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If anyone had asked, he was sure he could count the times he'd seen young master Stolas truly happy on the fingers of one hand.
Being the butler of a royal family was no small feat; not everyone would be able to handle it, he'd learned that years ago. Not that he'd really had any other choice; his father had been one himself, as had his grandfather before him; yet, nothing could have prepared him for the things he'd witnessed inside those palaces.
He had years of experience under his belt by the time His Highness Paimon had requested that he be transferred to the palace where his son, the young Prince Stolas, lived to care for him.
Like most children, young master Stolas had the gift of a great imagination, and he felt no shame in sharing it. Cheerful, he often lost himself in that torrent of words and, the butler knew, it wasn't a trait that would have gone down well with the other members of the family.
He had often found himself forced to remind him how unbecoming it was for a Goetia to show emotion, or to display it so forcefully, in an attempt to curb what they deemed unbecoming behavior. However, no matter how hard the young prince tried to conform to the supposed family norms, it seemed an impossible concept to ask the child.
The butler was always a bit taken aback when young master Stolas apologised. He wore a mask of indifference, remaining silent, no matter how much he wished things were different. He, too, was a father. But whether he agreed or not; whether it was right or wrong, was not for him to say. That wasn't his job.
No one would have noticed, in any case, until the prince's adolescence, as no family member came to visit him. Prince Stolas had spent his childhood solely in his company, along with two other members of the staff.
His Highness Paimon; his father, never visited his son unless strictly necessary, leaving the butler also in charge of his education.
Well, at least the young prince certainly had no shortage of curiosity, and teaching had proved to be the easiest part of his job.
At least until magic came into play, the only time a stranger knocked on the door. Then, and only then, did someone come to the palace.
Magic was the only subject he hadn't been able to teach him, clearly, and often it wasn't even the same person who showed up the next day. The idea of making someone's acquaintance had been a hope he'd seen rise and fall in that child's eyes more than once, as soon as he realized the teacher in question had no real interest in him, or in holding a real conversation.
It was no wonder Master Stolas had developed so many insecurities and a lack of attention in social interactions over the years. But after all, how could anything else be possible if his own father had forced him to live a solitary life in the company of a staff with whom he couldn't have a sincere conversation, until his wedding day?
And then, something he could never have imagined happened, right on the prince's tenth birthday.
Predictably, the young prince had woken up elated that morning. Not only because it was his birthday, but his tenth, which meant that in the morning he would discover the responsibilities awaiting him from that day on, officially becoming part of the family.
What a cruel thing to say to a child, as if until the day before he was simply a bastard and only once given the tools to 'serve hell'; as His Highness Paimon had declared, what a foolish concept, then it would have been worthy of attention.
The butler doubted anything would change. After all, His Highness didn't even remember his son's name, and that was enough to assume what future awaited that child.
At least, he seemed enthusiastic about his role and the Grimoire; thrilled at the idea of making his father proud. He seemed inclined to love the stars of Earth, and that made the butler breathe a sigh of relief; at least until His Highness spoke again.
An arranged, non-negotiable marriage. Obviously. That was how it worked in royal families; yet, the young prince's reaction surprised them both.
Most children didn't even know what marriage really entailed. Perhaps the mention of an heir was what had truly frightened him. Yet, something didn't convince him; the young prince's desperation must have stemmed from something deeper than mere fear for the future. But what that was, the butler wasn't entirely sure.
His gaze fell on young master Stolas, still saddened by the news, once they reached the circus.
His grip on the handle of the magic mirror tightened. Of course, he certainly shouldn't have expected His Highness to personally attend a circus run by Imps, even though it had been his idea, an attempt to console his son. Which made his comments about the closeness of the other Imps in the audience even more sour, grateful that the young prince was too lost in despair to notice what his father was saying.
He doubted the circus idea would work, but it was certainly not the first time His Highness Paimon had shown his poor parenting skills.
Young master Stolas's laugh startled him from his thoughts. Shy but sincere, it had made its way through the silent crowd toward the end of the show. Caused by a child who could have roughly had the same age as the prince, with a slightly crude sense of humor that only he seemed to appreciate among those present.
He didn't quite understand it himself, to be honest, and by now the jokes seemed to have turned into a back-and-forth between young master Stolas and the young Imp.
Caught up in his enthusiasm, the young prince had often found himself turning to him in a futile attempt to explain to both of them what was funny about the latest joke, clearly displeased that it was met with the usual general silence and his father's disinterest.
But the butler listened, even if he didn't show it. He always did.
At least, His Highness Paimon seemed to have noticed the positive effect that little clown had had on his son.
At the end of the show, His Highness had opened a remote portal to lead his son back to the palace, instructing the Imp not to follow him and to go to the back of the circus tent.
The conversation with the circus owner had been almost surreal.
He was grateful that the young prince had not been present to see what his father truly thought of him, nor to witness the natural way he thought money could solve every problem.
It shouldn't have surprised him that His Highness Paimon had come up with the idea of buying a child for a few hours of entertainment for the young prince. Royals considered all those of a lower social class unworthy even of their presence, and Imps as objects to be possessed. It was the norm, however unfair, but the disconcerting thing was the other Imp's reaction to that proposal.
His son.
The circus owner had been willing to sell his son.
For a five dollar bill and a condom which, unfortunately, he had found in his pocket due to His Highness Paimon's bad habit of copulating while changing his appearance. After all, he had said so himself, he had too many children.
And who would he leave his son alone with, what's more? A royal he knew next to nothing about. True, His Highness had been clear about his intentions; he was there solely because young master Stolas had no friends and he had no desire to deal with him, but if the roles were reversed, the butler doubted he would be able to trust him.
As fond as he was of the young prince, they were strangers, and royal families could be quite extravagant when they wanted to be.
The man had nevertheless accepted the unwholesome proposal, despite having claimed earlier to want a generous sum, when he had believed it was about the other child. That had set off alarm bells in the butler's mind, because, however inferior he might think his own son was; at least artistically, as far as he could tell, the circus owner was clearly a man interested in money.
His Highness Paimon didn't seem to have noticed anything unusual, and he certainly wouldn't have been the one to point it out. He'd been right about one thing, young master Stolas had no friends, and as much as he hated the medium, he wouldn't be the one to steal that glimmer of happiness from him during that nightmare birthday.
When they arrived at the palace, he hadn't been allowed to be present for the child's arrival and had been ordered to give the two of them complete privacy so they could play alone. For once, he didn't have to suppress any objections. He knew it was a good idea; it would give the young prince the impression of having a true friend. For once, he'd be completely free to simply be a child his age, to be himself.
He suppressed a smile as he exited the palace, leaving the laughter of the two children behind him. As controversial as the whole situation was, he was grateful that the young prince was having fun, and perhaps that was precisely why something inside him cracked as soon as he saw the circus owner hiding in the bushes.
What one doesn't do to please a father.
The butler remained still, torn for a moment, but hearing the two's laughter grow closer was enough to jolt him from his thoughts. He watched them leave the palace and was speechless as the young prince walked out freely, an unknown but sincere happiness on his face, clutching the Grimoire to his chest. In that instant, he realized that young master Stolas needed that afternoon and knew he couldn't say anything.
He was certain that His Highness Paimon wouldn't even realize the missing jewels, how great his wealth was anyway, and the idea of breaking the spell of that game suddenly seemed cruel.
After all, years would pass before the butler saw Prince Stolas so happy again.
o o o
A light chatter was the only sound coming from the palace library. Although the words spoken on the other side of the door were unclear, the butler was certain he would find the young prince there, his head bent over one of the books he owned. Many of them were purely educational.
Not that it could have been otherwise; in any case, the Imps who lived in the palace were not allowed to read.
He took a moment, pausing at the entrance. What was the point of all that knowledge in a child? It continued to elude him, and he lowered his gaze to the book in his hand.
He wasn't sure if it had been a good idea, but would one more book or one less really make any difference?
He opened the door and walked over to young master Stolas, sitting on the floor with a book in his hand. Beside him, also sitting, was the young prince's favorite stuffed animal, the one he slept with every night. Red, with rabbit ears but horns and a wry smile, in a figure that reminded the butler so much of an Imp.
He often wondered if young master Stolas favored it over all the others precisely because of that familiarity, by association, having had no other reference than their presence while growing up.
He quickly looked away at the thought.
“You shouldn’t be on the floor, young prince.”
The child raised his head, becoming aware of his presence, then lowered it again. “Alright.”
He watched him continue reading, without changing position, before he couldn't help but ask, "Haven't You read that already?"
"Oh," exclaimed the young prince, "actually, yes. I've read almost every book in the palace, but—"
He turned to the stuffed animal, bringing a hand to caress its head affectionately.
"—plants are so fascinating, and my friend here wanted to hear more about them."
"Doesn't it bother You?" He asked, without thinking. "Always reading the same books?"
The young prince was surprised by the question and, looking at an undefined spot on the wall in front of him, seemed to think about it for a moment. It was probably the first time he'd been asked that question. It didn't matter whether he actually entertained himself through books; entertainment wasn't essential to his role. Then, he smiled shyly.
"No," he replied, almost in a whisper, "I'll always be happy to read to my friends."
The Imp fell silent.
It wasn't unusual for a child to consider his stuffed animals his friends. His daughter always told him so, too. But unlike the young prince, his daughter also had real friends, with whom she could grow up. Young master Stolas had none of that, and it almost shocked him to think that the possession of such a simple yet so precious privilege was denied even to a prince.
It didn't matter that the royals themselves were deliberately depriving themselves of it. If the young prince had the power, he was sure he would make it his business to correct that lack.
He looked back at the book in his hand, until young master Stolas spoke again.
"Have you—Have you heard from Blitzo?" He asked, without looking at him. As if he should be ashamed for daring to open his mouth. "Did he ask to see me?"
The butler opened his mouth, then closed it again, finding himself at a loss for words.
He knew that the young prince had not realized the real reason why that child had kept him company that day at the palace, but not that he was even unaware of the agreement his father had thought up.
His question, however, was so genuine that it left no room for doubt.
For a few seconds, he regretted letting them get robbed, but that thought vanished as soon as he saw the young prince Stolas squeeze his stuffed animal's hand to gain courage.
No, of course not.
And it won't happen, not today, not tomorrow.
"The circus is always on the move," he said instead, "but I'll make sure to verify."
Young master Stolas didn't seem reassured; his gaze faded and a sad smile spread across his face.
"Of course."
The Imp realized he'd made a mistake; yet, he couldn't deny the desire to let that child dream freely. Even if for one more day.
"I brought You something."
That seemed to snap him out of his thoughts. "For me?"
The butler nodded and approached, reaching out to offer him the book he'd been holding.
"A book?" He asked, surprised. "I already have several here."
"This one's different." The Imp explained, watching the young prince close the one on his lap and accept the other. "It's a fiction book."
"Fiction?" Young master Stolas continued to turn the book over in his hands without opening it, curiosity getting the better of him.
"It means it tells a story," he continued, "You don't study these kinds of books. You just read them because it's fun."
"Fun." The child repeated, in a whisper.
"It's about a journey, with a knight and a dragon, a prince—"
"A prince? Just like me!”
“—Yes. Just like You.” He continued explaining, smiling, pleased by the sudden enthusiasm.
The young prince then began to leaf through it, stroking the words on the pages with his fingers.
“It’s a story about hope.” He concluded, now almost intimidated by the implication of that gesture.
The young prince’s smile, wide and bright, was the only thing he saw as he hugged the book to his chest. As if he had already decreed it to be the most precious text in that room.
The butler hoped that was indeed the case.
“It looks amazing.” He exclaimed. “Thank you!”
The Imp gave him a half-smile. “It was a pleasure, young prince.”
o o o
Sixteen was a complicated age.
Not quite an adult, but old enough to show genuine interest outside of his duties. Prince Stolas's character hadn't changed much. Perhaps he'd learned to keep to himself, more reluctant to speak his mind aloud, but still a dreamer who often found himself confused by the royal life he was forced to lead.
Social interactions still weren't his strong suit, but he didn't blame him, considering the potential conversational options.
On the prince's fourteenth birthday, he'd been ordered to begin small gatherings with his future bride, Princess Stella.
Princess Stella was… everything Prince Stolas wasn't. Self-assured and always ready to say what was on her mind, her beauty undeniable, perfectly fitting the ideal of an attractive woman among the Goetia. Too bad, however, the same couldn't be said of what lay within.
Her first comment, as soon as Prince Stolas had finished introducing himself to her, was precisely about his physical appearance. She had felt no qualms about speaking her mind, while wiping the smile from the prince's face.
Her voice could be heard from every corner of the palace's spacious rooms, expressing the annoyance that even the smallest triviality could cause her in any possible way. Elegant in her gestures, as one would expect from a princess, but sharp with her words. With a raucous laugh that made one's blood run cold as soon as one heard it, so spoiled that she almost didn't care about her position. In fact, her teasing wasn't directed only at the palace butlers, as was now customary, but made no distinction even for Prince Stolas.
The butler had often heard her accuse Prince Stolas of not being man enough and of deserving her harsh comments, as if she expected him to respond in kind, as if she was just awaiting for an excuse to do worse.
But the situation had degenerated when Andrealphus, Princess Stella's brother, arrived at those meetings. Together, they enjoyed teasing him, both for his appearance and his character, but above all, for his childish habit of making bird-like noises.
Most Goetia, at that age, had long since lost that instinct for communication, but not Prince Stolas. They even began to tease him on purpose, just to see what sound he would make that time and then use it against him. Since the environment he was in, the Imp doubted he would be able to stop any time soon.
What kind of people would they become once they reached adulthood?
Seeing them smile with satisfaction made the butler doubt whether it was merely adolescent ignorance and superficiality.
She was everything one might expect from a royal. What the Imp imagined someone who lived in the palace.
