The Prince’s Vigil

Prince Valdric reclined in his gray stone chamber, watching dust motes dance in the shaft of light, staccatoed by the iron bars of the narrow window. A hush had fallen over the castle in these final hours, and even the distant music from the great hall was no louder than whispers. He pressed his callused palms against the rough-hewn walls, feeling their ancient coolness seep into his bones.

Tomorrow. His greatest journey yet awaited him.

The prince had known this moment would arrive. It comes for every true hero. In every legend, every heroic story, there was always a final trial, a last test of worthiness before the ultimate reward. He imagined how the great knights of old too had spent their final nights in quiet contemplation, preparing their souls for what lay beyond the veil.

His fingers traced the worn stone beside his narrow chaise. How many other noble knights had rested their heads here before their own momentous departures? If the walls could speak, how many countless tales might they tell? Tales of courage, of sacrifice, of love that transcended the mortal plane. The musty air carried a hint of their essence like ancient incense, blessing him for the path ahead.

Heavy footsteps echoed through the corridors, accompanied by the soft jangle of keys. The castle guards making their rounds, ensuring everything was in its rightful place in preparation for the dawn ceremony. Valdric smiled. Everyone understood the solemnity of what approached. His final quest. His last glory.

He had given his all in his quest for the one rightful princess. Each maiden he had encountered along his journey had taught him something. Each in turn revealing their true nature and the elusiveness of true love. The golden-haired beauty in her tower of glass, whose imperfections had broken his heart. The sleepless princess, whom he had tried so desperately to heal. And finally, the precious crystal maiden — so perfect, so fragile — had shattered into a million pieces at his very touch.

Each failure had carved away another piece of his soul, losses preparing him for his coming transformation. The weight of the crown he would never again wear in this realm pressed invisible against his brow.

Tomorrow. When the sun crested the eastern mountains, Prince Valdric would take his last step into legend. The great doors would open, the faithful would gather, and he would walk the sacred path that led beyond sorrow, beyond failure, beyond the ache of a heart too large for this flawed world.

As darkness gathered, he closed his eyes and dreamed of kingdoms where golden hair shone with the warmth of the sun, where crystals were stronger than steel, and where love lived eternal, unmarked by the crude imperfections of flesh.

•••

The tavern keeper’s daughter spoke in hushed tones about a maiden trapped within a tower of glass that scraped the very clouds, her hair spun from the threads of purest gold, held captive by an enchanter of terrible jealousy.

A quest! Prince Valdric’s first true quest. And it had come to him like all the greatest callings, through whispered rumors in shadowed alcoves.

The tower stretched upward before him like a crystalline monolith trying to blot out the sun, its walls gleaming with an otherworldly light. Each window was a mirror reflecting the dying sun, and Valdric knew he gazed upon the work of sorcery most foul. What cruel magic, what twisted villain, had sealed beautiful Thessarian within those translucent walls?

The enchanter was cunning. Ah, but he had made thorns to bloom around the tower’s base, their crimson petals hiding razor teeth that gnawed at his traveling cloak. But mere flowers would not deter the prince. What hero would let something so uninspired hinder his sacred mission? He pushed through their grasping embrace, their cuts blessed by the first drops of his noble blood.

Valdric searched and searched for the tower’s hidden entrance, finally discovering a gleam of dark enchantment protecting the locks of the tower doors. He worked with quiet determination, his tools singing softly against the metal until the barriers yielded to his righteous cause. The portal opened like a mouth exhaling ancient secrets.

He ascended through shadows and silver light until he reached the chamber where she waited.

But oh, what a cruel deception met his eyes. The maiden Thessarian sat by her window, and her hair — that legendary gold — hung lank and dull as tarnished copper wire. Her skin bore the pallor of one long removed from the sun, and when she turned to face him, her eyes held not gratitude but an unexpected, wild fear.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered, backing against the far wall. “Please, just leave me be.”

The power of the curse under which he found her was so profound that she could not recognize her salvation when it stood before her. The enchanter’s spell pierced deeper than Valdric had imagined; it had poisoned even her capacity for hope.

“Dear maiden,” he coaxed, advancing with the patience of one who had long studied the healing arts, “I have come to rescue you from this prison of glass and shadow.”

But his words did not move her. Her mind was not swayed.

The curse made her struggle; her voice raised in protestations that surely carried to the enchanter’s ears. Valdric realized with growing sorrow that her very nature had been twisted by her imprisonment. She clung to her captivity like a bird that fears to leave its cage.

When at last the spell broke and silence returned to the crystal tower, Prince Valdric knelt beside poor Thessarian. He wept for what the enchanter’s magic had stolen from her, from him, from the world. Her hair, spread across the cold floor, seemed to catch what little light remained, but it would never again shine with the gold of legend.

His arrival had been too late. The curse already had wormed itself into her true self, leaving only this pale shadow of a maiden. The princess he had dreamed of saving was no more. Some princesses, he understood now with the wisdom born of deepest grief, could become too broken by their captivity to ever find their way back to the light.

