The sounds of the market square rang out as Duval moved through the narrow alleys. The usual hum of street vendors, shouting prices, and children's laughter filled the air, but there was something heavier tonight, something off.
The thick scent of burnt meat and rotting refuse clung to the air. People moved around him like shadows, their eyes avoiding his gaze. Duval could feel it, the way they looked at him with resentment, barely concealed hatred. His heart clenched with an uncomfortable tightness.
He was a prince, after all, and while the people of the city hated the crown, they feared the power that came with it.
Tonight, it felt different.
He passed an old woman hunched over in the corner of the street. Her clothes were ragged, and her face was twisted in agony. She was muttering something Duval couldn't catch. Her eyes gleamed, wild and fevered, her skin barely clinging to her bones. As he passed, her bony fingers shot out, grasping at his sleeve.
"Help me, young master," she rasped. "Please... they're coming for us all."
Duval froze for a moment, his breath catching in his throat. He recognized her, a beggar who had been roaming the streets for years. A whisper of something dark flickered in his chest, but he turned his gaze away.
The price of loyalty was to ignore the suffering around him.
"Move along, old woman," he said coldly, his words more from habit than from any real disdain. "You're just another burden on this city."
Her fingers tightened around his sleeve for a moment before she let go. Duval felt the weight of her gaze on his back as he walked away, though he did not dare to turn around.
The streets grew darker the further he walked.
He came to a more isolated part of the district, far from the prying eyes of nobles or guards. But here, the rot was even worse. Here, in the darker corners, the true horrors of the kingdom came to light.
In the shadows, figures huddled together in filthy corners, their faces hidden beneath hoods or tattered cloaks. They weren't just beggars.
Duval's eyes narrowed as he saw movement in the alleyway ahead of him—a young girl, barely more than a child, slumped in the corner, hands bound in thick rope. Her clothes were torn, and she was sobbing quietly.
A man loomed over her, laughing darkly as he raised a rod high, ready to strike.
Duval's muscles tensed as he reached for his blade, but he stopped himself. He could not intervene.
He closed his eyes for a moment before opening them again. A deep sigh escaped his throat. "Don't," he whispered under his breath.
He'd been taught since childhood that to interfere in the street's business was treasonous. To question the actions of those who carried out the kingdom's will was to risk his life—and the lives of his family.
He should have turned away, but he couldn't.
A part of him burned with anger, rage at the injustice, at how powerless he felt. But he had been trained to know his place, to know when to speak and when to remain silent.
"Go back to the castle, little prince."
The voice came from behind him, rough, yet familiar. Duval turned slowly. Standing in the shadows, a tall figure dressed in black stood at the edge of the alley. His eyes gleamed with an unsettling orange hue; his hands stained with blood.
It was one of Xanther's men.
A chill ran down Duval's spine. The fact that the rebel forces were at his back—his loyalty to his father and the kingdom—meant nothing in the face of this dark reality. He could almost feel the claws of Xanther's influence slowly creeping into the kingdom.
But what could he do?
"Do you want to play hero, young prince?" the man taunted, stepping closer. "Or will you just keep pretending your hands are clean?"
Duval stiffened but didn't respond. His breath caught in his throat. He wanted to act, to save the girl, to change things. But his duty, his loyalty, tied his hands.
He turned and walked away, but the sounds of the girl's cries followed him, echoing in his mind, reminding him of how deep the rot ran in the kingdom. He didn't stop, couldn't stop. Not yet. But the price of his loyalty was weighing heavily on his heart. The kingdom was broken, and the only thing holding it together was a man too afraid to face the truth.