Prince Stolas, however, never responded to provocations. As if, deep down, he knew he would solve nothing, trapped by a destiny already written and decided by others. He had almost begun to find a sense of comfort in solitude, especially after those encounters, finding pleasure in reading and his dedication to gardening.
His passion for botany had initially blossomed through books, like all his interests, and had never left him since. The Imp still remembered the first plant Prince Stolas had taken with him. Well, the one that had started out as a small plant, but over the years had grown even taller than the prince. A carnivore typical of the Ring of Wrath, it could intimidate with just a glance.
The butler had always seen it smiling, and he dared not imagine what it might become if it grew angry. As was common belief about plants, they were very sensitive and seemed particularly fond of Prince Stolas. When he fed them, he could see them moving up and down, excited, their eyes shining.
It was fortunate they didn't have legs. The Imp could imagine them scampering around excitedly at the sight of their dearest friend. A somewhat disturbing sight.
Not that it posed a problem for the palace staff, in any case, Prince Stolas had insisted several times that he should be the one to take care of his plants. Clearly, it was a request dictated by the love and care he lavished on them. He often heard him talking to them or even singing to them.
Music had been another lifeline for Prince Stolas. Besides having an enchanting voice, it often seemed that the notes could convey what he found difficult to communicate through simple words.
It was a passion he preferred to cultivate out of sight, although that wasn't always possible. Even though he seemed reluctant to share his voice even with the palace butlers, at times he seemed to forget their presence while they were busy going about their household chores.
Furthermore, it was too quiet in the palace not to notice. Which meant that, when he didn't realize the princess was arriving, he couldn't stop in time.
There was no point in hoping otherwise; he was targeted for that too.
But the butler loved hearing him sing. Though his songs were often melancholic, they were pleasant after a long day, or after a head full of pointless and meaningless shouting.
Accompanied by grand gestures, he moved around the room theatrically, almost dancing between notes. He wasn't unpleasant to watch, with an elegance that seemed more natural to him than the fake, mechanical elegance he was forced to display during royal events.
His songs were a reflection of the oppression and frustration that came with keeping something inside of him, so painful he hoped it would come out on its own. Like a poisonous secret, the more he kept it inside, the more it poisoned him, but what secret the butler had no idea.
But when Princess Stella threatened to tear the leaves off one of his plants, Prince Stolas's mood suddenly changed.
The Imp took a moment to observe him in the center of the room, from the corner next to the door.
Perfectly straight and with his chest out, in an impeccable position, he held one hand over the other behind his back. As was his preference lately, he was dressed entirely in black. He wore tight pants, but loose enough at the knees for comfort, leaving his talons bare. He didn't wear a cloak over his shoulders, but the back of his jacket reached the floor, accompanying the movement of his tail.
He looked nervous, a large magic mirror positioned in front of him.
That day, he had requested a meeting with his father.
Asserting that it concerned his duties and responsibilities as a member of the family, His Highness Paimon had agreed to speak with his son.
The topic of the meeting was clearly of interest to him, and he was certain His Highness would accept if those were the conditions, but he still hadn't been willing enough to come in person.
As soon as the mirror's surface lit up, he saw the prince take a deep breath, as if the conversation about to take place were an exhausting activity for which he had to physically prepare.
When he appeared, His Highness Paimon's face was neutral. He showed no emotion except for a look of boredom, and without even greeting him, he immediately pressed his son.
"What do you want... erh..."
"Stolas."
The butler had to restrain himself from grimacing.
"Right. What do you want, Stolas?"
“Father, You know I take my role here in Hell very seriously, and I am grateful for Your trust.”
His Highness raised his head slightly at those words, averting his gaze, as if feeling the need to roll his eyes.
That reaction didn't go unnoticed by the prince, and it was enough to shatter all the confidence he'd previously displayed.
“And I—I just wanted—”
“Stolas.” His father called, startling him. “You know I can't stand whining. Say what you have to say.”
“Yes, Father, I know,” Prince Stolas said, taking a step forward in an attempt to regain his courage. “Stella and I have had some disagreements lately, and I know it's my duty to marry her, and I will, but there's a more pressing matter that concerns me, and—”
“Funny,” His Highness interrupted, “Stella has lodged complaints about you.”
“Did she?” He asked, sounding surprised, and he wasn't the only one in that room.
The butler didn't take her as the type to go that far just to spite him.
The marriage was convenient for the princess; perhaps more than it was for Prince Stolas. To think that her dislike for the prince was so big that she risked tarnishing their name was foolish.
Princess Stella must have been very impulsive, but then again, the arranged marriage wasn't negotiable, and that was a security no one could take away from her. They might hate each other, but it wouldn't change anything anyway.
“I—I didn't know you two talked.” Prince Stolas murmured, almost frightened by the very idea.
“Don't be ridiculous. We don't.” His Highness Paimon explained. “But rumors travel.”
“Oh.” Prince Stolas murmured in relief, bowing his head. “Speaking of which, I know how important it is that I provide You with an heir, but I must express my fears, if—because I—”
In a split second, a portal opened in front of Prince Stolas, placing itself between him and the mirror. His Highness Paimon emerged from it.
Prince Stolas let out a high-pitched call the butler had never heard before, raising his head to look at his face.
The Imp felt a shiver run down his spine, as surprised as he was. His Highness Paimon almost never came to the palace.
Something was wrong.
“Father, I think you should know that I am gay—”
Oh.
That was it.
The butler certainly couldn’t be surprised. Prince Stolas had never expressed interest in women, and it was no secret that he wasn’t attracted to Princess Stella. Even if that was a minor clue, as her personality made her unlovable in the eyes of everyone in the palace.
But there had been clues throughout the prince's childhood, even his songs; now, they were beginning to make sense.
"—so if I fail—"
The slap across Prince Stolas's face came suddenly, with such force that it knocked him to the floor, creating a deafening echo in the room.
The butler flinched and felt the urge to move closer, managing to take a step forward before stopping himself.
He saw him lift his torso off the floor, supporting himself with one arm while he raised his other hand to his cheek, and turned his head just enough to remove it from his father's eyes.
Now, the Imp had a clear view of the prince's face and saw him blink several times to keep the tears that had gathered in the corners of his eyes from falling.
He knew that once alone, Prince Stolas would likely unleash his emotions, but in that moment, nothing was more important than hiding his tears from his father. As he had always been taught, Goetia do not show their emotions in public.
Another detail caught the Imp's attention. For a moment, he managed to glimpse the prince's pupils before they disappeared again.
He had noticed that it was a characteristic that appeared in the prince when he was overcome by a particularly strong emotion, whatever its nature. He had seen him do it even as a child, out of joy. On his tenth birthday.
"You are what I tell you, Stolas." His Highness Paimon raised his voice, leaning slightly toward him. "You will give me an heir as you are supposed to. I don't care how, you can put a pillow over her face for all I care, but this story begins and ends here, do you understand?"
"Yes, Father." Prince Stolas replied, looking back at him.
“Good.” He said, straightening his back as he let out a long sigh. “I can’t believe you wasted my time with this nonsense, but I’m glad to see it was a fruitful discussion that dispelled your doubts.”
Prince Stolas fell silent, while His Highness continued speaking as if nothing had happened.
“Now go back to whatever you were doing and leave me alone.”
“Yes, Father.” He repeated, almost in a whisper, giving a slight nod with his head, unable to do more due to his still being on the floor.
And just as quickly as he’d arrived, His Highness Paimon left, through another portal.
Silence reigned supreme in that room for a few seconds, as the butler considered whether or not to approach. Instinct took over, and, with small steps, he approached close enough to give Prince Stolas time to remember he was there.
He wasn't sure what kind of expression was on his face at that moment, but it couldn't have been good because, as soon as their eyes met, Prince Stolas lowered his own.
The Imp stopped a few inches from him, and for once, he didn't have to raise his head much to get a better look. From the ground, their height difference was irrelevant, and it was strange, but he hadn't been this close to the prince since he was a child.
"It's all right," Prince Stolas said.
The butler's eyes widened in surprise.
Why was he the one trying to console him?
"I knew this could happen." He continued, accompanied by a bitter chuckle, and rubbed his injured cheek with his hand.
When he lowered it, there was no obvious sign of the incident on the prince's face thanks to the use of magic but, tragic as it was, the butler at that moment was not afraid of the physical scars the episode would leave on him.
Prince Stolas fell silent again, until he asked almost shamefully, "I need you to do something for me."
"Anything, prince." He replied instinctively.
"I no longer need you to get me adventure books.”
The butler looked at him in confusion, but didn't inquire. And yet, as insignificant as it might seem, he had a nagging feeling that this would be the end of something important.
“What kind of books do You want?”
“I don't know yet.” He explained. “But from now on, I'll be the one to get the books to read in my free time.”
The Imp felt a pang of pain in his chest, but as always, he complied with the prince's request. “As You wish.”
Prince Stolas gave him a half-smile and finally rose from the floor.
As he watched him walk toward the door, he felt the urge to ask if he would be fine, but doing that would mean giving a name to what had happened. Implicitly, he knew that that should remain within those walls; it wasn't a request that needed to be made aloud. The royals were so certain that the Imps who worked for them wouldn't break that rule that they didn't even bother hiding their true nature from them.
Prince Stolas wasn't his son, but sometimes he wished he were, so he could give him a different life. Not better, just... different.
o o o
Losing sight of Prince Stolas that evening had given him a strange sense of anxiety.
Throughout the day, a weird atmosphere had hung in the palace. His colleagues seemed equally uneasy, and even Prince Stolas had barely uttered a few words.
The morning had passed as usual, everyone busy with their own duties, but by the afternoon, the tension had become unbearable.
From the moment he opened the door to the officiant at the wedding of Prince Stolas and Princess Stella, the prince had been in a panic. Clumsier than usual, he had managed to knock over a vase and break a plate, then decided to retreat to his room until the preparations were complete to avoid causing another disaster.
The wedding had been held at the palace in a traditional ceremony, of course. The Imp had attended a couple of them over the course of his career; yet, that one had seemed different.
Princess Stella barely looked at the prince, while Prince Stolas seemed to have his mind elsewhere, opening his mouth only to recite his part. Distant, as if repeating a memorized nursery rhyme.
The butler had watched him from the back of the room. When he turned to walk down the corridor with his new bride, the Imp was sure he saw a tear run down his face. For a moment, he thought their eyes had met, but he must have only imagined it.
The festivities were taking place in the palace's great hall, and the Imp had kept an eye on the prince throughout the evening, noticing how often he found him with a glass in his hand. But in his eagerness to attend to the guests' needs, he suddenly lost the prince in the crowd.
Looking around, he could only glimpse Princess Stella laughing, surrounded by a small group of Goetia who were busy giggling along with her.
The prince seemed to have vanished into thin air.
He looked up at the ceiling, letting the large chandelier catch his eye. The space created by the missing pendant seemed larger that evening.
He couldn't shake a bad feeling, while every fiber of his body seemed to want to seek out the prince to calm his nerves. The evening was almost over, and the Imp took advantage of the calm to walk away, leaving the other butlers to take care of the party's conclusion.
He wasted no time searching inside. With all those people around and that racket, he doubted the prince was still in the palace, and without a second thought, he went outside. He passed through the gate and kept walking until he reached a small hill nearby.
"I was hoping to find You here." He said, once he reached him.
Prince Stolas had his back to him but didn't move from where he stood. The butler wasn't even sure he'd heard him, probably too preoccupied with his own thoughts.
He wore a large cylindrical hat with a mask at the base that, to the Imp, resembled wings, with two slits to leave his upper eyes free. Attached to the hat was a golden crown, a symbol of his family and its power. His royal robes consisted of a red tunic adorned with golden buttons. Tight gray trousers hugged his legs, and over his shoulders was a long, red royal cloak embellished with a mottled white fur that covered his long neck. His arms were not clearly visible, hidden by long gloves that, however, allowed a few feathers to emerge at the elbows.
Those were the clothes he had married in and that, from that day on, he was expected to wear to represent his family.
The Imp took a few steps forward, shifting his gaze to the object that had managed to capture the prince's attention so much. A large tree stood right in the center of the hill, majestic and imposing. It must have been centuries old.
The butler dared to glance at it, curious, waiting for something or for the prince to simply get tired and decide to return to the palace.
“It was here that I dreamed of a different future for the first time. It was just for fun, but…” the prince murmured suddenly, more as if he were talking to himself rather than starting a real conversation.
The Imp respected that and remained silent, waiting for him to continue.
“A child’s idle dream, I suppose.”
The butler turned to look at him and saw him lower his head and draw his cloak around him as if to hide his entire body, as if he wanted to disappear.
Prince Stolas’s expression was hard to read, but his breathing began to become irregular and a grimace distorted his beak. The Imp was certain that if he had been alone, he would have cried.
His own mouth suddenly felt dry. Mentioning his childhood, an imagined future, almost felt like he was saying goodbye to that side of himself. A ceremony dedicated to that hope he hadn't felt and couldn't feel for a long time.
No.
It felt like a funeral.
"Pathetic to dread my own wedding night." He continued, a small, sad smile appearing on his beak.
At first glance, to an outsider's eye, it might have sounded like simple performance anxiety, but the butler knew better. Prince Stolas still wasn't attracted to Princess Stella, and obviously never would be; yet, here he was, once again unable to escape his fate.
The Imp felt nausea boiling in his stomach. He'd always hated the prince's habit of saying hurtful things with a smile.
Then he turned to him. "I have a request."
The sudden change in tone surprised him, but he didn't hesitate to respond with a slight bow.
"Whatever happens tonight, whatever you hear, do not come."
"Your Highness?"
"If you are resting during the night, do not leave your room." Prince Stolas ignored him, explaining further. "That’s all."
