Sanguine Prince | Chapter 18: Merciless (Second Draft)

“I’m not a Prince,” Arcturus said into the silence with a growing sense of incredulity. “I figured out while you were all talking that my father was probably Terran, which, by the way, is still taking me a while to process. It’s easy to acknowledge this entire nightmare is real, but the actual gravity of that is a bit lost on me at the moment—which is probably to be expected, given the monstrous pile of bullshit I’ve already gone through.”

He knew that his voice was aggressively elevated and that he was ranting to a degree, but he couldn’t find it in himself to honestly care.

“Arcturus, nobody expects you to fully grasp—”

“I hope not, Angela, because that would be insane,” he said as he felt that old, dark fury bubbling up again—rearing its head as his emotional tether was strained once more.

“This whole situation is ludicrous! First, you tell me that my father was not just famous, but royalty? Ha! Then, as if that weren’t already mad enough, you tell me that because of my heritage and some stupid name that he gave me,” he continued savagely, “I’m supposed to happily become the next ruler of a kingdom I have no connection to, in a world that I have no concept of, and which I frankly think is a little mental!”

He shook his head, pacing back and forth, while his left hand gripped the knot of his towel—embarrassment forgotten beneath a wild surge of almost irrational anger.

“Better yet, you all act as if this amazing coincidence is perfectly normal, when it actually sounds like what you’d read in a badly written, overly dramatic, wish-fulfilment fantasy novel!”

Arcturus was yelling by the end of his monologue, but he was beyond caring in the moment, fighting back anxiety as much as nursing the blistering fury boiling under the surface. How dare they think this was as simple as just dropping some prestigious title and expecting him to accept it!

Angela especially should have known better, seeing as she was fully aware of how ignorant he was of the world. For all that he was a grown man—on Terra as well as on Earth—he was still young in the grand scheme of things. Expecting him to just magically be okay with everything and agree with it all was utterly insane.

“Your Highness, it’s really not—”

[Willpower Check] failed!

[Telekinesis] Catalyzed!

[Telekinesis] Casting successful!

Mana at 127 / 130!

Mana Regeneration is disabled due to combat!

“Don’t call me that!” Arcturus snarled, angrily swiping his arm through the air in a slashing motion to cut off Sumeko as she started to speak. Unknowingly, the action also created a wave of telekinetic force that slammed Jess, Jakob, and Angela back into their seats with what Arcturus could only assume was painful intensity. 

He froze when he realized what he’d done, slowly drawing his hand back and disconnecting his active Aether flow, while releasing his hold on his telekinetic ability. He dropped his right hand to his side in a clenched fist, feeling guilty and breathing shakily through his nostrils.

Sumeko and Jess were watching him with caution and wariness, poised on the edge of their seats like they were ready to flee, while Jakob’s fists were white-knuckled on the table from how hard he was clenching them. Angela appeared concerned, but it was clear her concern was for him, not herself—and Tylariel—

[Perception Check] failed!

[Agility Check] failed!

Smack.

You suffer 10 Damage from [Slap]!

Health at 120 / 130.

Arcturus’ vision greyed out.

When he regained his eyesight, he was on the floor of the kitchen, cheek stinging from the force of the strike, and eyesight filled with rapidly flashing black and white spots. His gaze shifted to take note of a pair of black-booted feet nearby before raising his eyes to see Tylariel standing where he had been a moment before, an expression of cold fury on her features. Any lingering doubt he had held that it was the redhead who had slapped him with enough force to literally put him on his ass, upon seeing her expression, was firmly dispelled.

“What the fu—”

The words from Jakob cut off abruptly as Angela lifted a hand to silence them. 

Arcturus worked his jaw, drawing himself into a sitting position as he felt the sting of his skin from where he’d been struck, and tasted the coppery flavor of blood in his mouth, likely from his molar slicing through his inner cheek.

“Untrained and uncontrolled, no wonder my sister called me here. You’re like an animal.”

Tylariel’s words were icy, a stark contrast to her previously girlish demeanor. Her golden eyes filled with an intensity that almost forced Arcturus to drop his gaze. As he focused on her and his senses attuned, he shivered. The redhead was practically aglow with power, awash with an aura of aetheric force that seemed more concentrated and more devastating than anything he’d ever experienced.

On a whim, he attempted to use [Inspect] on her.

