Scars and Burns (No Light Without the Dark #1)

6. Aeron

6

Aeron

I ’m pacing in my room that evening after returning from the forest. I can’t get that interaction out of my mind. She was friends with my Mother. Good friends. She had to be. She knew the nickname my Mother used to have for me. No one knows that. Not even my Father.

I try not to think about my Mother. She died suddenly. She was the only good thing in my life. Rescuing me from my Father’s ruthless training everyday. She’d tend to my cuts and bruises while we would share a sweet treat.

Those memories were lost after she died. After my magic exposed itself and my training became more intense than ever. Beating me down mentally and physically. I couldn’t risk dwelling on the past and happier times. I had to fight to survive. I can’t remember the last time I thought and spoke about her that much. Come to think of it, I don’t know that much about her.

I need to know.

I head to my Father’s study. It’s late but I know he’s still there. I knock on the door and enter. “Father, may I speak with you?”

He’s staring into the fire at his hearth. His face illuminated in the most ominous way. Arms behind his back with his hands together. Clearly deep in thought.

“So,” he starts, “You have returned. Tell me, son . How are you feeling?”

Odd. He’s never once asked me this question. He’s never once even asked me if I’m okay. There’s no point in asking those kinds of questions. I will and should never feel good about myself because I am not successful yet in my training, killing, or proficient in my magic. I have so much more growth and development left to do. Until I am forced to be reckoned with I should never feel good about myself.

I am not enough.

Based on my silence. He senses my confusion. Or maybe he doesn’t? Maybe it was a rhetorical question.

Regardless, he continues, “Do you feel good at the fact that you allowed two females to live? On top of that, one of those women tended to the wound you received as punishment.”

My heart begins to race. He knows. How does he know?

“What shall the consequences be for this?” he asks.

I stand tall with my head held high. Knowing that if he hears fear in my voice the consequences will be far worse. The only place fear belongs in his Kingdom is that of our subjects, in fear of their ruler.

“Father, I did not seek her out. I did not ask for help. I heard her approach and stood my ground ready to fight with my blade held up.”

“Yet, she lives and here you stand.”

His stance on this is clear. When faced with an opponent one on one. Someone must die. And if you are not the rightful winner. They beat you and allow you to walk away, you were granted mercy, you don’t deserve to live.

Before I can think of anything, my Father speaks, “Do not worry, Aeron . You will correct this mistake. I see I have been too soft on you. You have brought shame upon me and I do not accept it from my son and heir.”

My brows come together. “Wh - What do you mean?”

“I mean, Aeron, you are no longer my son and heir until you amend your mistake. Nor will you be addressed as such. You no longer have the privilege of addressing me as Father either. All informalities set aside, until I say otherwise. Eventually, you will kill the two females you let go. A time I deem fit and complimentary to my plans. Now that the little whore has married King Elio of the Middle Kingdom, killing them promptly would be too difficult. But she must die before an official marriage alliance is made between the two realms. Odds are King Elio and the want to be, Queen Freya, will have a daughter. We will allow her to flourish and when the time is right. You will kill her parents and bastard sister. Then you will marry the heir to the Middle Kingdom. Uniting our realms. Harnessing her power to your own.”

Before I can ask any further questions. He says, “You are dismissed, Aeron.”

With my mouth still gaping open. I snap it shut. Turning and with one final glance back at my Father before I shut the door. Sorrow fills my soul.

I’m sitting on the edge of my balcony looking out towards the Middle Kingdom. The night air is cool and the moon shines bright over the Forest of Despair.

The forest slowly starts to come alive again as it reaches the Middle Kingdom and Celestial Realm. It’s fascinating how our Goddess’s magic works, woven into the earth.

I dangle my feet over the railing. Pondering on the conversation I had with my Father earlier. Contemplating his plan.

He didn’t look up at me once. He said it all so flatly. Even when he disowned me and claimed I was no longer his heir. I’ve never been anything to him. Nothing more than something to mold and bend to his will. I’ve only ever trained to kill. To become a ruthless ruler just like him. To rein over the Shadowlands is all I know. The only future I have ever been told. And now, I am no longer heir to the throne. Yet, I am to marry and unite two realms. My Father has another angle. Something he isn’t telling me.

My mood sours. Determination consuming me. More so than the grief of no longer being heir and my Father no longer allowing me to be called his son. I have not suffered and endured to simply have it taken away. I will earn my title back as heir to the Shadowlands. My Father be damned if he no longer wishes for me to be called his son. He’s never treated me as one anyway. What loss is that? But I will rule the Shadowlands. I will grow to be formidable. I will become so ruthless and deadly more than he ever was. They will not be able to deny me as heir. I will gain back my title through fear or respect whichever is more effective. I will become death itself. And there will be no peace.

* * *

I wake before dawn. Heading straight for the fighting pits and training arena. I found a practice dummy as a makeshift opponent. Harnessing my magic. Forming long spears, throwing them at my target. Finding anywhere that would be deadly. I aim for the head, torso, and most importantly heart. Forcing each one to disappear after it hits its mark. I must have created, thrown, and vanished hundreds of spears before I am nearly spent. Sweat is stinging my eyes. My arm hurts from throwing. I need to rest before my real training for the day begins. I begin to leave when I am stopped by my Father, or King Perseus, now .

I freeze. Taking a step back to bow. “My King, I did not realize you were here. I will get out of your way.”

“Nonsense.” He says cutting me off.

“I see you have heeded our little chat. Now, that your mental punishment has taken root. It is time for the physical pain to begin.”

My posture shifts. Not allowing him the satisfaction of fear. “What did you have in mind, My King?”

He smiles. One side going higher than the other. A tortuous smile indeed.

He then throws out his hand and his magic comes to life. He forms a rope of black flames and hurls it at me. My eyes widened. I attempt to form a shield but it’s no use. The rope is already wrapped around my arm. Burning and stinging. I hear the sound of my flesh sizzling. My eyes begin to tear from the smoke that is emanating off my skin. My Father - My King - is burning me alive without killing me. I try to pull free but the grip is too strong. With a flick of his arm the rope releases.

I look down to my forearm. Now red and covered in blisters from where his magic had just been. I stare up at him. He has a smug look on his face. I clench my jaw and furrow my brows. But all he says is, “Until you are skilled enough to counteract me. You will receive a new burn everyday. Each one will be different. Depending on how I am feeling and how well you are doing.”

He turns and begins to walk away. Pausing, he turns half way and looks down at me. I am now on the ground holding my arm. Tears building in my eyes but I refuse to let them fall. “Do not think I won’t mutilate every inch of your skin until you have proven yourself worthy of anything less.”