The seriousness of the prince's tone of voice made him panic. He had rarely heard him use it. Even when giving orders; usually, his tone was light, almost like a singsong, a futile attempt to soften the request. That time, however, he had been somber, as if trying to play a role that wasn't his. That tone reminded the Imp of His Highness Paimon, and his throat tightened at the thought, fear creeping into his mind.
"Did Princess Stella whisper or say anything to You?"
The question surprised even himself, jolting him as if he hadn't realized he'd asked it, and he bit his tongue for not being able to contain himself.
Prince Stolas whirled toward him, so quickly it made him jump. His expression was still serious, but his eyes were now slightly dilated. The butler had, for a moment, the foolish fear that he would petrify him with his gaze right there.
"I apologize if I have offended You, my prince." He said, bowing.
The prince didn't immediately respond, but when he spoke again, he seemed distant. "Look at me."
The Imp obeyed, rising slowly, aware that he had crossed a line.
"I will forgive your insolence if you assure me you will obey. This is an order." He clarified. "Am I clear?"
"Yes, of course." He replied, making another nod of reference.
He watched the prince relax, relieved, his expression softening into a more familiar one.
“You are dismissed.” He said, before turning back to the tree. “You may go.”
The butler nodded anyway, then strode away.
That night, the Imp had never forgotten.
He had tried, over the years. And yet; it was still there in the back of his mind. Remembering it all too well.
As requested, he found himself along the wide corridor outside the newlyweds’ bedroom. Beside him, a new butler, who had arrived with Princess Stella’s transfer to the palace. He was younger than him, clearly still inexperienced, and seemed nervous to be there.
Since the two had entered the room, little to no sound had been heard from the other side of the door. The butler had tried to catch Prince Stolas’s eye before he disappeared on the other side, but in vain.
Then, suddenly, a dull thud could be heard from down the hall.
The newbie gasped, and just as he was about to turn toward him, they heard Princess Stella scream.
“What the Hell are you doing, Stolas?”
Lord, why did that woman have to scream so much?
“Stella, please,” it was Prince Stolas’s voice now echoing through the walls, “g—give me five seconds.”
He felt his breath catch, his gaze shifting to the surface of the door.
“I can’t do it like this.”
“Yes, you can. What don’t you understand about the quicker we start, the quicker we finish?” She continued. “I assure you, once you’ve impregnated me, I will never touch you again.”
“I know.” The prince replied, and the butler tried to ignore the relief he could detect in his voice.
“So—” another thud, “—at least stay down!”
“Are we really not going to do anything?”
The young Imp's voice surprised him, making him look at him again.
The butler grimaced, annoyed, refusing to respond. What could they possibly do, anyway?
“No, Pringles, we're not going to do anything.” He said instead.
“But this is—”
“It doesn't matter what it is.” He interrupted, because the mere thought of hearing that word would make him hate himself. “I can't disobey a direct order.”
“Why not?” Pringles insisted.
“Are you kidding me?” His colleague in front of them interrupted. “Do you have any idea what would happen if you were fired? Being fired directly by a royal is like having your name tarnished for life. You’d end up on the streets, no other royal would take you in.”
A strangled scream rippled through the Imps.
“That’s how it works here.” His colleague concluded. “The sooner you learn this, the better.”
It was true, going against a royal family would mean death. Perhaps disobeying a direct order wasn’t as bad as breaking the law, but starving to death seemed like a slow, painful death.
Who would intentionally expose themselves to such a risk? For whom, anyway?
The butler thought of his daughter and the beautiful, strong granddaughter she had given him. Of the home that job had allowed him to support his family until his daughter's wedding, and the bitterness that same job caused him by not allowing him to spend the time he hoped for with them.
He remembered the day he'd had to explain to his daughter why he almost never came home, why he was exhausted, or sometimes even in pain, when he was granted time with his family. The hatred that had grown and grown over the young Imp's years toward royalty.
No, no one would do that for a royal.
And yet; as much as his hands were tied, the idea of not knowing what would happen to the prince if he hadn't been there because he had been removed from the palace was even worse.
All the royals he'd known deserved to be betrayed, but of all of them, Prince Stolas was the least bad he'd ever worked for. Not because he wasn't privileged; or didn't like spending a ton of money needlessly; or because he was polite to them. No, of course he wasn't, he was a prince. His comments were sometimes misplaced and often stung right into their pride, but they were never intentionally cruel.
Prince Stolas was simply ignorant of everything concerning Imps, and that should have surprised no one. Ignorance is inherited.
None of the books in the palace spoke of them, or had any real representation. No education on a species they considered so inferior.
The butler blinked wearily. Awakening from his thoughts, he realized it had been a while since he'd heard another sound coming from the bedroom.
The silence should have comforted him, but it was as if he already knew. Nothing would be the same after that night.
o o o
Prince Stolas's mood took a big nosedive.
It had happened gradually but it was impossible not to notice until, already in the early morning, he seemed to shuffle through the palace and continue throughout the day. Rising from bed only when forced, he seemed constantly exhausted and absent, like a zombie. He busied himself with tasks and duties as usual, but often, he didn't speak to anyone, least of all the butlers.
When called, he didn't respond, even ignoring the dishes prepared by the staff on plates before him. His relationship with food also changed drastically, neglecting the diet he had been forced to follow.
At first, it might have seemed like yet another absurd request from a spoiled royal, where no dish seemed to satisfy his bizarre cravings, but the butler had seen him, all too often, fiddling with food on a silverware and then eating little or nothing of what was in front of him, or nothing at all. He would excuse himself by saying that what had been prepared for him wasn't to his taste, even though it had been prepared for him in the past, or that it wasn't what he wanted at that moment, and he would settle for something else that was half his daily ration, or not as nutritious.
Neglecting food had caused the prince to lose considerable weight. He had taken to skipping entire meals or settling for a bowl of cereal as his only meal of the day, accompanied only by alcohol.
The Imp had noticed how Prince Stolas didn't hesitate to resort to a few drinks whenever something particularly touching happened. The prince didn't drink often, and it usually happened at the end of the day; in the evenings, once all his duties were completed, but when that happened, he drank until he passed out.
Under no circumstances could that be considered healthy behavior.
Threatening Prince Stolas's already precarious mental balance, Princess Stella's comments themselves had become more targeted and cruel. More and more frequent, even affecting his performance in the bedroom.
It was only a matter of time before Prince Stolas fell into depression.
What worried the Imp most was how adept the prince was at hiding his bad mood from outsiders. Like his ability to control his use of alcohol as a defense mechanism, only giving in at night.
Anyone who saw him from the outside would never be able to understand the condition he truly was in. Constantly forced to pretend to be the perfect royal, juggling high society and his stars, silently but presently.
If no one outside the palace knew about it, and no one close to him in daily life cared enough to notice, Prince Stolas would always be left alone, completely at the mercy of his own mind. And that was terrifying.
For that reason, for the first time in his career, the Imp decided to do something.
For the palace butlers, communicating with His Highness Paimon wasn't easy; in fact, it was practically impossible.
He wasn't sure His Highness would agree to see him. He had to find a topic he truly cared about to even hope he'd consider it, but he certainly didn't delude himself into thinking he'd grant an Imp's request if he'd barely grant it to his own son. And yet, he knew he had to try, hoping to leverage that strange form of trust; not entirely clear to himself, that His Highness seemed to harbor towards him. The same trust that had driven him to choose him to move to the palace and care for Prince Stolas, ever since he was just a child.
To his surprise, His Highness Paimon had agreed to listen to what he had to say, but nothing could compare to the shock of seeing him at the palace, the moment he entered the door.
Immediately afterward, the shock was replaced by an unpleasant sensation. Thinking of how much he must consider his son a nuisance, to the point of treating him even worse than someone he considered his property.
“I hope it’s important.” His Highness Paimon urged him to explain, keeping his eyes on him as he entered the room.
The butler bowed his head slightly, stopping in front of him. “Yes, Your Highness, it’s about the prince.”
“Urgh.” He muttered, pacing around the room. “I said important.”
The Imp swallowed the sour words that had risen in his throat. “It is. He’s not well.”
His Highness Paimon stopped and turned to look at him, frowning. “Is he ill?”
Ah, that was going to be harder to explain than he'd thought.
“No.”
“So, what's the problem?”
“It's his mental health that's concerning.” The butler tried to explain, feeling the prickling of nerves on his skin.
“What?”
“He's depressed, Your Highness.” He almost blurted out.
“Depressed?” His Highness Paimon chuckled, continuing to walk. “Nonsense, the Goetia don't get depressed.”
“Please understand—”
“Careful.” He warned. “Remember who you're speaking to. I grant you the floor in honor of your years of faithful service, but don't test my patience.”
The Imp fell silent. He knew he wouldn't be able to convince him if he continued like this. He had to try a different approach.
He tried the one thing that seemed to matter most to him. “A depressed son can never give You an heir.”
His Highness Paimon stopped, turning abruptly toward him, and the butler found himself short of breath.
“Well, that’s a problem.”
The Imp breathed a sigh of relief, watching him nod thoughtfully.
“All right, I’ll see what I can get to get him well.”
Wait, that’s not what he was going for.
“Your Highness?”
“You may go.” He commanded, waving a hand as if scaring an animal away.
The butler bowed briefly, bitter at his half-defeat as he felt the protest that had been building in his throat die. At the very least, he hoped that whatever His Highness Paimon had in store for the prince would actually help him.
A few days later, as he held a bottle of pills in his hand, he realized his naiveté.
If he were honest, the Imp wasn’t sure what to expect. He had no doubt that the antidepressants would help restore Prince Stolas’s mood, at least enough to function during the day, but they wouldn’t be enough.
The pills wouldn’t magically make his problems disappear. The prince needed to speak to a professional but, the butler knew, that wasn’t an option.
For the prince, going to therapy would mean embarrass his family. Discussing his life at the palace to a stranger was unthinkable. Exposing a royal's life like that was already scandalous enough, and the possibility of giving someone a tool to blackmail them in the future, or even just revealing their secrets, was a risk they couldn't afford. His Highness Paimon would never grant such a leap of trust so easily.
He didn't know what had occurred to him or what he'd hoped to gain by speaking to His Highness. He was getting a little too involved in the prince's life.
He waited until Princess Stella was away at the palace, busy attending some event, leaving Prince Stolas alone, and approached the long table where the prince was enjoying his dinner. Or at least that's what he thought until he reached him and, looking down, noticed that the plate was still untouched.
He noticed how the prince kept his head down to keep his gaze fixed on his food. Dejected, almost as if he hoped he could make it disappear with a glance.
The butler took a few more steps forward and, without saying a word, placed the bottle on the table.
“What is it?” He asked, in a faint voice, after a moment.
“They’re pills, Your Highness.” The Imp replied. “Your father believes You should take them.”
“My Father?” Prince Stolas blinked with all four eyes.
“Yes, they’ll make You feel better.”
I hope.
Prince Stolas snorted a sarcastic laugh. “My Father knows nothing about me.”
The butler bit his tongue because, of course, he was right.
“He doesn’t know me, he has no idea how I feel, he barely knows my name,” he continued, picking up the bottle and turning to him while shaking it as if it were a joke, “and now you want me to believe he expects me to take these?”
They looked at each other for a long time, in silence, as if they were having a real conversation without wasting time using words. The idea hadn't come from His Highness Paimon; there was no need to say it out loud.
For a moment, he feared the prince would punish him for not learning to stay in his place. He knew he had to hold his gaze; he couldn't give in now, until he saw Prince Stolas surrender to his silence.
He saw him close his eyes and let out a long sigh, as if exhausted. He sank back into the chair, leaning his shoulders against the backrest, his thumb stroking the words 'happy pills'. His gaze fixed on his own name on the label.
"I suppose I have no choice anyway."
Prince Stolas opened the bottle and dropped a pill into one hand. He contemplated it for a few seconds before putting it in his mouth and reaching for the glass on the table to wash it down with some water.
As he had always done, he obeyed that unspoken order and squeezed the bottle in his hands without complaining anymore.
o o o
The first signs of improvement were visible only after almost a month of taking the antidepressants. They weren't instantaneous, but gradual and effective.
Prince Stolas’s precarious relationship with food did not stop but rarely skipped entire meals now. Alcohol was still his refuge on some nights, when the day had been particularly tough. But more importantly, the pills had helped him better manage his emotions and mood swings.
Since taking them daily, he was more responsive when someone spoke to him and had even begun to express his personal tastes and preferences more, such as in his clothing. He had also made some changes to the royal robes representing the family. At first glance, it didn't seem anything striking except the red tunic; now, it reached the top of his thighs like shorts, highlighting his curves; the feathers beneath it were still covered by the same thin, gray trousers he had worn until then.
It might have seemed like a small matter, but it was clearly important to the prince, so much so that he even ignored Princess Stella's comments, which didn't even spare his stylistic choices.
It had become his way of expressing himself externally, just like wearing makeup and taking great care of his feathers. They were part of those few freedoms that no one could take away from him.
And yet, it was clear that something was still wrong.
The Imp felt that the pills were only helping him better wear the mask of that fake happiness.
But then it happened, one of those rare occasions when the butler had seen the prince happy. Truly happy. The birth of Princess Octavia.
The arrival of his daughter had completely changed the mood inside the palace.
During Princess Stella's pregnancy, the pills had played a major role in taming Prince Stolas's anxiety about the impending meeting with her and the idea of embracing his new role as a parent, but once she was held in his arms for the first time, it was clear how much love he had for that little creature.
From her first night at the palace, Prince Stolas had been the one who cared for the young princess during her crying spells. While Princess Stella never missed an opportunity to pass up the task on a servant, the prince never missed an opportunity to hold her in his arms.
He was supposed to be the one to care for her, when present, and no one else.
When she cried, Prince Stolas would rush to her room without the help of a servant. He would sing her a lullaby, rock her, or tell her a story of his own making. Indeed, his voice always seemed to calm her and quiet her nights. He couldn't blame her, after all.
