The Palace Beast

Prince Damon closed his eyes, attempting to block out the dull pain that surged through his head as he awoke. His hand instinctively reached out to assess the damage, but to his dismay, it remained motionless, held back by an unseen force. The back of his skull throbbed relentlessly, leaving him disoriented and unsure of his whereabouts. The memory of his journey back to the northern part of Wex was fragmented, interrupted by the sudden appearance of hostile riders emerging menacingly from the treacherous bushes. Their vicious attack had decimated his once formidable force, leaving only a handful of survivors.

As he tried to rise, Damon realized that his arms were restrained, rendering him incapable of standing. His legs, too, proved immobile, trapping him in a prone position. The pain in his battered head intensified, contorting his face into a grimace of sheer agony. Amidst the disquieting stillness, a constant dripping noise resonated, its source seemingly originating from a leak in the rooftop above.

He had no notion of the duration of his unconsciousness. His parched mouth and rumbling stomach signaled his hunger. Despite widening his eyes in an attempt to survey his surroundings, darkness relentlessly enveloped him. Panic coursed through him, causing an icy tremor to run down his spine.

"Where am I?" he managed to whisper, his voice straining. "This place doesn't bear any resemblance to Wex."

The more he struggled to speak, the more his arid throat stung. Helpless and immobile, he found himself in a state of profound darkness, akin to a lamb awaiting its impending sacrifice.

No trace of Wex's knights could be found. He ventured into this predicament unaccompanied. His sword had been forcefully taken from him and hung on a nearby wooden perch, just a few steps away. If only he could reach it, a sense of security would return.

He began to physically tremble in time with that slight tremor as its intensity increased. "Is anyone there?" he muttered. "Cut me loose and I shall surely reward you." Everything seems to be a horrific nightmare but he could feel the sense of reality.

'This is real,' his mind raced with quick thoughts. 'I'm going die or wake up in a moment in my warmth bed beside Princess Bonnie, the future Queen of Wex.'

He finds it hard to believe the glimpse of reality he felt. He attempted to wrench his arms free. He let out a cry of agony and continued pounding his forearms against the straps. All of his instincts compelled him to battle this invisible foe, break free from these restraints, and become free once more.

He jerked his head back, momentarily feeling lightheaded from the force. He pounded at his restraints, striking the metallic table with the back of the head repeatedly. His shout was filled with panic and rage. He gagged as the stuffy air got into his mouth. The smell of blood, metallic and foul-smelling, combined to resemble decaying fingers sticking their way down his throat and into his heart.

"No," he groaned. "This can't be happening."

His strength was starting to wane; he was taking in ragged breath after ragged breath, inviting the foul fingers back. He heard a squeak from the rusty hinges, signifying that someone was entering or exiting. They were abandoning him to starvation and dehydration there.

"Who's there?" he squeezes out in a dying breath. "Cut me loose."

He wanted to yell for assistance, but his lips were parched from prolonged thirst and his throat was raw from screaming; instead, a gasp emerged from his mouth. He heard the distinct sound of cloth swishing. It was getting nearer. The faint footsteps retreated in the opposite direction as they drew closer and closer, eventually passing him.

He listened for a painful minute. They were not returning. They had abandoned him. They had left him dangling from chains above Satan's gaping maw. With all of his remaining strength, he attacked his bonds, letting out a pitiful cry from his tortured throat.

"I'm the crown Prince of Wex, Duke of Weslex, and heir to the throne!" he finally yelled with his might. "You will cut me loose at once!" It's as if he has been reserving his yelling strength for this time.

Perhaps, he was going to be free and get away. He'd stroll under the sun once more. See Princess Bonnie once more and kiss her passionately. This can't be his last breath on earth. He could sense it. He's not yet done with living and will fight hard to stay alive.

Trying to break free of his captivity, he used all of his strength to thrust upward while gritting his teeth as the straps tightened around his body. He exerted more force because he could feel the chains creaking under stress.

Someone above him exclaimed, "He's awake!" Her voice was full of excitement. The Prince's yelling caught her attention.

He heard footsteps that echoed into his struggles and against the concrete walls.

"Who are you? A healer?" he asked in desperation, hoping he would be set free. Perhaps he was found by these people and treated after riders attacked him and the knights of Wex from a treacherous bush.

No one answered him. Not even the woman's voice she heard. This terrified him as fear gripped him. He's too weak to transform into his wolf form. He's certain he has a liquid besides his blood running down his veins; the only substance that would make his kind weak and vulnerable to an attack-wolfbane.'

Breathing heavily, he allowed his aching body to collapse onto the metal surface.

There were no more footsteps. He heard breathing, softly. Painfully, something prodded his hip from the shadows; he tried his best to duck from the cruel touch.

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"Be still!" a harsh masculine voice brushed against his ears. "Your titles mean nothing to me."

When he peered, he caught sight of a pale-looking man. His grey beard is tied into a knot and his long grey hair crashes over his shoulder. He looks pale but doesn't look weak neither is he old. His grey hair seems natural. He heads Prince Damon down and firmly, gesturing for the lady to bring the bowl to the table next to her.

As she hurried to do as instructed, Prince Damon squeezes out in a terrifying voice, "Who are you and why are you doing this to me?"

Like before, he was ignored. As soon as the lady brought the bowl, the man forcefully held Prince Damon's mouth and started squeezing it open.

He tried to fight but the restraints couldn't let him. He barely squirmed but couldn't escape what the man had in store for him. The content of the bowl was emptied into his mouth.

Prince Damon's eyes rolled back into his head as he gasped and moaned. Even though he attempted to close them, he couldn't. Froth danced on his lips, and all the strength left him trembled in weak spasms throughout his body. His body went limp as sweet oblivion slowly took him into its gloomy grasp.

"Return fill this up with more wolfbane," the man said as he handed the bowl back to the lady. He turned toward Prince Damon, casting a hostile gaze. "Let's see how you will speak again."

Prince Damon's bones rattled with pain. He tried opening his mouth to speak but couldn't. He feels like a dead man with his eyes wide open. There's nothing he could do but accept his fate in the hands of the strange man before him. Prince Damon drifts in and out of consciousness. Before he finally drifts into unconsciousness, he hears the man telling the lady to send word to the pack that the crown prince has been captured. This made him realize he was not up against the humans hunting for beasts in human form like him. He's up against the rogue werewolves that continuously prey on the kingdoms day and night.