A Daemon's Babble

The night was dark and the moon was just a sliver in the sky as a breeze skimmed over the palace gardens, where a girl, no more than eleven, stood, walking briskly to the palace, a stony frown set upon her face. She wore regal clothing of intricate design and her green eyes glittered with the bitter prospect of the upcoming meeting. She lifted one hand, examining the black and gold painted fingernails. “How annoying. He broke a nail.” She sighed, gathered up her robes, and began to run. After a second of her blond hair streaming behind her, she jumped slightly off the ground, and flew like a bird, her robes indeed looking like feathers. She was Aislinn, the princess of the kingdom and born with more magical abilities than anyone had ever seen. It also made her a target for other countries that did not wish to see so much power in one kingdom, and were constantly sending assassins to kill her. An assassin had come earlier that day, causing the princess to break a nail. She had put up a shield just in time to stop the bullets and for the murderer to be taken away. But fight magic was not Aislinn’s specialty, and tonight she would get a bodyguard. The thought was not pleasing to her. But she zoomed into the palace and up the stairs, where her father, the king, was waiting on the throne. Her mother was away on business in other kingdoms, and she was an only child. She often felt alone. But her stony exterior let no one know of this.

“Good evening, Father.” Aislinn said cordially, alighting upon the ground. Her father nodded in response. After a moment of silence, Aislinn, ever impatient, stomped her foot on the ground. “Well? Where is my ridiculous bodyguard?” She demanded, and the king smirked, used to his daughter’s antics.

“Bring him in.” The king said loudly, his voice echoing across the walls of the throne room. “Now, this is not your ordinary bodyguard, Aislinn, he is-” The king was interrupted by a loud scream coming from the back door of the throne room. The king plastered on a fake smile as the door opened, showing one man on the floor, writhing in pain as blood poured out of his leg and shoulder, and another shaking as he held a spear in his hand, pointed at a figure with a black bag over his head. His hands were bound in front of him, as were his feet shackled.

For a moment, Aislinn was shocked, and her eyes zeroed in on the blood coating the black-cloaked figure’s hand, dripping onto the floor. The figure was as still as a statue, and did not even appear to be breathing. The king delicately stepped off his throne, unperturbed by the scene, and placed a hand on the figure’s head. “You are dismissed.” The king whispered and the man with the spear dropped his weapon, and ran off, dragging his companion with him, whose shoulder and leg had begun to smoke. Then the king tightened his grip on the bag and yanked it off.

Aislinn was mildly surprised, and nothing surprised Aislinn. The figure was a boy, only a year, maybe a year and a half, older than her, with jet black hair and inky eyes, a copper skin tone and a curious, devilish smile playing on his lips. “Who is this?” She demanded.

The king cleared his throat. “This is an assassin from a neighboring country. I have decided that if he proves himself worthy to be your bodyguard, then he will not be given the death sentence.” He opened his mouth to add on, to cut off the angry stream of words that were ready to pour out of his daughter’s mouth, but a voice cut him off.

“Is that what you fools brought me here for? I’d rather die than serve under this witch.” The boy purred, his voice nothing but honey and silver. “Or I could merely kill Aislinn while I am serving underneath her.” The assassin mused; seemingly unaware that everyone was listening to his plans.

“You have no weapons.” The king stated strongly.

The boy held up his hands, where blood was still dripping. “Cut off all my limbs and I’ll have no weapons, your Majesty.” The boy sneered, his devilish smirk growing into that of an evil, sadistic grin.

The king was beginning to think that this wasn’t a good idea. He knew most assassins would jump for a chance not to be killed. But this boy, this child, was different. “Maybe-” The king began, but was cut off once more. He was getting very sick of that.

“No.” Aislinn interjected, holding up a hand. “He’s perfect.” She whispered, almost in reverence.

The king raised one eyebrow. “I appreciate the compliment, witch.” The boy sang, his eyes bright with either joy or malice, the king couldn’t tell.

But Aislinn wouldn’t stand for that. “You will address me as your highness, or merely princess will do.” She stated, then walked up to the figure.

The boy laughed a high cold laugh that was far too mature for someone of his age. “Step back, witch, or I might rip out your throat.” He hummed, but the princess only smiled wider.

The princess was actually a rather despicable person. Not many people liked her. She was cold, cruel, calculating, and on many occasions rather sadistic. “No problem. Father, I’ll be back in a week or so to tell you how my new plaything works out, okay?” Aislinn said brightly, then proceeded to grab the boy by the throat and haul him out of the room. The king, stunned, could hear laughter echoing down the staircase. He wasn’t sure who found what so hilarious.

Exactly seven days later, Aislinn showed up at the king’s throne room. The king was surprised. She looked happier than she had in ages. Her eyes were brighter, the worry lines around her eyes had vanished, and there was a spring in her step. “Hi, Daddy.” Daddy, something else new. “My bodyguard is working out great.” She chirped happily, and snapped her fingers.

A figure dressed in a suit shuffled in. The king hardly recognized the cold assassin that had been in his room only days earlier. He was twitchier, his inky eyes faded to a dull gray, the light from his eyes replaced by fear, his hands shaking as he clasped them behind his back. “He’s very nice now. He does what I ask him to.” Aislinn said with a grin. “Servant, bring me some tea.” She ordered, her voice suddenly harsh and unforgiving.

The boy jumped and scuttled out of the room, his head bent. The king shook his head, snapping himself out of it. As long as his daughter was happy, what else mattered? “So, what is the boy’s name?” The king asked, for he hadn’t bothered to question the assassin when he was first captured.

“Hm? I don’t know. I’ve simply been referring to him as slave, or servant. He responds to either one.” Aislinn said distractedly as the boy once again hurried back up the stairs with a tea in hand, which he handed to the princess. “Slave, what’s your name?” She snapped, twisting the cap off.

He mumbled something incoherent. Aislinn snapped her fingers. That seemed to frighten the boy for some strange reason. “Devon. Devon Gray.” He stammered, and once again the king blinked in surprise. Gone was the singing voice, the voice full of promises that were not meant to keep. His voice was shaking, afraid, quiet.

The king turned to his daughter, amazed. “What did you do to the child, Aislinn?” He asked her as Devon bowed his head once again, his hair falling over his eyes.

“To him? Oh, I’m sorry, Daddy.” Aislinn sighed as she took a long sip of her tea. She tossed the bottle to the boy, still open, who caught it nimbly. “He wouldn’t listen to me.” She flashed her father a smile. “You see, Daddy, I just had to break my new toy.”