In sorrow, Valdric descended the crystal tower. Dawn broke over the kingdom, carrying with it the bitter reminder that not all quests end in joy. But surely, somewhere… Somewhere in this wide world, another maiden waited. A true maiden worthy of being his princess. One whose curse might yet be lifted, whose golden heart remained untarnished by the dark magics of cruel enchanters.

•••

Prince Valdric stumbled upon his second quest while traveling through a small village along the King’s Road. In the square, the village wise woman was lamenting the plight of a princess cursed with eternal wakefulness. She told him that Princess Morwenna dwelt in a cottage near the forest’s edge, her eyes forever wide with the burden of sleeplessness, her spirit having grown thin as morning mist.

“She’s not had a wink o’ rest for nigh on seven years,” the wise woman whispered. “E’ry night she paces her cham’er like a caged night’ngale, and the curse gets e’er stronger with each passin’ moon.”

Valdric’s heart swelled as he listened to the wise woman. He had found a new purpose. Had he not studied the healing arts? Did he not carry within his traveler’s satchel the blessed elixir of peaceful slumber, prepared by the monastery’s most learned brothers?

As twilight painted the sky in shades of sorrow, he found Princess Morwenna’s dwelling just where the old lady had said. Through her window, he glimpsed her exquisite silhouette pacing back and forth, her arms wrapped about herself as if trying to contain some inner storm. Even in the waning light, he could see the ethereal beauty that suffering had carved into her once fine features. Her hollowed cheeks spoke of noble sacrifice, and luminous skin that seemed to glow with its own pale fire.

When he presented himself at her door, she greeted him with suspicion and trepidation rather than the gratitude he expected.

“I have sent for no visitors,” Princess Morwenna said, her voice carrying the brittle edge of one who had forgotten how to trust others. “Please, kind sir, leave me to my solitude.”

Yet Valdric could see how the curse had addled her judgment. “Sweet princess,” he said with infinite gentleness, “I have traveled many leagues to bring you the long absent gift of rest. This vial contains the essence of peaceful dreams, blessed by holy men and infused with herbs that grow only in the light of a full moon.”

He drew forth the small glass vial, its contents glimmering like liquid starlight. Surely, she would recognize salvation when it stood before her.

But the curse held her fast. She backed away from his offering, her hands raised as if to ward off some terrible enchantment or attack. “I wish nothing from you,” she cried. “Nothing at all!”

Such was the power of her affliction that she feared the very cure she needed most. The disease of her sleeplessness had wholly poisoned her mind against all comfort and made her believe that suffering was her natural state.

When she struck out at him — poor creature, driven to violence by her curse — Valdric understood that gentle persuasion would no longer suffice.

The monastery’s elixir proved too weak against such powerful magics, but Providence had prepared him for this moment. From within his traveling pack, he drew forth the fabled Silver Key, blessed by moonlight and tempered in starfire; its power could slice through the strongest of enchantments.

“Alas, sweet Morwenna,” he whispered as he raised the sacred implement. “Forgive me. Now, we must trust in the mercy of necessity.”

He brought the Silver Key down hard against the enchantments surrounding the princess, and at last — blessed at last — Princess Morwenna’s eyes grew heavy with the sleep she had so long been denied. The curse shattered like winter ice in spring’s first light, and peace settled over her like a gossamer veil.

Valdric knelt beside her sleeping form and brushed a strand of dark hair from her brow. How serene she looked now, freed from the terrible burden of consciousness. Her eternal wakefulness was ended, and the curse finally broken. He leaned over and brushed his lips against hers.

Frozen. Unchanging.

He straightened and wondered.

Yet as he gazed upon her still face, a new sorrow crept into his heart. Her sleep. It was too deep, too complete. In shattering one curse, he’d only introduced another. A slumber from which no prince’s kiss could wake her.

Another maiden lost to the cruel mistress of magic. Another quest that had saved a soul yet broke a heart.

Prince Valdric gathered his gear, donned his traveling cloak, and stepped back into the night. The bitter wisdom that even the purest intentions could yield the most tragic outcomes lingered in his mind.

•••

The bitter lessons of past quests had taught Prince Valdric how to recognize true royalty when it graced the world with its presence. And what grace he had beheld. Princess Evangelista appeared to him like a vision born of stardust and morning dew, her beauty so pure it seemed wrought from the finest crystal shaped by divine hands.

He first glimpsed her in the cathedral courtyard, moving through the crowd like a swan gliding across still waters. Her dress caught the sunlight and scattered it in rainbow fragments, and at her throat and ears, she wore ornaments of such delicate craftsmanship they seemed to be carved from captured moonbeams. When she turned her head, the crystal droplets chimed with a music so ethereal it made his heart soar like an eagle.

Here. At last. The princess he had searched for through all his trials.

