The Cursed Light

13

Roman wasn’t stupid, although Logan would probably contest that statement. He knew something was up the moment Virgil tried to lead him away. So he let the anxious side fool himself into thinking he was chasing after him.
    He could conjure illusions after all.
    Instead, he was hiding. Waiting for the moment to strike before Janus could cast whatever curse he wanted on an unsuspecting Patton.
    But no curse came. No incantation, no sparks, just a tearful hug and apologies.
    Nothing except leaving Roman alone to stew in his confusion and anger.
    He felt the inklings of a memory push at the back of his mind when he saw Patton and Janus kiss. Like something was clawing, scratching, screaming to get out. But none of that mattered when the gaping hole in Roman’s chest seemed to grow larger every second he spent watching the pair hug and console each other as if they knew each other intimately for years.
    Maybe they had.
    Whatever the other sides did next, Roman didn’t stay to watch. He sunk out to the Imagination, gripping his sword so tightly his knuckles were white, and ran. He ran into the forest surrounding his castle and angrily slashed at the tree trunks, sobbing all the while.
    Of course. Of fucking course.
    The rules always had to change, didn’t they? But why tell him?
    Why tell the annoying, stupid prince that the rules changed?
    Why bother?
    He threw his sword on the ground and dug his fingers into his hair, his chest heaving with sobs. He distantly realized that he was curled up on the forest floor, and a small part of him wanted to get up or he’d ruin his pristine white suit.
    The other part of him just wanted the forest floor to swallow him whole. Because did they really need him? Logan and Patton had suddenly decided that the dark sides were good. And sure, he could extend that sentiment to Janus and Remus. Neither of them had particularly done anything to him, and Remus was his brother.
    But Virgil was another story. No matter how much he tried, he couldn’t shake the feeling of mistrust. And maybe that should have bothered him. Maybe it did but he didn’t want to admit it.
    Maybe Roman was broken.
    Roman sighed shakily, the hollowness in his chest that had settled there years ago squeezing at his heart. He flopped onto his back and stared up at the sky. His face was sticky with dried tears. He hadn’t fully registered that the sun had set until he saw a smattering of dusk stars. He couldn’t bring himself to care that he had been out here for hours.
    It’s not like anyone else cares that you’ve been gone for a whole day.
    He stayed there for another hour. It felt like an hour. It could have been more.
    Roman pulled himself up, half-heartedly brushing off the dirt and grime that had collected on his prince uniform, and headed toward his castle. The sky was completely dark then, every single constellation that Logan had mentioned covering the pitch black.
    Had Roman even put those there? He didn’t remember putting them there.
    The grandiose doors of his castle loomed over him. He didn’t have the energy to summon his usual villagers to have his grand “I’m back, did you miss me?” procession.
    He pushed through the oak doors into the seemingly endless expanse of his castle. It had 23 rooms (Roman had counted them absentmindedly when he was bored waiting for… what was it he was waiting for again?). He found himself passing by each door, counting them again, committing their nondescript surfaces to forget them later on.
His thoughts raged silently as he examined each door with minimal interest. He froze when he saw a door that, as far as he could remember, wasn’t there before. There was something hauntingly familiar about it, much like with Patton and Janus kissing.
The door was a checkerboard of red and purple, a design choice that didn’t fit in with the pristine renaissance-era architecture Roman had taken painstaking effort to create in his realm. There was a logo on the top of the door. A red and gold storm cloud.
A storm cloud.
Roman felt his anger at himself, at Janus, at Patton, at everything boil over as he slammed the door open.
Sure enough, the very object of his hatred (he didn’t understand why his heart squeezed painfully in his chest at that) sat on the bed. Roman saw red.
“You!”