Purpose

2. Damian

After the official ceremony, the number of people had dwindled considerably. The rest of the guests had gone inside the castle to spend the evening together. Several armchairs and couches had been arranged in a dimly lit salon. The red fabric was immaculate, as if not a soul had ever sat on the upholstery. Cousins, aunts, uncles - brothers-in-law and other family members had settled down and engaged in conversation with each other.

The voices of the waiters offering drinks and snacks were hushed and careful not to break the respectful atmosphere.

Leonel was also offered a glass of wine, which he declined and moved to the edge of the room. There he found a narrow corridor hidden behind closely spaced columns, which was probably designed for the servants. The columns and statues made them more secluded from the activity in the main room and therefore unnoticeable. But they could still see what was going on in the room and offer your services if someone needed them.

It was as if someone had fulfilled Leonel wish to not be spoken to and left alone and thus given him this opportunity to slip away. His slender stature allowed him to squeeze through and step into the corridor. It was quite dark and cool and yet it gave the young man a sense of security. Curious, he looked around to both sides. One led to a wooden door that most likely led to a preparation room for the cooks. However, Leonel wanted to avoid confrontation with others, which is why he turned around and walked in the opposite direction.

It wasn't a long corridor, but the lack of light meant he couldn't see very far. To avoid accidentally running into anything, he stretched his hand out in front of him and slid his fingertips along the cool marble tiles on the wall.  It was immaculately smooth.

Just a few steps away, however, he could feel a difference in the surface. Slight grooves, as if water had flowed over them for centuries. They guided him forward for a few more steps and then towards the ceiling. At the highest point, Leonel suddenly felt something cool. It was a hinge without a lock. Indecisively, he explored the heavy material and carefully tested whether it would move. The latch had apparently not been locked properly, because as soon as Leonel had exerted just a little pressure, the previously solid-looking stonewall swung open like a door. Cool moonlight from a large window illuminated the tiny room in front of him. Leonel glanced behind him, between two statues, into the main room. Nothing had changed there in the short time. No one seemed to be looking for him and there was no sign of his family.

Every second he had to himself was a second full of peace and without pain. That's why he didn't hesitate for long and entered the room. It was barely bigger than a storeroom, but there was no place he had ever felt more at ease in.

The small, dark room was filled with a strange mixture of security and melancholy. The platform by the window, which was designed like a cozy reading corner, offered a perfect retreat from the world outside. Cushions and blankets lay invitingly on it, as if they wanted to wrap every visitor in a warm embrace. The walls were lined with bookshelves that reached up to the ceiling and bore witness to years of reading and collecting. Some books had lost their place on the shelves and were piled up in wobbly stacks on the floor, like silent guardians of a forgotten world.

Leonel had sat down by the window, his slender body nestled into the soft cushions. His eyes, as big and dark as the night itself, were fixed on the sky, where thick clouds moved in front of the moon. It was as if the sky reflected his inner turmoil. Suddenly, lightning flashed across the horizon, followed by a dull rumble that shook the window panes. A violent thunderstorm broke out and within seconds the rain pelted against the glass.

Leonel watched in fascination as the raindrops ran down the glass, forming small rivulets before disappearing. At that moment, he felt at one with the storm outside. Wild, unpredictable and yet somehow trapped. He closed his eyes and let the rhythmic pounding of the rain carry him into another world.

In his dreams, there was no pain, no fear. He was free from the torment inflicted on him by his father, his brother and even his mother. In this dream world, he was strong, invincible. He saw himself walking upright through sun-drenched fields, his head held proudly high, unafraid of anything or anyone.

Deep in his heart, a tiny hope sprouted. Maybe, just maybe, his eldest brother would return from the war and save him. He imagined his brother, tall and strong, rushing through the door, embracing him and promising to never leave him alone again. This image brought a faint smile to Leonel's lips as he drifted deeper and deeper into sleep.

He didn't notice when the door opened quietly behind him and Prince Damian entered. The prince was surprised to stumble into a person inside his secret hideout. He moved carefully so as to not disturb the sleeping man. The room was filled with the calming scent of burning candles, which Damian lit. Their flickering light cast dancing shadows on the walls.

He spoke Leonel's name softly, but the boy was already far away in the world of dreams. Damian hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to do. Finally, he decided to sit down opposite Leonel. From here, he could look at the young man's face, something he had not dared to do at his brother's funeral a few hours ago.

In the flickering candlelight, Leonel's face looked almost unearthly. His skin was pale and flawless, like the finest porcelain. Long, dark eyelashes cast delicate shadows on his cheeks, and his black hair fell in soft waves over his forehead. Damian had to admit to himself that he found Leonel extremely beautiful.

It was a delicate, almost fragile beauty that fascinated and worried him at the same time.

The longer he looked at Leonel, the more questions came to his mind. Why did he have such dark circles under his eyes? They were the evidence of sleepless nights and worries that robbed him of a lot of strength. Why was he so small and seemed so fragile? His body hardly seemed to have any strength, as if life itself had drained him.

Without thinking about it, Damian reached out and gently stroked Leonel's cheek. The skin felt cool beneath his fingertips, and he felt a strange urge to protect the boy. It was a feeling he couldn't quite place, a mixture of brotherly affection and something deeper that he couldn't quite put his finger on.

An hour passed, during which Damian simply sat and watched Leonel sleep. The storm outside had subsided, and only the occasional distant flash of lightning lit up the night sky. The silence in the room was almost palpable, interrupted only by Leonel's quiet breaths and the soft crackling of the candles.

Finally, Damian reached for one of the books lying next to the windowsill. It was an old volume with a worn leather cover. He opened it carefully and began to read. The words on the old pages told of distant lands and brave heroes, of love and betrayal, of triumph and defeat. It had been his older brother's favorite book and the reason Damian had come here. He lost himself in the stories while he kept glancing at the sleeping Leonel.

He knew that the people in the main room had long since left. The castle was shrouded in nightly silence and he was aware that he and Leonel were now alone. This thought filled him with a strange mixture of excitement and unease.