Their passion for music and their love for the stars were the things they both had in common and that had brought them considerably closer.
Princess Stella seemed to hate anything that reminded her of the resemblance between the two, but their relationship was good. Not particularly deep, but constant, yet the more attention young miss Octavia showed in her father's interests, the more Stella withdrew and lost interest in her daughter's hobbies.
The butler still remembered the day young Princess Octavia's first dark feathers sprouted, and how Princess Stella had gone crazy just seeing them. Nothing had managed to erase Prince Stolas's satisfied smirk from his beak that day.
In the prince's defense, he was still trying to maintain at least a civil relationship with his wife, but every time he showed his diligence, it seemed to have the exact opposite effect, making Princess Stella withdraw even further.
Not that it seemed to matter much to her, anyway.
He was sure the princess loved her daughter, in her own way. But in the end, it was hard to tell. He had never seen her show affection towards anyone before Princess Octavia's birth.
Prince Stolas's love for his daughter was clear to all who witnessed, and perhaps that was precisely why Princess Stella avoided them whenever they engaged in some fun activity together. She tended to happily take charge of all the other aspects of young miss Octavia's life, such as the event organized to welcome her into royal life, a task Prince Stolas had never shown any interest in considering.
It was clear that his goal was to be a present father, even though the royal life continued to fill him with duties and commitments. The prince was also trying with all his might not to be like His Highness Paimon, postponing his daughter’s royal responsibilities as much as possible.
He had even managed to convince Princess Stella not to consider an arranged marriage for her. She had seemed conflicted about that change of direction from such an ancient tradition, but she had given in, at least for the moment.
“Daddy, catch me, daddy!” Young miss Octavia yelled through laughter, running through the palace study.
The Imp watched them from afar, with a hint of a smile.
Farther behind, Prince Stolas laughed, letting her outrun him. He changed into his demonic form to move faster and stand in front of her, before reappearing in his usual form. He scooped her up, and the young princess’s laughter filled the entire room.
“That’s cheating, dad.” She said, trying to sound offended despite her smile.
“Oh, I’m sorry, my little Starfire,” he replied, tilting his head slightly in feigned confusion. “I didn’t know there were rules to this game.”
“There are always rules.” Young miss Octavia retorted.
“Not here.” Prince Stolas held her tightly as he twirled her. “Not when you’re with me.”
“That doesn’t make sense, dad.” The young princess laughed. “Everything has its rules.”
Oh, so smart, young miss Octavia.
He was sure that one day, the bubble the prince had built around her would burst. It was like watching a natural disaster strike a city while being too powerless to do anything about it.
“Wait!” She suddenly raised her voice, making the prince stop in his tracks. Before he could ask, she reached out and continued. “What is that?”
He saw Prince Stolas turn toward the bookcase that had caught his daughter’s attention. Mimicking him, he followed the direction of the young princess’ finger with his gaze, curious as well.
The object in question sat on one of the bookcase’s shelves, resting against the spine of one of the books and watching them with its usual mocking smile.
He had forgotten that the stuffed animal was there. The prince had kept it all those years, but the shelf on that bookcase was so high for the Imp that he no longer noticed its presence. Judging by the expression on Prince Stolas's face, however, it seemed as if he himself had forgotten he had left it there.
He saw him blink with all four eyes, clearly perplexed. He let the young Princess Octavia out of his arms and slowly approached the stuffed animal, almost fearfully. He took it in his hands silently observing it.
The prince was wearing that expression again, which the butler wasn't entirely clear about. Almost nostalgic, as he held the stuffed animal so delicately, as if it were a precious object.
"Why are you still here?"
Then, a small smile appeared on his face as he ran a finger over its horns.
“I hope at least his dreams came true.”
It was barely a whisper, but the Imp could hear it amid the silence that hung in the room. He couldn’t help but part his lips in surprise.
It can’t be.
“Dad!” His daughter called, once she reached him.
Prince Stolas turned to her, kneeling to show her what he held in his hand. As soon as her eyes fell on it, young miss Octavia gasped enthusiastically, hopping a few times as she stretched out her arms as if to reach for it.
“He looks like a troublemaker.” She remarked, smiling. “I love him.”
Prince Stolas laughed, sharing her enthusiasm, as he handed it to her. “You can keep it.”
“Really?” Young Princess Octavia asked, taking it anyway.
“Of course, My Owlette.” The prince replied. “I know he will keep you company as he has kept me company. You will become friends in no time, you'll see.”
“Yes!” She exclaimed, clutching the puppet to herself. “Will you sing us a lullaby tonight, daddy?”
“It will be my pleasure.” Said the prince, bowing his head slightly.
“Under the stars?”
“Anything you wish for, my sweetheart.”
“Did you hear that? You'll see, it will be amazing.” Young princess Octavia asked the puppet, then looked back at her father. “Thank you!”
Prince Stolas smiled sweetly at her, then placed a hand on her cheek and bent down to rub his beak over her feathers. Young miss Octavia laughed before joining the prince in some noises that the butler could clearly recognize only as happy ones.
As the prince straightened, young Princess Octavia trotted out of the room.
Once they were alone, Prince Stolas turned to him. He saw his smile falter for only a second before beckoning him closer.
The butler obeyed, bowing slightly as he reached him.
The prince had an enthusiastic expression on his face, excited, as if he couldn't keep still at the mere thought of the Imp carrying out whatever he was about to command.
"Tell me everything you know about a place called 'Loo Loo Land'."
o o o
Over the course of his career, he'd witnessed many questionable parties. Royals liked to flaunt their wealth at every opportunity and party over the smallest details; sometimes to boost their social image, sometimes simply for the sake of excessive fun. But, at the palace, it was the first time he'd witnessed that kind of event.
Ever since Princess Stella and Prince Stolas had married, every year since then, the princess had thrown a party on their anniversary to celebrate not having divorced yet. And, Hell, that was the stupidest thing the Imp had ever seen.
Even though he'd lived with them all those years, the butler still couldn't quite get his head around Princess Stella. As much as she seemed to care deeply about their public image, she also seemed to take immense pleasure in embarrassing Prince Stolas in public.
The Imp figured that as long as the offense remained within the palace walls, among the other Goetia, and the offense embarrassed the prince himself, then it would be fine.
It was disturbing how Princess Stella had no qualms about declaring that she had practically sexually assaulted Prince Stolas for the sole purpose of humiliating him.
At least, the other Goetia had seemed slightly taken aback by the statement, waiting for the princess to start laughing before joining in, as if unsure whether she was joking or not. The fact that none of them had decided to say anything about it was still nauseating.
Fortunately, young Princess Octavia was never present at any of these events.
The butler's gaze shifted to the prince, clearly within earshot of his wife's scathing comments as he tried to retreat to a corner of the room and asked for something stronger to drink.
Every year, it seemed harder for Prince Stolas to bear, but that year he seemed particularly tired. His posture clearly showed how uncomfortable he was, and the fact that he was trying to drown his sorrows in alcohol in public was a clear sign of it.
The butler was distracted by the sound of a glass being thrown against the wall by the princess, before taking a few sips from the other glass she was already holding in her other hand. He fought the urge to roll his eyes, and when they shifted to the prince, his figure was partially obscured by two bodyguards who were holding what looked like an Imp by the arms, keeping him off the ground. He wore a black jacket, so long it almost reached his ankles; his tail was swishing quickly from side to side, clearly nervous, but from there, he couldn't see his face.
The prince's face had a look of surprise at what he had found before him, and the feathers on his cheeks had taken on a rosy hue.
Was the prince... blushing? It couldn't be; it must have been the effect of the alcohol.
From where he stood, it was impossible to understand what was happening, but after Prince Stolas exchanged a few words with the bodyguards, he saw him and the intruder walk away.
Weird.
But even before he could try to read more about what was happening, Princess Stella claimed his attention.
He didn't see either Prince Stolas or the intruder again for the rest of the day, but the princess didn't seem at all bothered by her husband's absence, continuing to joke with the guests and keeping the butler busy.
The next morning, Princess Stella wasted no time in organizing something else, a breakfast outside the palace with a small group of Goetia, presumably to brag about the previous evening. The butler had recognized them; they were the same ones the princess loved to tease the prince with.
The Imp opened and closed his eyes slowly, paying little attention to the squawking of the Goetia he could barely hear in the background. He was so tired after last night, but at least Pringles was with him that morning.
He'd almost fallen asleep on the spot if it hadn't been for a sudden crash on the table that startled him, completely waking him up in one fell swoop.
When his gaze returned to the Goetia, he was surprised to see them almost entirely covered in cream, their expressions shocked. The pastries and tea on the table looked as if they had exploded in their faces, the princess frozen in her chair. She still held the teacup in her hand suspended in mid-air and stared at what she found before her.
And what was before her was none other than the Imp who had snuck into the palace the night before. Still half naked, the Grimoire in his hand; he thought he glimpsed it, and a guilty expression.
"Sorry, I fucked your husband."
The butler would have loved to let out the laughter that had welled up in his throat, as he heard Pringles beside him chuckling as quietly as possible, if it hadn't been for the tattoo on the Imp's forehead that had caught his attention.
It's him.
What was his name? Did it start with a B... Blitzo?
He'd never thought he'd have the chance to see him again.
Not after all these years, anyway.
Everyone present stared at him, lost for words, as he rose from the table to slip away as quickly as possible.
He managed to see the exact moment Princess Stella's expression changed.
"Stolas!" She shouted, raising her head.
The butler followed suit, noticing that the prince had looked out from his bedroom balcony and witnessed the entire scene.
His feathers were a complete mess. He was wearing only his red robe, wrongly, as if he'd rushed to put it on, leaving him almost uncovered, and… was that a bite mark?
The Imp couldn't take his eyes off the prince, feeling a smile now spontaneously appear on his lips. Prince Stolas's appearance left no doubt as to what had happened the night before; Blitzo had been telling the truth, and he tried to hide the grin on his face with one hand when he heard the princess raise her voice again.
"What the fuck was that, Stolas?"
"That was the sound of a fucking divorce!" The prince exclaimed with satisfaction, grabbing the banner hanging from the railing that read 'Still Not Divorced!' and tearing it in half, leaving only the words 'Divorced!' clearly visible.
Prince Stolas dropped the remaining portion in his hands, raising his arms and letting out a laugh that was almost maniacal, but so, oh, so free.
The butler had never felt prouder than he did in that moment.
o o o
They didn't divorce, but something had begun to change.
To Prince Stolas's great relief, Princess Stella had decided that from that day on she would sleep in another room. She was too disgusted by the idea of sharing a bed with the prince, after having stooped so low as to be fucked by an Imp.
The princess's anger toward Prince Stolas grew considerably in those days. He had dared to do what was most forbidden to him, embarrass her, and she had decided to make him pay every day from then on.
Everyone in the palace knew that the princess wasn't angry about the cheating. If Prince Stolas had simply been having an affair outside of marriage, she wouldn't have cared at all, but the fact that he had slept with an Imp, that had been the greatest offense. Furthermore, having discovered it so abruptly, humiliating her in front of the other Goetia, hadn't helped.
But if Princess Stella's mood had changed within the palace, so had the prince's.
Prince Stolas didn't seem to show any remorse for what he'd done, at least not entirely. There was no love in that marriage; it was well known that Princess Stella didn't have even the slightest bit of respect for him; they weren't even friends. The prince's every attempt to even have a decent conversation had been in vain. But every time his wife mentioned their daughter, or he read her name in a newspaper, the butler saw him stiffen and become defensive.
Every effort he made for his daughter's sake was met with his wife's indifference.
The night with Blitzø; the 'o' now silent; as he'd been told, hadn't been a one-night stand. The butler had seen him again the following month, climbing up to the prince's room.
After that, the butlers had been ordered to leave the palace every now and then, some nights, and the Imp wasn't naive enough to believe in coincidences.
But the confirmation that the two were continuing to see each other, with Prince Stolas making no attempt to hide his interest in the other in public or on social media, had worsened the tension that had built up within the family.
However, those encounters seemed to have a positive effect on the prince.
He seemed to have discovered a self-confidence the butler had never seen him display, except in a purely sarcastic manner, even managing to shrug off some of his wife's occasional comments. The only time he saw him falter was when he tried to talk to young Princess Octavia, attempting to explain his point of view, failing and instead ending up keeping her trapped in that bubble of lies.
Young Princess Octavia seemed increasingly inclined to shut herself out of the palace's reality, isolating herself and finding a safe space in social media and the music of a pair of headphones. Too often, however, they weren't enough to drown out her parents' screams.
Prince Stolas tried to never let all that was happening affect his relationship with his daughter but, inevitably, young Princess Octavia had begun to put up walls and distance herself a little from her father. While it was clear she still loved him, doubts, when unanswered, tended to creep into someone's mind, creating worst-case scenarios, and it was clear that that was exactly what was happening to miss Octavia.
But the most worrying thing in the palace was that Princess Stella's abuse had also increased. Towards the servants and towards her husband, she even felt justified in her actions.
What had started as a relief, Princess Stella always avoided becoming violent in front of her daughter, had turned into a deadly weapon. Every time young Princess Octavia left the room, it was a chill to the bone.
It wasn't necessary to have the power of mind reading to understand what the prince was thinking. From his expression, the Imp could see the exact moment when he was reviewing everything he had said or done up until then, trying to understand his wife's true mood.
Her every movement was analyzed, he became rigid. Every time she raised a hand or moved even slightly, Prince Stolas would flinch.
Even the butler wondered if, at that moment, Princess Stella was thinking of straightening her dress or throwing a vase at her husband.
Apparently; however, the prince thought it worth it, remaining stubborn enough not to mention it to anyone, and the Imp often found him lying on the floor lately.
Often, he didn't even try to avoid it.
As had happened that morning.