Arcturus had no time to consider the madness of her status screens, all of which crackled and seemed to fizzle out a moment later as Tylariel spoke and his blood turned to ice at her tone.

“An Archon?” she asked, her voice as cold and forbidding as a queen’s. “No, a beast with no more sense than a base fiend prowling the darkest recesses of the Blighted Lands. You are no more than a boy playing at the concept of being a man.”

Arcturus stared at her in silence when she spoke, and his jaw locked at her words. She wasn’t entirely wrong, he acknowledged, given the nature of his outburst—the poisonous rage that filtered through him like magma in his veins. He had no concept of where it came from, nor why it was so prominently impacting him; only that it was there, and even then, staring up at her imperious gaze—he felt that quiet urge to strike.

However, even he wasn’t that stupid.

First time for everything, I suppose.

“You will not cast magic again in my presence without my permission,” Tylariel warned him frostily, as if daring him to refuse her. “Not unless it is to save your own life.”

“Tylariel,” Angela asked carefully. “Does that mean…?”

“Perhaps,” the redhead said grimly. “It is not so easy as that, though. He has to be aware of what he’s committing himself to, Titus’ son or not, and he has to give his consent. The strictures are ironclad on that front.”

The sound of footsteps filled the silent kitchen as the redhead approached, and Arcturus watched her warily when she came to a halt before him and, after a moment of eyeing him speculatively, extended a hand. “I’m not offering you this just for your own benefit either,” she said with focused intensity. “I’m not that charitable. This is for the safety of everyone else around you, including my too-trusting sister. It’s either this, put you down, or throw you out of Luxanium—and I’m not quite ready to commit high treason.”

Well, at least she’s honest. It could be worse. At least she isn’t a crone.

Arcturus accepted her hand in the silence that followed Tylariel’s statement, and sucked in a breath of surprise at how easily she wrenched him to his feet, exerting a strength that was inconsistent with her feminine frame. While he couldn’t see her arms above the wrist, there was still no conceivable way that Tylariel should have been so physically powerful. Her strength made his own look insignificant.

It was a humbling thought, one that prompted him to look towards Jakob, Sumeko, and Jess with curiosity. He had defeated Jess and Geran one-on-one, though not without difficulty. When Jakob and Sumeko had burst in, he’d almost killed himself by freezing them in place… and yet he had the strangest sense of certainty that even if he ruptured his mind with exertion, his [Psionicist] abilities would be next to useless against Tylariel.

After a moment of consideration, and a not-insignificant flicker of guilt at what he’d done to Angela during his outburst, he turned back to Tylariel.

“How would it work? The training, I mean,” he said, shifting his grip to hold his towel more tightly. He was amazed it hadn’t fallen off.

“Arcturus?” Angela interrupted gently before Tylariel could answer, drawing his attention to her smiling face. “Would you like to go get dressed? You’re still in a towel.”

“Oh,” he said and paused for a beat. That had been uncanny. “Uh, yes, please,” he responded emphatically, smiling with mild embarrassment.

“I left your clothes in the room you slept in; they’re just in a small storage under the bed,” Angela said with a knowing smile. “We weren’t sure how long you’d be asleep, so we didn’t want to leave them where they could get dusty.”

Arcturus paused at her words, glancing at the now-analytical figure of Tylariel, and then back to Angela, before looking to the others. “How long have I been asleep, exactly? I noticed that Jakob, Sumeko, and Jess were dressed differently, but I just assumed that was due to the passage of time. A day at most. Perhaps two.”

Angela’s smile was strained as he spoke, and her reply explained why. “Arcturus, sweetie, you were asleep for almost a week.”

He stared at her for a second, disbelief striking him mute, before looking at the others for confirmation. A trio of confirming, hesitant nods met his gaze, and he turned back to Angela. “A week…?”

“Almost,” she answered gently. “Closer to six days. Five and a morning, actually, if we’re being exact.”

Arcturus felt his anxiety stirring at the news, doing his best to control his breathing as it ramped up, though the attempt was only moderately successful. Five days. He’d been asleep for five days of lost time, on top of the two he’d already lost after his arrival. The better part of a week and change, and he hadn’t even managed to find a single clue about Amélie or his other friends.

When he’d heard Angela talk of Daeva, he’d been certain he’d find them again, as absurdly unlikely as it might have seemed—he’d had a feeling, a sudden clarity of comprehension that defied understanding beyond the explanation that it just felt right.