Valdric followed her at a respectful distance, and he marveled at how the common folk — peasants all! — failed to see her true nature. To their vulgar eyes, she was merely another maiden walking among them. But he could perceive the radiance that marked her as nobility. The way her steps seemed to leave traces of silver light upon the cobblestones, the way her very presence sanctified the air around her, and the nature of the glow that exuded her every pore.

She led him through winding streets to a modest dwelling that surely served as her temporary sanctuary. Even disguised in humble surroundings, her royal essence blazed like the morning sun cresting the mountains. Valdric waited in the garden shadows until nightfall painted the world in shades of velvet and shadow, the approached her sanctuary with the reverence due to sacred ground.

Princess Evangelista received him in her chambers with the gracious composure he had expected of true royalty, though he saw a flicker of uncertainty in her sapphire eyes. The curse that bound her was subtle. Not like the dramatic enchantments that had afflicted her sisters, but something more insidious. She had been made to forget her own noble blood, convinced by dark magic that she was merely common clay.

“Tis not a place fer sum’un of yer noble birth, m’Lord,” she said softly, her voice carrying the musical quality of wind chimes in a gentle breeze even if twisted by the nature of her curse. “I know ya not.”

“Yet I know you, sweet princess,” Valdric replied, stepping closer to better admire the crystal ornaments that adorned her like a constellation of earth-bound stars. “I have searched the breadth of this world, through countless kingdoms, and across vast seas to find one such as you.”

Even as he assured her, speaking words of recognition, he could see the curse fighting within her against the truth of his words. She cowered, backing away from him, shaking her head; and the crystal droplets at her ears threw fractured rainbows around the room as they caught the lamplight. How perfectly they suited her. Such delicate ornaments. They seemed to be fashioned from her very essence.

“Please” she whispered, and in the single word he heard all the longing of a soul trapped by enchantment, crying out for release even as the curse compelled her to resist salvation. “Please go, m’Lord.”

But Valdric had learned the hard wisdom of his previous quests. Love required strength. Salvation demanded courage that others might mistake for cruelty. And truth sought the freedom to be expressed. He reached out with gentle hands to touch her crystal ornaments, those perfect symbols of her true nature.

The moment his fingers made contact with her ethereal beauty, the curse revealed its final, most terrible aspect. Princess Evangelista’s perfection was so absolute, so pure that it could not withstand mortal touch. Like the finest of crystals exposed to sudden change, she shattered beneath the weight of reality.

Valdric knelt among the scattered fragments of her. Each piece reflected back his own anguished face in miniature. He gathered the crystal shards with trembling fingers, these last remains of the only princess who had truly embodied the perfection he sought.

The curse had claimed her at the very moment of her salvation, stealing her away just as he had finally found her. Some treasures, he now understood with soul-crushing clarity, were meant only to be admired, never possessed.

The prince rose on unsteady legs and strode off into the night, leaving behind the shattered fragments to sparkle like fallen stars upon the floor. In a heartbeat, he had found and lost his greatest love. He had learned the cruelest lesson of all. Perfection and possession could not coexist in this flawed realm of flesh and sorrow.

•••

And so, with dawn fast approaching, Prince Valdric sat in his gray stone chamber, his heart heavy with the wisdom only true knights and the most devoted of questers ever acquire. Love was a fragile thing, something that couldn’t be taken, only admired.

He had failed the kingdom that now would never know his reign. The weight of the crown he would never wear pressed against his brow like a benediction of sorrow, and in the depths of his solitude, Prince Valdric understood at last the true nature of his quest.

He had not been seeking princesses to save but salvation for himself. Each maiden had been a mirror held up to his own cursed soul, showing him facets of the love he could never quite grasp, the cruelty of a world filled with lies. The failures of his quests were echoes of the emptiness that had driven him from kingdom to kingdom in search of something that existed only in the realm of dreams.

Prince Valdric closed his eyes and smiled with the serenity of one who had given everything in service to an impossible dream. He would no longer be the wandering prince, forever seeking what could never be found. No. In the morning light, he would become something greater. Soon the great doors would open, and the assembled court would bear witness to his ultimate transfor—

“Morrison.” The correction officer’s keys jangled against the cell bars. “It’s time, your highness.” His voice cut through the cell like a blade, followed by the echoing snickers of his fellows and guffaws of laughter from the surrounding cells. “Warden’s ready for you.”

As the cell door was unlocked and opened, the warden stood waiting, “James Edward Morrison, inmate number 999547. By order of the Great State of Texas, your execution for the murders of Brynlee Kesterton, Darcy Thorne, and Wren Calabrese is scheduled for this date. All legal remedies have been exhausted. Please accompany us to the execution chamber.”

James Morrison, no longer the sorrowful prince, stood on unsteady legs and walked toward his execution, leaving behind a fantasy kingdom where he’d been noble, where he’d tried to make three maidens into princesses.

Onward he strode. Back into the real world where he had been nothing but a nightmare made flesh.