Prince Stolas was in a good mood. The previous night had been a Full Moon, and the marks were still evident on his body. His feathers in disarray, he had entered the kitchen wearing only his signature red robe, despite the large tear on his thigh, exposing him even more than the skimpy robe already did.
When the butler had previously offered his services to mend it, he had flatly refused.
In fact, he seemed almost proud of it, choosing to wear it whenever he was at the palace.
“Oh, you disgust me.” He had heard Princess Stella spit.
The butler was busy coordinating the final preparations for breakfast, his back to the two. He tried to make himself even smaller in the corner of the kitchen where he stood, hoping that, by not noticing his presence, they would let him do his job.
“And yet you are here today.” He could hear the weariness in the prince's voice.
Princess Stella now spent as little time as possible at the palace. On weekends, she wouldn't even stay over, taking her daughter with her while the prince tried to battle his loneliness in front of the television, in a recent interest in soap operas.
"Why do you always have to be like this?" She asked, clearly annoyed.
"I don't know what you mean," Prince Stolas replied, "I'm just trying to be myself."
"Ha!" Princess Stella exclaimed. "And what made you think you could allow that? You have to act like a prince from Hell and nothing more."
"I've already tried,"
Hearing that, the Imp peered over his shoulder at them. Prince Stolas was sitting at the table, intent on folding the newspaper he'd clearly failed to read, while Princess Stella looked down at him, not far away, her arms crossed over her chest.
"It didn't work."
"Of course." She agreed. "You haven't tried hard enough."
"Are you serious right now?" He asked, annoyed, raising his head to look at her face.
“Of course I am.” Princess Stella confirmed, leaning over him as if challenging him, and the butler decided to turn around and concentrate on what he was doing. “The only thing you’ve managed to do is act like a filthy, imp-cock-sucking whore.”
The butler heard the scrape of a chair on the floor, a sign that Prince Stolas had jumped up.
“I won't let you ruin my good mood, Stella,” he said shortly afterward, “I'm leaving.”
“Fuck you, Stolas.” She shouted, startling the Imp, having taken him by surprise. “And you even have the nerve to call yourself a ‘man’? You're pathetic. A pathetic man and a pathetic demon.”
“Have a nice day, Stella.” Prince Stolas ignored her, sounding more anxious to end the conversation than sincere. “You know where the door is.”
For a few seconds, the butler couldn't hear anything except the sound of the prince's retreating footsteps, so much so that for a moment he thought he hadn't heard the door.
Then, suddenly, he heard Princess Stella scream, “Don't you dare turn your back on me!”
And the sharp sound of something shattering, like a glass or a vase.
“I’m not done having fun with you yet. At least have the decency to stay and get what you deserve for embarrassing me.” The princess said, followed immediately by a thud. “Be careful, Stolas. I remind you, we’re still married.”
The prince’s voice never reached the Imp’s ears, only hearing the clatter of Princess Stella’s heels, moving further and further away, stepping on what sounded like glass, until the echo of the door slamming reverberated throughout the room.
The butler stood still, listening for any further sound, but when he was met with silence, he turned again to try and peek behind him.
Finding no one toward the table, he backed away from his post as he heard faint noises. Passing the kitchen counter, he finally caught sight of Prince Stolas kneeling on the floor, staring at the shattered shards on the floor before him.
He decided to approach, slowly, but the closer he got, the clearer his vision of what had happened became, as he noticed the blood on the prince's hands.
He rushed to catch up, pulling a cloth handkerchief from his inside pocket and pressing it firmly against the various cuts on Prince Stolas's hand.
"Your Highness," he called emphatically, "You shouldn't try to pick them up with Your hands."
The prince seemed to barely hear the butler's words, blinking and then shifting his gaze to the Imp's hands.
"It doesn't matter." Prince Stolas said, gently moving his hand away from the handkerchief now soaked in his blood.
"What?"
"Look." He urged, running his other hand over his palm. Then, he raised it up to show him that the cut on his palm had disappeared thanks to his magical abilities. "See?"
The butler remained silent, withdrawing his hand, unsure of what to say. He had seen him do it years before, and he knew the prince healed quickly, but the ease with which he did it now, despite the circumstances, made him think of how many times he had had to do it before. Kneeling down himself, he lowered his head toward the shards between them.
“It's perfect, don't you think?”
“Your Highness?”
“I'm the perfect punching bag.” Prince Stolas explained, with a small smile and his gaze elsewhere.
That sad little smile again.
“I feel the pain, but it’s never permanent.”
Are You sure?, the Imp refrained from asking, twisting the dirty handkerchief in his hands.
“Just because You have the ability to endure it doesn’t mean You have to.”
For a moment, a surprised expression crossed the prince’s face, and the butler could swear he saw his lower eyes fill with tears.
“Why not?” He asked, his voice cracking. “It’s what I do best, after all. Maybe someday I’ll grow to like this kind of pain, too. I won’t feel it again, not like this.”
It’s not the same, and You know it.
The prince chuckled. “I just have to get used to it.”
No, please, You don’t have to.
The Imp knew he had no right to argue, and yet; he felt the urge to get closer to the prince, to succeed in his attempt to change his mind, but before he could even say anything, Prince Stolas stood up.
The butler followed his example, standing up as well. He turned, intending to go get what he needed to clear the floor of shards, when a light touch stopped him.
“No.” The prince said, withdrawing his hand from the butler’s shoulder, brushing it with his fingertips. “I’ll take care of it, I just need a few minutes.”
The Imp’s eyes widened, certain he’d misheard. A royal couldn’t possibly have offered to clean the floor, right?
“Watch your step.” Prince Stolas continued, however, rousing him from his thoughts before leaving the kitchen.
The butler couldn’t help but look back at the floor. There were drops of blood on the tiles.
The next day, the prince acted as if nothing had happened; as was his wont after suffering his wife’s abuse. As if their conversation had never happened. Prince Stolas spent more and more time staring at his phone and reading in his free time these days. He was always radiant after Full Moons, sometimes, even after a few extra nights. It was clear that Blitzø was behind his good mood, as was his daughter, to whom he dedicated every morning.
The prince made sure she was well first thing when he left his room in the morning, then tried to hold his daughter's attention in conversation during breakfast, or at least until young Princess Octavia retired to her room or Prince Stolas had to leave to attend to his duties.
He still remembered the morning Prince Stolas had called him excitedly, asking if he could teach him how to bake. Not how to cook, Lord no, but just enough to make his daughter's birthday cake himself.
The Imp had found it a sweet gesture, but he couldn't help but be worried at the same time.
Although Prince Stolas's mood seemed to improve significantly in the last few days, his life at the palace hadn't changed much. The butler wondered how much longer the prince could endure, depending and relying so heavily on the affection of his two loved ones.
o o o
A sudden noise jolted him from his sleep.
He wasn't on duty that night, but from his quarters at the palace, he could hear it, first coming from the kitchen and then extending toward Prince Stolas's indoor garden.
Alert, he quickly rose from bed and opened the door of his room to look out, only to find Pringles on duty, looking around with the same confused expression.
"What's going on?" He heard him ask, approaching.
"What did you hear?"
Pringles hesitated, looking away. "Well, I heard the prince returning from his date. So I looked out, just in time to see a van speeding by."
"And…?" He encouraged him to continue, feeling a strange anxiety rising in his stomach. He knew exactly who the owner of said van was.
He had seen Prince Stolas getting ready to go out that evening. He hadn't been sure what the occasion had been then, but he remembered how evident the prince's attention to detail had been.
Elegant, he had chosen one of his best suits. Probably trying to impress, since the meticulous precision with which he had applied his makeup, but at the same time, leaping and moving around the room with energy, as if eager to open a portal and rush out of the palace as quickly as possible. With the feathers on his head free, he had found him beautiful. Not so much for how he had dressed that evening, but because he had found him radiant, happy.
"His Highness looked... sad. More than sad, in fact, he looked—"
That was all he needed to know.
"Let's take a look." He interrupted, closing the door of his room behind him and walking down the corridor.
Pringles raised an eyebrow, starting to follow him. "Are you coming too?"
The butler ignored him, walking toward the source of the noise. He knocked on the large garden door, receiving no response. He tried again before breaking through the wall of silence and entering unannounced.
The first thing he noticed was the restlessness of the plants, hearing them lament loudly, increasing his anxiety. Taking a few more steps forward, he saw Prince Stolas lying on the floor near them, muttering softly.
As he drew closer, the Imp found himself kicking a nearby empty absinthe bottle. The prince's favorite when he wanted to get drunk.
Since what he knew and the scene before him, it wasn't hard to figure out what had happened. Prince Stolas must have passed out from all the alcohol he'd ingested.
The Imps made their way through the disturbing creatures, stopping beside the prince. He watched him blink repeatedly in an attempt to stay lucid, while Pringles remained nearby.
“Your Highness?”
“Hmm.”
The prince mumbled something unintelligible as he attempted to sit up. Noticing how much he was struggling, the butler helped him by supporting his back.
Satan, too often he forgot how light he really was.
He seemed to be having trouble staying upright, his head lolling to one side as he raised his hands to his face, covering what remained of his smudged makeup, and another groan escaping his absinthe-stained beak.
“How are You feeling? Did You need to throw up?” The Imp asked, but he ignored him.
The prince remained silent, as if he couldn’t figure out where he was, as if he hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone.
The butler turned to Pringles. “Go get some water.”
He glanced quickly back at Prince Stolas, noting his sad expression and slightly open mouth. The butler made sure he could sit up straight, gently removing his hands from him, then stepped away and leaned toward the other Imp.
“And a vomit basin.” He whispered.
Pringles nodded wordlessly, glancing between them only briefly before hurrying out.
Returning to the prince, he saw him lower his hands from his face and open and close his mouth several times as he frowned, as if in disgust.
He heard him speak, but too quietly to make out the words clearly.
“What do You say, Your Highness?”
“Do you despise me?” He repeated, looking at him only for a second before lowering his gaze in clear embarrassment.
“Why should I?” The butler replied instinctively, knowing he had valid reasons to resent the royals, as many other Imps did, and he was sure that was exactly what the prince was referring to, but unsure of what he was trying to prove with the question.
Prince Stolas shrugged, as if the answer were obvious, not at all satisfied with his attempt to deflect the question. “Why shouldn’t you? Don’t you miss your family?”
The Imp frowned, confused and taken aback by his insistence and by the mention of his family. However, he hadn't lied. 'Hate' wasn't the right word for how he felt about Prince Stolas.
"This is my job."
"Of course." He whispered, the corner of his beak curving upward in the hint of a half-hearted smile. "It's just a job. Work... transition..."
Ah, so that was it.
Blitzø.
"How come you're still not tired, after all these years?"
"Of working?" He retorted without thinking, almost fighting a smile at that strange conversation.
He saw the prince's feathers ruffle and the ones on his face turn pink, as if he'd only just realized what he'd said.
"N—no, obviously. I just meant, aren't you tired of m—this job?"
Prince Stolas's hesitation touched the butler, and he decided to answer as sincerely as he could. "You're right, Your Highness, this job can be... tiring."
"Hmm." The prince nodded, urging him to continue.
"This job has more demanding days than not." He sighed. "But it could be worse."
"I suppose." Prince Stolas murmured unconvincingly, in a thin voice. "Forgive me."
"For what, Your Highness?"
"I don't know." He chuckled humorlessly. "But I'm sure I did something, and whatever it was, if I ever hurt you, please forgive me. I'm sorry, truly I am."
The Imp took a deep breath. It would have been easy to dissuade him and convince him that it was a minor matter, that it wasn't that serious, and perhaps that would have been exactly what some of his colleagues would have done in his place; dedicated to their work and purely for the sake of preserving their reputation as a faithful servant, but that wouldn't have been the truth. He felt the prince deserved sincerity at that moment; they both deserved it.
So he decided to let that conviction settle in the prince's mind, without sugarcoating it.
"And I believe You, Your Highness."
The butler relaxed as he saw a small smile on Prince Stolas's face.
"You'll forget this entire conversation tomorrow, won't You?"
The prince chuckled again, then looked down guiltily. "Probably. I'm sorry."
The Imp shook his head and they remained silent, at least until Prince Stolas spoke again.
"You should go home."
That set off a small alarm bell in the butler's head. Even though he didn't believe him capable of such a thing, he couldn't help but feel his defenses rising again.
"You're firing me, did I say something wrong?"
"What? No!" Prince Stolas hastened to clarify, as if offended that the other would even think so. “Just… take the rest of the day off. I don’t think I’m… I don’t think I’m a pretty sight right now; therefore, I think it’s best if I’m alone.”
Ah, there he was.
The prince was doing it again.
But then again, he shouldn’t have been in that room at all.
He wasn’t on duty that night, but he knew that if he said so, it would spark another conversation the Imp couldn’t yet sustain. He wasn’t sure why he was choosing that over a well-earned rest, either, and the prince’s questions wouldn’t be answered satisfactorily if he tried to explain.
Pringles hadn’t returned yet, and the butler knew Prince Stolas would send him away too, once he remembered his presence, that he was sincere in his desire to be alone.
His eyes fell on the empty bottle.
Yeah, that wasn’t a good idea.
“I thank You, Your Highness,” he said, bowing for emphasis, “but I’m happy where I am.”
If his colleagues could have heard him, they would have called him a fool. None of them would have missed the opportunity to leave the palace.
Prince Stolas looked equally confused, as if he'd expected the conversation to go in a completely different direction. Then, he turned away, a grimace forming on his face.
“Please, there's no need to be so accommodating to me.” The prince explained. “Go back to your family, go back to your daughter.”
What?
“You… You remember I have a daughter?”
Prince Stolas nodded. “You also have a granddaughter, right? Spend time with her. Children grow up so quickly, but I'm sure you already know that.”
The Imp stared at him in silence, finding himself at a loss for words.