Yet now, so much time had passed, and he might have missed his window—all because he couldn’t help but attract trouble.

“Your High—” Sumeko cut off when Arcturus snapped his eyes to her. “Ah, Arcturus. Are you alright? You look pale.”

“I’m fine, just a little tired from Tylariel slapping the fear of god into me,” he responded with a forced smile, turning away and heading straight for his temporary bedroom. His footsteps were ludicrously audible to his own ears in the silence that followed his departure, and he didn’t cease his rapid walk until he was back within the room Angela had set aside for his recovery.

His five days of recovery.

Arcturus bit back the involuntary sound of anxiety as he pressed his back against the wall, shaking from the realization of his own devolving situation. In the grand scheme of things, five—almost six—days wasn’t enough to bring on the level of panic he was feeling. The reaction he was having seemed disproportionate to the circumstances and more deeply rooted.

It wasn’t simply about the time; it was about how precarious the situation that depended on that time was. He had willed himself near Amélie when he’d arrived on Terra, but he had no idea about transportation, speed of movement, or how to even find people if they went long distances from a set destination. The world around him seemed incredibly advanced, and yet in so many ways primitive. He hadn’t seen a single phone or computer since he’d arrived, as if the concepts of both had evaded the notice or needs of the Terran population.

Given what he’d seen of the more practical applications of technology, and what he had observed of their weapons use, he could also venture a guess that exothermic weaponry and ballistic armaments had all been foregone in favor of maximizing the potential uses of Aether. It wasn’t entirely without sense when one considered the fact that magic likely rendered many of the more conventional forms of firearm wholly ineffective.

In fact, he could find some theoretical plausibility in the idea that missiles would simply be rendered pointless with enough Aether-powered Defenses shielding or protecting a city. It raised incredible strategic questions, but in the moment, all he could focus on was not throwing up.

A moment later, Arcturus pushed himself off the wall forcefully and forced himself to calm down, ignoring the subtle shaking of his limbs from his anxiety. He focused his attention on pulling out the footlocker under the bed. It was unlocked as he’d hoped, and Arcturus opened it to find the same clothes he’d first worn in the Foxy Princess. Something relaxed within him as he saw the shirt, briefs, coat, boots, socks, and leggings awaiting him. 

[Perception Check] unsuccessful!

Arcturus dropped his towel and picked up the briefs, turning around to put them on—and froze at the sound of a startled gasp. Sumeko stood in the doorway, staring at him with wide eyes as he stood utterly naked and exposed, holding the pair of elastic briefs. He watched her eyes go straight down, and struggled to control his impulse to shout at her or worse, remembering Tylariel’s cold words.

“Sumeko,” he said with forced calm. “I’m changing.”

“Y-yeah, sorry. Um, Mistress Angela told me to come and ask what you wanted for breakfast, and…” she trailed off, a warm blush spreading across her cheeks. “…you really are from a virile bloodline, aren’t you?”

She was now firmly staring somewhere he very much did not appreciate her staring. It wasn’t as if he was ignorant when it came to women, and his time in College had well and truly disabused any idea of ‘innocence’ concerning sex, despite his lack of actual experience. That didn’t mean he found it comfortable to be ogled like a prize stallion on display, and he cleared his throat determinedly.

“Sumeko, I’ll be out shortly. I would also appreciate some privacy.”

Sumeko nodded slowly, stepping back. She glanced briefly at his eyes as she did, and then gave his downstairs a final look before walking away. Arcturus sighed as she withdrew, only to roll his eyes heavenward when the sound of a giggle punctuated his ears. Muttering to himself darkly, he set to dressing, pulling on his clothes one article at a time but foregoing his boots.

Once he was finished, he took a breath and strode out of the room, his anxiety muted thanks mainly to the odd level of embarrassing normalcy that being caught in the nude by a pretty girl had caused. It wasn’t as if he had forgotten his stress; it had hardly left his mind or been buried deeply enough to stop nibbling at the edges of his psyche like some sort of tiny animal.

It had, thankfully, vacated its previous position as looming panic—instead taking up a less overwhelming stance.

Don’t worry, Arcturus. I’m sure it’s only going to get better from here.

Arcturus snorted quietly at that.

Yeah, he said to the voice, because that matches what’s happened so far.