Black Blood

Chapter 1

'Melissa, change the sheets when you're done. There's blood on them again,' my husband says to our overworked maid. The blue suit fits tightly around his trained body, and his brown hair waves along his ears as he walks out the door.

'Excuse him.'

'Thank you, your highness,' she responds, taking a step back once she finishes tying up my dress. I stand up from the chair, straighten the black linen fabric, and glance at the soiled sheets. I wish the blood were caused by monthly affairs, but that's never been the case for me. My wedding night was two years ago, and the sheets still turn red every day.

'Thank you, Melissa,' I say reluctantly as I make my way to the door.

'Your highness.' In my peripheral vision, I see the lady bow before she heads to the bed. She gives me a final look before she starts pulling the blankets.

I slowly make my way to the dining room.

The long corridors are adorned with dark and gloomy art. Paintings are supposed to be beautiful, but when I look at the dark paintings of battlefields, dead flowers, and skulls, I see nothing beautiful. The castle is shrouded in black and blue, the colors my father loves. There are few cabinets and decorations in the hallways; most only have chandeliers on the ceiling and a black stone floor. The few curtains for the lonely windows are dark blue. You could call it a cliché, a dark castle for a dark king.

When King Floridus von Dira died of riose, my father, his eldest son Nicholas, inherited the crown. He married my mother, Senera Sila, the daughter of the richest magical family.

My father was already known as the prince with crazy ideas. Some called him a narcissist, others a different thinker, and some a genius. He had extreme ideas when it came to the rights of magicians. He placed his own race above any other. It did not do his popularity among other species any good, but there was not enough reason to overthrow him. It was a fire that slowly simmered without strong flames.

I believe my mother was the one who kept my father's flames in check. There were times when extra oxygen came to the fire. I have seen crockery flying against a wall regularly and often covered my ears not to hear the screams.

I knew my father as the busy king who occasionally made time to run through the halls with his children. That kind family man disappeared as soon as death came to take my mother. It was never clear what caused the very friendly and beloved woman's death.

One thing was clear: the fire had all the room to spread. That family man had died and would never return.

My father's hatred of other peoples is no longer expressed only in words. Every folk has its own limitations; werewolves may only hunt in limited areas of their own land, vampires have a blood limit, and elves may not leave their land at all. They all pay the highest prices for their land, and there is no trade.

As soon as I walk into the dining room, I see the one person I hoped to avoid for as long as possible. With his reading glasses on the tip of his nose and the newspaper open in his hands, the king sits at the extended wooden dining table. His black suit with various pins sits neatly on his body and his black-gray hair is slicked back.

The dining room looks tidy again too. The candlesticks with blue candles and the tablecloth full of red wine stains from last night's dinner have been cleaned up. The table is empty, except for my father, his newspaper, and his black cup of coffee.

The dining room is one of the few places with decoration. Paintings hang here and there, more colorful than in the hallways. Against the back wall is a table with candles and books. On the wall hang swords that form a cross together. In the past, the table was decorated for special occasions, but those times are long gone. We have little to celebrate, and visitors do not come knocking at the door.