The prince was truly one of the strangest royals he'd ever met. How could he remember that, but not know something as simple as his name?
“They remember everything.”
“Your Highness, my family knows—”
“No!” He interrupted, more authoritatively. “You think they know, and perhaps they sincerely believe they understand, but it won't be like this forever and nothing is worth their contempt. I am not worth all this.”
“Your Highness.”
“Look at me.”
The butler stopped and looked at him. He tried to really look at him and realized that much more pain was resurfacing that evening.
“Your daughter doesn't hate You, Your Highness.”
Prince Stolas shook his head. “Not yet.”
“Miss Octavia is smart.” He said sincerely. “You must give Her time.”
“I know she is.” The prince replied proudly. “But everyone does, sooner or later.”
The Imp looked away, giving him a few minutes, and wondered where all that self-hatred was coming from. Was there something else going on, or was it just the mixture of pills and alcohol that was making him speak that way? Wait, had he taken the pills that day?
“I’m losing her.” He whispered. “I’ve got everything wrong.”
He wasn’t just talking about his daughter right now, huh.
Prince Stolas grimaced inelegantly, snapping him out of his thoughts.
“Are You sure You don’t need to vomit?”
The prince shook his head, but his smile was more sincere now. “Thank you.”
The Imp tried to smile back, taken aback once more, and almost shyly murmured, “You have no need to thank me.”
“I do.” He said, then lay back down on the floor and took a deep breath.
The butler turned toward the door, starting to worry, not understanding why there was still no sign of Pringles.
“I’ll be right back, Your Highness.” He announced. “You stay here and try to stay awake.”
“Hmm.” The prince murmured in agreement, but the Imp saw him close all four eyes again as soon as he started to walk away.
His search for his colleague took him to the kitchen. He found him still there, glass of water in hand, his eyes wide with surprise.
He saw his expression change to something very similar to fear, and following his gaze, it didn't take long to understand the source of such terror.
Princess Stella was there.
The Imp cursed under his breath.
Bad timing.
“Where is he?” She asked, raising her voice. “He has no friends, he must be here.”
The butler swallowed his irritation, looking back at the clearly distressed Pringles. The uncertainty was clear on his face, which disappeared only once their eyes met, giving way to relief.
“We didn’t know You’d be here, Princess.” He interjected, coming up beside his colleague. “It’s a pleasure, what do You need?”
“Oh, please,” she waved him away, not at all pleased by his praise, “I don’t need these pointless pleasantries. Where’s Stolas?”
“I suppose He’s in His room since the late hour.” He said, trying to buy time.
“You suppose?”
The Imp opened his mouth, unsure of what plausible excuse he could come up with to spare the prince that torture but also satisfy the princess and avoid her wrath, but before he could even say anything, they were interrupted.
‘Owl in a cage
You show your age
Your sweetness has run foul’
“What the fuck is that?” Princess Stella muttered, the annoyance clear in her voice because it was obvious to everyone present who that voice belonged to.
It was impossible not to recognize the sweet sound of Prince Stolas's voice or the piercing sincerity he put into his songs, whenever he wanted to vent but couldn't find another equally effective way.
And that was exactly what was happening right now.
Prince Stolas was singing.
And Princess Stella was here.
Shit.
'Without a change
You’re lost, exhausted
By your time on stage’
The notes of that truth echoed through the palace. The same truth the prince desperately tried to hide; yet, so clear to anyone who even tried to stop for five seconds and look at him.
That act he had to perform every day, that mask he had learned to wear behind a fake, forced smile; the excuses he had memorized and pulled out every time he felt he had to justify everything that was wrong in his life; that false self-confidence when he was hurt. Everything was crumbling before him, and they were the unwitting witnesses.
The words of the prince's song had clearly had a negative effect on the princess, who frowned, her hands balling into fists.
“Who does he think he is?” She spat, now angry. “Him and his annoying quacking.”
‘Then you walked in my room
And like sparks in the dark
Life was suddenly thrilling and new’
Those verses seemed to be what had truly infuriated her, causing a sadistic smile to appear on the princess's beak.
"We'll see if he still wants to sing when I'm done with him." She stated, starting to walk down the corridor.
The butler felt his blood run cold as he heard how hatefully Princess Stella was eager to torment her husband, and he knew that whatever she was planning, it wouldn't end well.
‘What’s between you and I
Just a comfortable lie
I’m the fool who believes
When you look in my eyes’
Oh, what a fool, indeed, and yet; the Imp had been the first one to hope that the prince might experience something as true and exciting in his life as the magic he found among his beloved stars. In memory of that child who one day, so many years ago, had melted the butler’s heart.
‘Prince, all alone
Upon your throne
Your power is so frail’
He wanted to do something. Really, he wanted to, but what?
‘You raise your voice
You have no choice
Inside your gilded jail’
As soon as Prince Stolas finished his song, Princess Stella's screams replaced the melody, making it even more bitter.
For a few seconds, no other sound reached the kitchen, only the princess's voice being heard every now and then, until he heard the prince raise his voice as well, startling him.
Surprise soon gave way to concern, because as proud as he was of Prince Stolas for being able to react, that would have meant an equally, if not stronger, reaction from his wife.
The butler turned to Pringles, who still had the glass of water in his hand and a fearful expression on his face, then looked down at his feet.
The slamming of the door startled both Imps. Then, Princess Stella reappeared, only to see her stomping her feet loudly, muttering to herself.
"Ah! He thinks he's smart for asking for a divorce." He heard her say, reaching the entrance. “He’ll see!”
What, had he heard correctly?
Had Prince Stolas finally asked for a divorce?
Even before he could process that new information, he heard chuckles beside him. Turning, he found Pringles with a smile so wide it was almost painful.
“This means the princess won’t be coming to the palace anymore, right?” He heard him say, shortly afterward. “I’ll get less blows to the head.”
The butler frowned, but before he could say anything, his gaze returned to the glass of water in his colleague’s hand. The echoes of the previous shouts resonated in his mind, inevitably creating unpleasant scenarios for that conversation.
In what condition was the prince now?
Had Princess Stella beat him, as usual?
Don't do anything. Prince Stolas is not your son.
Don't do anything. Prince Stolas is not your son.
Don't do anything. Stolas is not—
“Give it to me.” He said to Pringles, reaching for the glass.
“You stay here.” He added, then, feeling a strange desire to preserve the prince's image, unsure of what condition he would find him in.
“Huh?” Pringles muttered in surprise, handing him the glass anyway. “M— maybe it would be better not to go.”
Without bothering to argue, he set off down the corridor. He passed the garden, the door still wide open but now completely empty and silent, to rush into the prince's bedroom.
Finding it with the door open, he decided to enter, but slowly. He looked around, studying it, relieved to find it in good condition. There were no signs of a fight anywhere. No broken glass, no blunt objects left on the floor, no blood.
Reaching the bed, he lingered, letting his gaze fall on the still perfectly arranged sheets, where he found an open book. He didn't stop to try to read its contents, but moved forward until he found the glass doors leading to the balcony open and Prince Stolas slumped against the railing, his back to him. On his knees, one hand clutching the feathers of his head.
"Prince?" He called, hesitantly, unsure himself if he really wanted him to turn around for fear of what he would see once he did.
Prince Stolas jumped at the sound, clearly not expecting anyone else, and then slowly turned toward him.
The Imp couldn't help but sigh in relief at seeing the prince's face free of injuries, but the feeling was short-lived, as he noticed the smudged makeup that had now almost reached his chin. A sign that Prince Stolas had been crying again since they last spoke.
What the Hell was going on that night?
“What are you still doing here?” He asked in a small voice, not malicious but with a tired tone.
The butler approached, raising his glass slightly to show it without saying a word.
The prince sighed, his expression dejected as he slid down to the balcony floor and sat down. Shifting his tail to one side, he placed his hands on the ground and drew his knees up to his chest, appearing smaller than he actually was.
The Imp reached him, taking his silence as an invitation to come closer, stopping just inches from his talons.
Prince Stolas turned his head toward him, sensing that the Imp seemed to have no intention of leaving, and took the glass in his hand, continuing to keep his head low. He took a sip, then opened his mouth and closed it a couple of times, as if savoring it before quickly gulping down the entire contents, thirsty.
The butler took the glass from him delicately, satisfied to find it empty.
The prince finally raised his head but shifted his gaze to something inside the room. He stared at it for a long time, but the Imp decided not to turn to try to figure out what it was, leaving it to Prince Stolas to break the silence again.
“Could you—” he paused, clearing his throat when it came out choked, “—could you make an appointment with Sire Asmodeus? It’s urgent.”
An audience with a Sin?
“It doesn’t matter when or what time, but as soon as possible.”
“Certainly, Your Highness.”
Prince Stolas smiled slightly, barely looking at him. “We should go to sleep now.”
"As You wish." The Imp replied, understanding the true message.
He walked away, reaching for the door, but as soon as he put his hand on the doorknob, he couldn't help but take one last look behind him. Giving in to that feeling, he peeked over only to see that the prince hadn't moved from where he was.
o o o
The prince's relapse was instantaneous.
Although the divorce preparations should have cheered the prince up, whatever had happened that night had obscured even that shred of freedom that Prince Stolas had finally decided was worth fighting for.
After that night, the prince had changed some habits, and old, bad ways of dealing with stress had returned. His relationship with food had returned to its worst, but it was the small details that had the Imp worried.
Prince Stolas, in fact, had begun spending less time in front of the mirror. In fact, on some days, he avoided looking at himself altogether, almost as if he were afraid of the reflection he would glimpse on the surface.
Reading had become less frequent, preferring to spend much of his free time in front of the television, in a trance. Even at night.
His time was divided between his stars and the young Princess Octavia, almost excessively, seeking her company whenever possible. Occasionally, he tried to get involved in his daughter's hobbies; like her interest in Taxidermy, despite not understanding its appeal, yet always showing his full support, unlike his soon-to-be ex-wife.
But the strangest thing was that Blitzø's visits had gradually diminished, until they had stopped completely. That had definitely worried him.
He couldn't say for sure what the nature of their meetings was, or whether the prince truly had such strong feelings for him, but it was clear he was interested and that seeing Blitzø made him happy. Proof of that was that that interruption seemed to have left a deep wound in Prince Stolas, who, when he was alone in the palace, seemed to wander like a ghost, a stranger in his own home.
Even in the early morning, when the prince decided to don his usual red robe, he seemed melancholy. As if he were trying to search for something that was now lost forever.
And then, it happened, someone had attempted to assassinate Prince Stolas.
After that near-tragedy, the prince had spent his entire convalescence confined to bed at the palace, speaking little to nothing. The only time he'd been more inclined to make an effort to be sociable had been during his daughter's visits.
During those days, he'd caught him picking up his cell phone several times throughout the day. More than usual, knowing full well how lonely Prince Stolas truly was; yet, every time he put it back in the bedside, he seemed sadder than before.
The butler entered the room, trying to make as little noise as possible. Lately, the prince seemed sensitive to sudden noises.
He closed the door gently and approached the prince, anxious; finally, to be able to share what he hoped was good news. He found him lying on the sofa with a book in his hand, and while that should have been a good sign, it hadn't cheered him up since the emotionless expression on Prince Stolas's face.
There was no trace of his usual euphoria from reading those stories, which were wildly imaginative and disillusioned, but exactly what he needed to escape reality. Usually, he was so enthusiastic and immersed in the stories he read that the contrast boded ill. Now, however, he seemed almost indifferent.
The prince's leg was propped up on a pillow but free of the cast. His arm and both legs were still wrapped in bandages, which were occasionally changed for new ones to clean and disinfect the wounds. He was wearing a new pink robe with lilac shades, slightly longer than the previous one. The Imp had seen him wear it often recently, and as trivial or silly as it might have seemed, he couldn't help but wonder why, since the clear emotional connection he felt towards the red one.
The self-confidence the prince had shown in the past, when he wore the red robe, hadn't carried over into this one. In fact, that confidence seemed to have vanished completely, along with the torn robe that had disappeared from his daily wardrobe. Every now and then, the butler caught him looking at it from the closet, still refusing to throw it away or do anything about it. He'd seen him reach out a hand, lingering as if to touch it, then letting his arm fall to his side. He never indulged that desire, opting instead to wear something else.
A sudden noise roused the Imp from his thoughts. Shifting his gaze, he realized it was the very book the prince was reading, which had crashed to the floor, while Prince Stolas was still lost in observing it from the sofa. Before he could offer to retrieve it and hand it to him, however, the prince collapsed before it.
The butler leaped forward to help him, fearing his legs might give out in his attempt to stand, but he stopped as soon as Prince Stolas reached for a page and began tearing it. One after another, in scattered chapters, he repeated the gesture, tearing at the pages of that book, urgently tearing out every one he could reach. Where he struggled due to wounds still trying to heal, the use of magic came to his aid.
The Imp was petrified by that unusual scene.
Books were sacred to the prince, and a lump formed in the butler's throat.
From there, he couldn't figure out what book it was or what could have triggered that reaction, but he was certain he had seen an illustration on one of the pages. Therefore, it wasn't a book belonging to the palace.
Yeah, something had definitely happened with Blitzø.
He saw tears streaming down Prince Stolas's cheeks as he crumpled up some of the pages and threw them forcefully into the blazing fireplace. He continued until he felt short of breath and a strangled sound of pain stopped him completely.
The Imp decided it was time to intervene.
“Prince,” the butler called him, so as not to frighten him with his presence, “isn’t the floor cold?”
Prince Stolas flinched anyway, balling his hand into a fist and turning his head to the side to hide his face, as if embarrassed at having been caught.
The Imp saw him shake his head and draw his knees closer to his chest without fully bending them. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was incapacitated by the pain or if it was more of an attempt to hide the contents of the book than himself.
When he reached him, the butler noticed the prince wiping away tears with his fingertips while swallowing loudly in an attempt to suppress a sob.
