{Day 16, 8:00 a.m. - Unforseen Difficulty}
I did not sleep well last night. I spent a majority of the night in the chair beside my bed, watching the stars move across the sky. I had been so certain the signs were auspicious. The Fates have always been kind to my line; they have provided us with opportunity, wealth, power and wisdom. I had no reason to suspect they frowned upon me now.
My plans have not gone as I wished them to. The demoness invaded my nation, my castle and threatened the people within. Though the first reports of her activities pleased me, I have heard nothing of her. Instead, one report spoke of a demon of terrible power. I have no choice but to believe she has betrayed me. My forces in the demon king’s lands are decimated. Though I have faith they will never surrender, the loss of so many for no gain is most unpleasant.
All I have sought to achieve has turned to dust at my feet. My greatest triumph, my box... nothing but a hoax. That plan’s failure, witnessed by the entire court, is one that will be long remembered. I have already hung countless gossips. My tribunal has more criminals than it can handle. The bodies pile up, waiting to be burned.
Though I am missing the body I would most like to dispose of. Yozak Gurrier is still at large in my kingdom. Kernschatten and his fellow demon filth have been executed, my city is almost totally cleansed of the infestation that I have turned a blind eye to for so many years. I should never have allowed it to happen. I do not know what aid and comfort Gurrier has received. I have doubled the castle guard, and yet I feel no safer. I do not think I shall sleep until he is caught. I want him as dead as Conrad believes him to be.
Conrad.
My most prized possession has become my deepest disappointment. Nothing from him but lies and betrayal; a show of loyalty and I am blind enough to have believed it. I wished him willing for my touch, and he did whatever he could to taunt me. To tempt me. I have had had to use force to make him mine. I am paying for my impatience.
An hour ago, I moved to where I now stand, in the doorway of my sitting room. The cold, early morning sun casts half of the box in shadow. I have not heard anything from him for several hours, though I have been assured that he lives. He was so quiet until the box was righted. The movement must have woken him.
He called for his king, his mother, his mongrel lover, his brother. Finally, he called for me. Last. His last choice for rescue, when I should be first. When no help came, he babbled, speaking chunks of sentences that made up nonsense when all strung together. He spoke to the blind Wincott. He cried. He sang a song in a language I did not recognize before he finally quieted.
It is time to let him out.
I have sent for a physician and an attendant, but I will make the first move. I summon no guards, only remove my robes, leaving me in breeches and shirtsleeves. The stench is powerful even from where I stand. Blood, urine, feces, despair, fear and heartbreak all mingle into something even I have difficulty bearing.
I unlock the lid and, clenching my teeth against a retch, I open the box.
“Oh, my dear boy...” I whisper when I see what he has done to himself. Mangled hands caked in dried blood, hair matted with a foul substance. He is awake, but staring blankly. Though it makes my skin crawl, I place my hand on his cheek. “Look at me, Conrad.”