his waist belt, unsheathing it. It's too bad she didn't remember what she read about his sword and its enchantment.
Simina attempted to raise the sword with both hands, but failed. Her small, weak arms strained from the weight. She grunted with the effort, arms shaking and wavering. She pointed the tip of the blade at his torso. Simina wanted to aim for the throat, but it was too heavy for her.
"Stay away," Simina groaned, her voice strained. Sweat rolled down her face in beads. She shivered violently from the cold, almost able to hear her bones chattering and clattering. The Prince grinned and burst out laughing. This angered Simina. I'm threatening him with his own sword. Why is he laughing?
"Really?" he asked her, amusement in his voice. Smiling and unafraid, he raised a finger and touched the blade's tip. The sword evaporated from her hands and re-materialized in his hand in a puff of purple smoke. Simina stared at her hands, and her jaw hit the ground. She thought she must be mad.
Simina noticed the tip of the blade pointed at her throat, and she raised her hands in surrender. I'm done for, he's going to kill me. With an unwavering arm, he held the sword with one hand, pointing the tip at her throat, under her chin.
The Prince tilted his head confidently and narrowed his eyes. Simina gulped. Her heart thumped heavily and fast. How did he even do that? Not once did his hand waver and not once did his arm droop from the weight of his sword. Taut muscles strained beneath the thin fabric of his shirt.
"Are you going to kill me?" Simina asked in a voice that sounded quite foreign to her. The Prince smiled and chuckled. He lowered his sword.
"No," he said. "But I must ask you not to try that again." He sheathed his blade again. Shaking, Simina nodded, slightly bowing her head.
"Y-yes. Your Highness," she said in a wavering voice. The Prince rolled his eyes and sighed with annoyance and exasperation.
"Oh please," he exasperated. "Don't call me that." Simina looked confused. He placed a hand over his chest and bowed his head to her.
"Please, just...call me Nar," The Prince told her. Simina quirked her eyebrows. Nar? What kind of name was Nar? What a strange name. Instantly, fatigue washed over her, wrapping her body in its tiresome embrace. Her knees buckled, and her eyelids fluttered. Her legs gave out under her and her body swayed. Dizziness overwhelmed her.
Simina fainted from exhaustion, and Nar, noticing that she was about to fall, caught her with quick reflexes. She fell limp in his arms, face very pale, and skin hot with fever. He feared she had pneumonia.
Nar took her back into his castle, into his bedroom, where he gently laid her back on his bed. He pulled the covers back over her and let her rest. He had other matters to attend. Nar left his room, took a right, and climbed another set of stairs. These stairs led to the Hall, where many public conferences were held and used for Royal Banquets.
Nar didn't see the point of walking when he could just appear and reappear in different places. But his father, the King, didn't like it much when he did that, and Nar wanted to respect his father's wishes. His father, however, was getting old and tired, and was slowly dying from old age. The King wouldn't be king for much longer and needed someone to take the throne. Of course, Nar was the heir to the throne, as was his right, since he was the King's only son.
Nar did not have any siblings. He was an only child. His mother died when he was young from the plague before his parents could have more children. His father remarried a few times, but never loved any of those wives as much as his first, so he'd divorced them. A few of them Nar killed by accident. At that time, he hadn't really learned how to control his powers properly. But they were mean to him and made him angry. Without his control, his powers would manifest and kill them.
Of course, he didn't mean to; he was only a boy and didn't know how to control it. It wasn't his fault. Multiple times, it was self-defense because they had been hurting him when, or just before, it happened.
Nar arrived in the Hall, where his father sat on his throne opposite the long, vast room. Nar approached on light feet, his footsteps echoing all around. Five long lancet style windows graced each side of the room, sending in streams of early morning light and casting shadows upon the floor and his own.
Nar stopped before his father, the King, knelt and bowed his head respectfully. Nar stared at the floor beneath him, observing its pattern.
"Your majesty," he said humbly to his father. The King grunted, straightened his throne, and went into a coughing fit. Nar did not move; he remained kneeling. Once finished coughing, he spoke.
"Rise, my son," he told him gruffly. Nar rose to his feet with the utmost grace. He cleared his throat.
"So, who's this girl you've brought to the castle?" the King asked.
"She's a guest. Her carriage crashed, and I found her lying in the snow, unconscious. I do not know her name."
"What is wrong with her?" he asked.
"She is ill, Father. If I hadn't found her, she would have died," Nar said. The King stroked his beard.
"It's almost time for you to take the throne, Nar. You must take a maiden or a young princess to be your queen," the King said in a dire voice.
Nar sighed.
"Yes, I know, Father," he said, annoyed. His father had been urging him to find someone to marry for the past week. It was irritating Nar. His father had previously invited many suitable, beautiful young ladies, and Nar met them all, but he didn't like them. They were all too interested in him and tried too hard to get his attention. They were all very pretty, but they just weren't his type.
Nar knew he had to marry soon. The King would not be around much longer.