“Is this a bad time? I can go if You wish but please stand first, Your Highness.” The Imp decided to pretend he hadn't noticed what Prince Stolas was doing to avoid an inappropriate conversation, knowing the prince simply wanted to be alone right now, as he did whenever he was sad. "Do You need help?"
Prince Stolas turned to look at the hands the butler was holding out to him, and the Imp was surprised to see his pupils clearly visible.
A faint smile appeared on his beak. "No."
The butler bit the inside of his cheek, unsure whether he was sincere. "Are You sure, Your wounds don't hurt?"
"No." The prince repeated, then put a hand to his own shoulder. "Well, the normal amount, I suppose."
What a strange response, he thought. But was it really that strange for someone so accustomed to physical pain?
"Nevertheless," he offered, "let me at least help You get back to the couch."
"Fine." Prince Stolas gave in, sighing as he placed his hands on the other's.
The butler immediately noticed how cold they were, but he doubted the contrast was simply due to his Imp nature, which kept him warm almost constantly. How foolish, that was the first time the two had shared real physical contact despite all their years of living together.
His gaze fell again on the book, now ruined, and his hypothesis was confirmed when he’d suspected it was a romance novel. When he looked up again, he noticed the prince looking at him. Nevertheless, Prince Stolas decided not to comment on the butler's inappropriate curiosity.
"I managed to arrange an appointment for You with the King of Lust, Your Highness." He informed the prince, once he had stretched out on the sofa again. "As requested, I made sure it was the first available. The time isn't the best, but—"
The prince raised a hand to interrupt him. Though it might seem rude, he knew it was simply a matter of habit; it was certainly not uncommon among servants and royals, because Prince Stolas's expression had softened even though his pupils were no longer visible.
The butler gave a brief bow, then walked away and stopped a short distance away. He turned and walked back, ignoring the prince's inquisitive gaze.
“I’m glad You’re still here, Your Highness.” He said sincerely, flashing a small smile.
Prince Stolas stared at him for a long time, his beak slightly open in surprise as he seemed to be trying to figure out whether he was being sincere or not. The Imp could imagine the doubt that had assailed him, but he had seen the prince growing up, so how could he not be?
The butler didn’t miss the fresh tears forming in the corners of the prince’s eyes.
Me too, he thought he’d hear Prince Stolas say any minute, but when he remained silent, the Imp knew it was time to leave.
He turned and, without another word, headed for the door.
How strange, he didn’t remember leaving it open.
o o o
In hindsight, he should have known this day would come sooner or later.
He had known from the beginning that he shouldn't have gotten involved in the prince's life, and now he was paying the consequences.
In his room, he thought back to how easy it had been; to forget his role, though. To that child he had watched grow into a man and who, no matter how mean life had been, had remained the same naive; romantic; altruistic but spoiled and sometimes insensitive in social interactions as always.
"Where are you going?" He heard behind him, as he was busy folding the last item of clothing.
Turning toward the door, he saw Pringles standing in the doorway, staring at him with an almost angry expression.
"A vacation?" He tried half-heartedly, as if in a desperate attempt to be proven wrong despite knowing the chances were slim.
"No," the butler replied, closing his suitcase, "from today on I will no longer work at the palace."
“What?” The other Imp now exclaimed angrily. “He can’t do this, not after everything you’ve done for Him.”
“Pringles.” He called to calm him down, looking away. All he’d done, in his opinion, was just doing his job; yet, suddenly, it was hard to even speak.
“And with what excuse, anyway? How ungrateful!”
“Pringles!” He called louder, looking back at him.
The younger Imp fell silent, his expression softening, apologetic.
“It wasn’t Prince Stolas who fired me.”
At those words, all the other Imp’s fervor faded as he surrendered to the evidence. “So that’s it, you’re leaving, you’ve been fired.”
“Is what he says true?”
Both Imps turned, surprised to see the prince standing a short distance away. “It can’t be… who?”
But the moment those words left Prince Stolas's mouth, he saw his expression change as he realized what had happened.
"Is she still here?"
The butler didn't dare utter a word, even though it hadn't been necessary, and for the first time in years, he saw the anger painted on the prince's face before he dashed out of the room.
The two Imps exchanged a quick glance, still shaken. Unsure of what might be unfolding before his eyes, he decided to follow his instincts and follow the prince, keeping his distance.
"Stella!" Prince Stolas shouted, throwing open the dining room doors.
The two Imps stopped in the corridor. Pringles remained behind, while he approached the entrance of the room and hid himself just outside against the wall to hear what was happening in the room.
Princess Stella slowly turned toward the prince, displaying all her confidence, unconcerned to her ex-husband's reaction.
“First, you’re not welcome here,” Prince Stolas continued, “second, how dare you fire one of my staff?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She replied, with her usual wry smile.
“Oh, you know exactly what I’m talking about.”
“Oh, you mean that Imp?” The princess said, almost disgusted. “Why do you care so much? He’s too old, anyway.”
“Too old for what, being thrown from room to room?”
That seemed to annoy Princess Stella, who pointed her finger at him. “Don’t you dare, Stolas, don’t you dare be a hypocrite with me.”
“I’m not trying to be, I know I’ve made mistakes in the past, I’m just trying to make you see reason.” The prince explained, his anger giving way to something more desperate.
“Oh, please, there’s nothing to understand here.” She teased him, leaning in to poke his chest with her finger. “The only thing I know is that you’ve managed to soften even more, if that’s even possible. What’s the matter, Stolas, spending all this time with one of them has made you think you can be friends with them now?”
“Stella.” He warned, clenching his hands into fists.
“What?” Princess Stella asked, laughing. “You can fuck them all now, for all I care, but don’t come to me pretending they’re relevant.”
“That’s enough, Stella.” The prince moved forward. “You shouldn’t even be here, you can’t order them around anymore.”
“You’re so naive, Stolas.” The princess laughed again. “If you weren’t worthless to me, I’d almost feel sorry for you.”
“I’ll get over it.” Prince Stolas blurted out, unmoved by those words he'd heard over and over again for years, then began to walk toward the door and past her.
“Where do you think you're going? It's all over now.”
“What?” The prince asked, pausing to turn back to her.
“It seems you've forgotten.” Princess Stella replied, crossing her arms over her chest, clearly amused by the situation. “Have you forgotten that that butler has never worked for you? He works for your father.”
“No.” Prince Stolas whispered.
From there, now that Prince Stolas had his back to him, he couldn't see his face, but he could hear the dejected tone in his voice as that truth struck them both. He himself had often forgotten that.
“So I wasn't the one who fired him, as you can see.” She continued. “Not really.”
“Have you spoken to my Father?” He demanded to know, not raising his voice but with an almost primal note.
The Imp saw her roll her eyes. “As if He cared to waste His time with this nonsense. It wasn’t necessary.”
“You can’t do that.”
“Are you stupid? I just told you.”
“No, you can’t do that!” He repeated, more urgently.
“Urgh, Stolas, you are so dramatic.”
“No, you can’t, what'll happen to him and his family?”
The Imp flinched, as if shocked. As much as he knew how bad it was to be fired directly by a royal, his family wasn’t doing too badly overall. He’d always been meticulous with his savings, he knew his job depended a bit too much on the level of touchiness of the person he worked for, and nobody could never be too sure.
The thought of not working weighed on him and hurt him a little, strange in some ways; every Imp had to work hard even for the bare minimum, but his daughter was now a grown woman. None of them had ever let his granddaughter go without anything, and the thought that Prince Stolas, instead, had even thought of it made him feel sick.
"Do you think I give a fuck?"
“Why are you doing this?”
“What?”
“Tell me what you really want.”
“I already told you. I intend to make you pay for this story of the divorce, and believe me, Stolas, this is just the beginning.”
“And so, since that arrogant brother of yours has convinced you that you need me alive, you have decided to continue torturing me?”
That’s—that can’t be. It’s not possible, he certainly can’t insinuate—
“Perhaps.”
So, it’s true. Princess Stella is the most impulsive and stupid royal I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet.
“Okay, then take it out on me, not them.”
“But I already did.” She smiled. “This is hurting you, isn’t it?”
She saw the prince’s shoulders sag as he placed his hands on his arms, as if trying to find comfort in a hug.
“Lord, how low you have fallen.” Princess Stella sighed. “Do you really think that if the roles were reversed, that old Imp would care about you? Wake up, Stolas, no one cares about you. Your father doesn't care about you, that butler doesn't care about you, and that vapid Imp you insist on getting fucked by certainly doesn't care—”
“I know!”
The prince's scream echoed through the room, for once even silencing his ex-wife.
The Imp had never heard him scream like that, and he wasn't even sure he could. Princess Stella's expression made it clear she felt the same way.
“Do you really think I don't know?” Prince Stolas continued, his tone lower but his voice trembling on the verge of tears. “Do you think I don't know I'm unlovable? But that doesn't change anything, please, don't do it.”
“You can't be serious.” The princess retorted. “You’re a prince of the Ring of Pride. Where is your pride now?”
“You know I’ve never lived up to anyone’s expectations.”
“That’s for sure,” she continued to taunt him, “and it’s been even worse since you left the Grimoire to that wretch—”
“Not another word about Blitzø, you’ve said enough already.” The prince interrupted. “You have no right to talk about him. You know nothing about him, you know… nothing. You don’t know he’s one of the best people I’ve known in years.”
Princess Stella grimaced, making a scene and pretending to throw up. “You still insist on defending him? Disgusting.”
The butler heard Prince Stolas take a deep breath, then, after a few seconds, added, “That’s what you want, isn’t it, you want to humiliate me.”
Princess Stella shrugged, as if the answer were obvious.
“Very well.” Prince Stolas said, certain he was now crying, only to see him fall to his knees.
The butler couldn’t believe his eyes.
“Please, Stella, don’t send him away.”
The princess stared down at him, smiling. “I’m not even thinking of changing my mind.”
“I beg you, Stella.” The imp could barely understand Prince Stolas’s words, now sobbing, as he clutched at her dress in desperation. “He’s like a father to me!”
What?
“What?” The princess exclaimed, bursting into a cold laugh. “That vapid imp?”
“He’s not!”
“He is, they all are,” she continued, “and you are even more than any of them. And what do you know about having a father figure in your life, anyway? Your father could barely bear to look at you.”
Princess Stella kicked him, trying to free her dress from his grasp. “We're royals, that's how it works and it always will. No one cares, no one cares about us and everything that lies behind the lavish lives we lead, and you are the most pathetic being I've ever had the misfortune to meet.”
Princess Stella bent down and grabbed his chin, forcing him to look her in the eyes. “You've learned one thing, at least. Tell me, how does it feel to wield your power over someone helpless, to know that you've put that freak you adore so much through the same torment I put you through every time we shared the bed?”
Prince Stolas let out a sound of pain, as if he'd been hit harder than he'd ever done before, then moved his face away and slowly lowered his head until it rested on the floor.
“Enjoy the solitude.” Princess Stella wished, walking dangerously close to his hands with her heels as she headed for the door and left him in tears.
When the Imp saw her exit into the corridor, he stepped in front of her.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She said, “Move.”
The Imp flashed her a smile. “You said it yourself earlier, I never really worked for you, and now that I no longer work at the palace, I certainly see no reason to have to obey you.”
Princess Stella snorted, in a half-hearted attempt to not reveal her annoyance.
“As if I cared.” She muttered, forcing him aside with one hand, taking advantage of their vast height difference and moving forward.
The butler didn’t let that gesture erase his smile, satisfied that he’d managed to annoy her at least once before leaving the palace.
When his gaze fell on Prince Stolas again, however, a sense of melancholy washed over him.
“Aren’t you going to Him?” Pringles asked, who had been standing nearby.
“No.” He turned, starting to walk in the opposite direction. “From now on, you take care of everything.”
“What?” The other exclaimed in surprise, striding over to him. “But you didn’t even say goodbye to Him.”
The Imp stopped to look at the other. “It’s for the best.”
Pringles seemed genuinely hurt to hear that. “But He—”
“Believe me, Pringles,” he tried to explain, his eyes starting to sting strangely, “it’s for the best for both of us.”
“Oh.” The younger one blurted out, without adding anything else.
o o o
Waking up in his daughter's house was strange. Waking up in his daughter's house, since the Imp no longer owned one, having lived in the palace for so many years, had been an awareness of a reality that had only hit him once he'd entered it.
Unlike him, his daughter had decided to lead a quiet life. Far from the city and the general hubbub, she had bought land to live a country life.
In a way, he couldn't blame her. Truth be told, he was happy and relieved that she had chosen a path completely different from his. He often wondered if it was his job that had driven her to that decision.
Living away from the palace entailed a routine he had to get used to, and as much as he hated not being useful financially and having to find ways to organize his own, now, too much free time, he enjoyed spending his days with his family. He loved being able to spend time with his granddaughter and look after her when his daughter was busy with chores or work, but he felt an emptiness he hadn't yet been able to fill.
He wasn't sure if his inability to contribute financially to the family was the only reason for that emptiness.
"Dad!" His daughter called, entering the kitchen. "Are you still here? Everyone's waiting for you there."
The Imp turned to her, smiling. "Sorry, I was just checking the latest… um…"
"Dad," she scolded him affectionately, "everything doesn't have to be perfect here, you're not working."
"Right." He replied, chuckling as he shrugged. "Professional deformation, I guess."
She moved closer to give him a quick hug, then looked him in the eye. "It's okay, let's go eat."
The chatter coming from the living room of the house stopped abruptly as the sound of someone knocking on their door rang out.
“I’ll go!” They heard shouting from the entrance.
“Were you expecting someone else?” His daughter asked, surprised.
He shook his head, remaining silent.
“It must have been my mother-in-law.” She speculated, rolling her eyes. “She must have invited someone else at the last minute, you know how she is.”
