Even then I did not believe in the curse so many others—including my mother—did.
It wasn’t until I watched Nora’s helicopter fall from the heavens and explode before my eyes that I finally succumbed to the notion that my family was, in fact, cursed.
This meant my children, the heirs to the throne, would perish by the same hand unless I did something about it. Only there was no witch to bargain with. No sorcerer who placed this curse to kill. It was insidious. A monster biding its time, waiting to claim your soul just when you begin to let your guard down and start to think maybe all this nonsenseisin your head.
Then it swoops in, an angel of death set on ultimate destruction and ruination as it strikes.
Like it did with Nora.
A woman who wasn’t even of our bloodline. She was my queen. Born to French nobility, she was not from Messalina. Not that it mattered in her end. Marrying me sealed her fate.
The story of my country goes like this…
We were named for the Roman empress Messalina. A woman married to the Roman emperor Claudius, she was powerful and influential. A woman who loved our particular patch of land during the height of the Roman Empire. The emperor gifted her this land, creating a new country and kingdom just for her, bearing her name.
Then it was discovered she had conspired against him, and she was subsequently executed for her crime. Claudius, embarrassed by how he had loved a woman who had betrayed him, damned our royal blood—blood that was said to stem from her and her adultery—setting forth a curse consecrated by the Gods.
Centuries later, our small but prestigious country flanking the borders of France, Italy, and Switzerland, dragging from the balmy Mediterranean all the way up to the Alps, is rich in agriculture, history, tourism, and various exports. We prosper despite our heritage and namesake.
All but the royal family.
Confession time?
I wasn’t in love with my wife. I respected and cared for her, which is more than most can ask for in my situation. She was a good woman, an excellent mother, a kind queen, and a trusted friend. She understood our marriage and relationship, though I was aware she had wished there had been more between us.
Her death was devastating.
To our children. To our people.
It was fear that held me more than losing her. As wrong as that is. For the first time since she became my wife, I was grateful I wasn’t in love with her. I’d seen firsthand what love was capable of when I was just a young boy. Had felt its strife and burden. Had believed it evil when Desta was taken from us, and our father was killed. I knew how love had decimated my mother from the inside out. She was never the same.
Love was a vulnerability.
One I swore I would never allow to touch the fortress of my body or penetrate the kingdom of my heart. For a king, there was nothing worse.
So, I did not love my queen.
Maybe that was her curse. Maybe that’s what killed her. My lack of love.
Love.
That’s where the curse had stemmed from in the first place. A lovesick, heartbroken emperor.
Maybe love was the key.
But to what? Ruination or salvation? Both?
That I didn’t know. I love my children, but I did not love my queen. My mother loved her children and her husband but was not loved by him in return. So where did that leave me, and where did that leave my children?
I’d give up my life and my world for them. Which is exactly what I did to try to change their fate.
After Nora’s death, I took our three children to our palace in the north sector of the country. Right at the point where the Alps begin to rise up and the land to the south and east is vast and empty, save for a few small towns here and there. It’s quiet and protected.
That’s where we’ve been since.
Three years, and I’ve kept us shut away. Hidden. Only going out sporadically, and rarely with my children. I have no choice but to keep us here. Safe. Away from all who could potentially pose a threat. And as the years have gone by, I’ve grown bitter and resentful. Cold.
A Beast King.
