CURSED

CHAPTER TWO - ADRIAN

The midday sun bathed the castle in a golden light, its warmth unable to penetrate the cold stone walls of Prince Adrian's chambers. He stood by the window, gazing out over Valoria, a kingdom that stretched far beyond the horizon but remained out of his reach. In his hand, he held a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching the sunlight as he swirled it absentmindedly.

He took a slow sip, letting the warmth of the drink spread through him, though it did little to ease the gnawing frustration that had become his constant companion. For the past ten years, he had not set foot beyond the castle walls, and as far as most of the kingdom was concerned, he was more myth than man—A prince bound by walls, not by duty.

His grip tightened around the glass, his jaw clenching. He was no closer to gaining the powers that had been promised to him, but his father still clung to the belief that one day they would come. The crescent moon birthmark on the inside of his arm, once a symbol of hope, had become a constant reminder of what he lacked.

He took another sip, the whiskey burning its way down his throat. Why couldn't he just be normal? Why couldn't he have been born with powers like everyone else? The kingdom believed in him, believed that he was destined for greatness, but how could he live up to those expectations when he was nothing but a powerless prince locked away in a castle?

Adrian's emotions swirled inside him like a tempest, and for a brief moment, he slammed the glass down on the windowsill, the force causing the crystal to rattle dangerously. The anger, the helplessness—it all felt too much. But as quickly as the storm had risen, it began to ebb. His heart, still pounding, sank back into its usual melancholy that had settled in over the years.

He hated this feeling. The intensity of it.

A soft knock sounded at the door and he turned from the window, his brow furrowing. He didn't feel like seeing anyone right now. He considered ignoring it, but the door creaked open slightly, and a familiar figure stepped inside.

It was Callum, one of the older servants of the castle, someone who had known Adrian since childhood. Callum had always treated him with respect, never with the formality of a servant and never with the cold distance Adrian had grown accustomed to from others in the castle. Perhaps it was because Callum had seen him in his most vulnerable moments—when Adrian had cried as a child, frustrated by his lack of power, or when he had experienced his first taste of joy.

"Your Highness," Callum said, bowing slightly, his weathered hands folded neatly in front of him. He glanced at the glass of whiskey on the windowsill and then at Adrian's face, his eyes softening with understanding.

"I'm not in the mood for company, Callum," Adrian muttered, though his tone lacked its usual bite.

"I know," Callum replied quietly, stepping into the room. "But you've been in here for hours. The king asks after you. He worries."

Adrian let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his chestnut hair. "Does he?" His voice was thick with sarcasm. "He's worried that his precious heir won't become what he wants me to be."

Callum took a step closer, his expression calm, unshaken by Adrian's sharp words. "I think he worries because he knows how deeply you feel. You wear your heart on your sleeve, and that is not something many princes do."

Adrian's jaw tightened. "It's not something they should do."

"There is no shame in feeling deeply," Callum said gently. "It shows that you care—about this kingdom, about the people. That is no small thing."

Adrian scoffed, though his frustration felt hollow. "What good is caring if I can't do anything about it? What good am I to this kingdom if I have no power?"