“Be nice today.” The Imp urged her, even though he looked calm.
“I’m always nice.” She said, flashing a sly smile.
“Sure.”
“I’ll be more—” she emphasized, “—if you promise me you’ll try to relax today.”
“I’ll try.” He promised, walking toward the door.
“That’s all I ask.”
“Holy shit!” They heard shouting from the entrance.
He turned to look at his daughter, just in time to notice her looking back at him with a worried expression. Anxiety made them both rush out of the room, stopping only when they reached the entrance and found Prince Stolas standing before the open door of the house, his hands clasped, making no sign of entering without first receiving permission.
Or rather, what they could glimpse of the prince since his impressive height, before he bowed, making his face clearly visible, and waved timidly.
“Oh, Hell no!” He heard his daughter say beside him, as she quickly advanced toward Prince Stolas. “What the fuck does he think he’s doing?”
The Imp saw the prince raise both hands in front of him as he backed away. He didn’t think Prince Stolas thought she would hit him, it seemed more a desire to create a shield that could protect the space between them. Or perhaps, he was reading a little too much into what could only be a sad habit of the prince.
“You're not welcome here!” She continued yelling, placing a hand on the door as if ready to slam it in Prince Stolas's face. “Go away!”
“Wait.” Her father said, rushing over to gently touch her arm to stop her.
She whirled toward him. “Dad, it's not normal for him to be here.”
“I know.” He said understanding, even as he stepped between them.
“Then why—”
“I know.” He repeated. “But let me handle this.”
His daughter grimaced at him, annoyed. Words weren't necessary; her expression was clear enough. She wasn't happy with the situation they were in, nor with the idea of leaving them alone, not only because of her well-known dislike of royalty but also because the prince was the very reason he was out of work now.
He'd tried to explain to his daughter that that wasn't exactly what had happened, but she hadn't seen it that way.
"We're fine." He tried to reassure her. "Nothing else can happen."
He heard her take a deep breath, trying to calm herself.
"If you don't trust him, trust my judgment."
Her expression changed to one of resignation at her father's words, and she couldn't help but nod.
He let her step aside to let him pass, still silent. Passing his daughter, he walked out the door without stopping, not even when he passed Prince Stolas.
"Let's go outside." He said simply, waiting until he was far enough from his daughter's house before turning back.
He saw the prince look at him with a puzzled expression on his face, then turn back to the Imp’s family one last time, embarrassed; probably to apologize, but something must have changed his mind, because he'd begun following him in silence.
“How did You know I was here?” He asked unceremoniously, once Prince Stolas was in front of him.
The prince flinched but didn't answer, looking down guiltily.
“This is not good, Your Highness.”
“I know,” he confessed, “I'm sorry, I just wanted—I was worried, I just wanted to talk.”
“Talk?”
“Yes,” Prince Stolas replied more firmly, “I'd like to talk to you because there are some things I'd like you to know.”
I already know.
“Your Highness,” the Imp interrupted, “there's nothing for the two of us to discuss. I know You're disappointed that I no longer work for You, and I'm glad You think so highly of me, but that's all.”
“Oh.”
Keep going, you're doing this for him.
For both of us.
"I thank You for showing concern for me, but it's unnecessary, and I would ask You not to come to my daughter's house again in the future."
"Oh! No, of course not, I won't, I'm sorry." The prince babbled, beginning to wring his hands. "I didn't mean to create—I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. This is the first and last time, you have my word."
The Imp nodded, hearing those words sincere.
"Well, now that we've established that—"
"It finally happened?" Prince Stolas interrupted, looking at his talons. "Do you hate me too now?"
He felt like grimacing at what sounded like a whining, but as the image of the prince completely drunk and heartbroken formed in his mind, he stopped himself.
"I don't hate You, Your Highness." He said, waiting for Prince Stolas to look at his face again before continuing: “I’ve known You since You were just a child. Don’t You think if I wanted to hate You, I would have done so long ago?”
The prince lowered his gaze, not looking entirely convinced but slightly more relaxed.
“I know I’m a bad person,” he said after a moment, “but I don’t want to be forever.”
“Does this have to do with the Asmodean Crystal that had been sent to You?”
Prince Stolas nodded, flashing a small smile. “Not only that.”
The Imp looked at him, knowing that, in his own perhaps slightly twisted way, he was truly sincere. He sighed, moving a little closer, just enough to catch the prince’s attention again and make him look up.
He turned to a tree near the house, urging the other to do the same, while raising his hand to point in that direction.
“Do You see that little slide there?” He asked, pointing to the object next to the large tree. “That was one of the first gifts I managed to give my daughter, and do You know how I managed it?”
He saw Prince Stolas shake his head, not taking his eyes off the toy.
“You gave it to her.” He said, stifling a laugh when he saw the prince turn his head toward him so quickly that the Imp was surprised he hadn’t managed to make a full turn with it.
“Well, technically, You only provided the money.” He explained. “You overheard a conversation I had with a colleague about how struggling I was at the time, and You decided to give me money because You didn’t think I could manage on my own otherwise.”
“Oh, Lord.” Prince Stolas exclaimed. “That must have been—”
“Humiliating?” He interrupted. “Yes, I was angry at the time. You didn't give me any chance to argue, You didn't give me the chance to truly earn it with my work, but then I realized You had no intention of offending me in any way.”
“Still, it must not have been pleasant.” The prince continued, clearly displeased. “I'd like to say that growing up in the palace influenced the way I treat others, but I don't think that's an acceptable excuse anymore.”
“Of course it does,” the Imp replied, without having to think about it too much, “but most royals wouldn't have lifted a finger on my behalf, and that says more about them than it does about You.”
“Good intentions aren't enough.”
“That's also true,” he agreed, “and You're learning it, and it's another of those things that makes You different from them.”
Prince Stolas flashed a small, sad smile.
“It’s a good thing, and I hope it always will be that way.” The Imp concluded.
“Me too.” The prince chuckled, then whispered. “It won’t be the same at the palace without you.”
The Imp decided not to comment on that statement, feeling a new knot forming in his stomach.
“Are you sure You’ll be fine?”
“Yes,” Prince Stolas said with a smile, “I'll be okay.”
Then, the prince raised a hand to open a portal, turning to him one last time.
“Thank you for everything.”
“You don’t have to—” he began to say instinctively, then thought better of it. “Of course.”
Prince Stolas’s smile widened, satisfied. “Wish me luck.”
“With what?”
“Everything.”
The Imp smiled. “Good luck with the Asmodean Crystal.”
“Thank you.” The prince said, before giving him a deep bow. “Goodbye.”
He opened his mouth, surprised by the gesture. It was unusual to see a royal bow to someone of a lower social class, much less an Imp. Yet the prince had just done so, bowing so respectfully that he almost seemed to be reaching for the ground.
And it was a well-known fact: the deeper the bow, the more respect one felt for the person before them.
“Goodbye, prince.” He returned the gesture of respect before watching him disappear through the portal.
o o o
There was something morbid and heartbreaking in the strength that kept him from looking away from their television screen.
Breathless, he felt his daughter's presence beside him. She was in the same situation, her back slightly leaning forward, as if longing to get up from the couch as she listened to Blitzø's speech about the reason he'd started his business.
He himself had found himself on the edge of the couch as soon as he heard the absurd charges leveled in that trial, and the longer the trial went on, the harder he found it to believe what he was witnessing.
If you analyzed the facts, it was clear that something didn't add up. Starting with Prince Stolas's absence to give his testimony, to the absurd idea that an assassin would need to hire someone else to do his job.
Everything in that courtroom seemed to have been engineered to create a farce. It was so obvious it was irritating to him, but not so obvious to those present there simply because the accused was an Imp.
Of course, he knew the truth. He knew there had never been any form of coercion, much less violence on Blitzø's part. He knew that the transition the two had agreed upon for the use of the Grimoire was more complex than what was being made out.
It was a clear sign that Prince Stolas had rushed to stop the injustice that was about to be perpetrated before everyone's eyes and that he was trying to take the blame for a crime he hadn't committed.
The prince must have known that admitting such a betrayal would cost him dearly; yet, he hadn't hesitated.
He had watched him save the life of the Imp who had broken his heart and whom he hadn't seen for several days, in one of the bravest actions he'd ever performed, and then vent all his frustration in a song where he confessed to being the architect of a plan that, the Imp knew, had never existed.
It was sad to think that that act of freedom, shouted in front of the other Goetia; the Sins; Satan himself and all of Hell thanks to the cameras, was based on a total lie.
Once again, Prince Stolas had donned a mask that wasn't his own; the mask of a cold and calculating prince, and it mattered little that the prince had chosen to wear it that time of his own free will. So far from reality, it couldn't help but make the Imp feel discouraged.
It was a clear sign, Blitzø's desperation when he was released and Prince Stolas was put in chains in his place.
Not for a moment had the relief crossed Blitzø's face; in fact, he seemed more devastated than before, beginning to cry out the prince's name through tears and struggling as best he could to reach him.
How could anyone ignore all that, how could anyone believe that such a reaction could be faked, or that someone as naive as Prince Stolas was capable of such effective manipulation?
The Imp finally managed to shift his gaze to his daughter, and seeing how the confusion on her face had turned to disgust, he realized that exactly the same phenomenon was happening, only with a different individual.
Prejudice against royalty was clouding his daughter's judgment, and it didn't matter who was standing there at that moment, only their title.
From the beginning of the trial, he had never deluded himself that it would end well; for neither of them, precisely because it was easier to believe what was known than to give a chance to something different.
The prince's story, in the eyes of the Imps, sounded plausible because it was exactly what could be expected of him, while for those present at the trial, Prince Stolas's testimony had been heard; unlike Blitzø's, because he was from an important family and precisely because it came from his own mouth, it had been deemed true beyond any reasonable doubt.
After all, who would ever lie in a court of law for the good of an Imp?
With a bit of bitterness, he realized that if he hadn't had the chance to work for Prince Stolas, and see a side of him that few knew, he too would have fallen victim to the same preconception that had formed in his daughter and in everyone who was watching, probably.
What a joke of society they had created.
That was the last thought he had had, before hearing the sentence passed on the prince, feeling his heart sink into his stomach. Hearing of Prince Stolas's naiveté, once again, in thinking he would be sentenced to death like an Imp, there was no comfort in that privilege, only sadness for that situation and more.
Because he knew, he knew that for the prince, being forbidden to see his beloved daughter was a punishment worse than death itself.
o o o
At a slow pace, he moved through the supermarket aisles. His eyes darting from one product to another, searching for the next one to check off the shopping list, he listened to his daughter complain about how her granddaughter was growing up; too fast, in her opinion.
Shifting the shopping cart, they headed towards the grocery section together. His daughter, beside him, holding the magazine she'd spotted near the entrance, continued to mutter to herself. It was a trashy magazine, mostly gossip; one of the few guilty pleasures she indulged in every now and then. Despite the scathing comment about those who indulged in that kind of pastime, she had taken it, while he had deliberately avoided lingering too long on the magazines as soon as he noticed an all-too-familiar figure on the cover.
He had no idea how Prince Stolas was doing after being banished, nor where he was now, but part of him hoped he was okay.
“Ah!” His daughter exclaimed, pulling her cell phone out of her pants pocket with her free hand. “She even answered me.”
But as he turned to look at his daughter, something else entered his field of vision, catching his attention.
A figure so clearly foreign in that city; too tall, too garish to easily blend in with the crowd moving uncertainly. Hesitantly, he looked around as if waiting for something or someone. The figure was wearing clothes far too casual for his graceful movements.
He himself had never seen him wear them before, because it was His Highne— Stolas who was there.
After months of not being in the same building, he was right there. In that same shabby market, at the end of the aisle, while the other Imps passed him, some of them even glaring at him from time to time.
It was weird. Not only seeing him there, but even though he was the one who had told the former prince that they shouldn't see each other again when he lost his job, he now felt the urge to get closer.
The trial had reawakened that strange sense of protectiveness he'd always felt toward him.
And, as if hearing his thoughts, he saw Stolas turn his head toward him, a surprised expression coming to life on his face as he recognized him.
The beginnings of a smile formed on his beak, taking a step forward, and the Imp quickly shook his head in denial to stop him. The former prince froze in place, his eyes flickering to the Imp's daughter before moving to what she was holding.
The Imp followed his gaze, the photo of the former prince taken during the trial prominently displayed, noticing that his daughter still hadn't realized what was happening.
The image of the two's first meeting resurfaced in his mind, and as he looked back at Stolas, he saw him flashing a small smile; but sad, as if he'd sensed his dilemma and wanted to reassure him.
The Imp couldn't help but smile back, gratefully.
The former prince Stolas's attention was caught by someone who had rushed over to him, gently touching his arm with a hand.
Relief flooded the Imp immediately, not only at knowing he wasn't alone, but above all, at seeing who it was, because no introduction was necessary.
He was grateful that Blitzø was helping him, and from the way he was looking at him, the Imp was clear about the reason behind that gesture. With a big smile on his lips and a box—probably cereal—in his hand, he began to speak, wagging his tail rapidly, happily, while the taller one listened patiently. From there, he couldn't hear what they were saying, but Stolas's tender gaze was enough to reassure him.
He saw the former prince nod, then follow Blitzø, who had begun to walk away. Suddenly, however, Stolas stopped and turned back to him. With a smile, he brought one hand to his chest, while the other arm remained outstretched, lowering himself in a deep bow.
The Imp laughed at Stolas's persistent habit of showing respect to those he deemed worthy, regardless of their social status, and returned the gesture with a nod.
The former prince's smile widened before disappearing into the crowd.
The Imp took a deep breath, feeling lighter once he let it go. He was grateful to know that Stolas would be okay, because now he knew it was a certainty and could feel that hope that had made its way into him in the past towards Prince Stolas, reborn within him.