His Ellie.

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Chapter 24

A knock on the door interrupted Damien as he was contemplating whether or not to visit the cave to assess everything for himself. And he was also thinking of how Elle would look adorned in some of those amethysts that the purple cave was known for. Gorgeous, no doubt. Those gems would stand out starkly on her peachy skin, nothing fancy, perhaps a dainty pendant to hang around her slender neck?
Aiden bowed to him once he had stepped inside. His black and white uniform was nothing new to Damien's eyes, but the slight tint on his cheeks and the wonder in his eyes? Lord Damien's eyes narrowed on his face, he had known the butler for long enough to know that he was neither flattered or moved easily. Aiden was always unattached to everything but his work and that made things easier for everyone.
" What is it?" Damien tilted his head at his butler.
"Milord, Lady Elle has awoken and she seems to be in good health as of now. "
He shifted in his seat, feeling a weight lift from his heart. She hadn't waken up in two whole days, nothing to sustain her, not a sip of water if she might need. He might've acted unconcerned but he was worried sick wondering whether she would or not wake up at all.
" I see. Send her here once she has cleaned up and eaten."
Aiden left with the light thud of the heavy doors and once again Lord Damien was left to his own vices. Being an immortal had never appeared to be more handy, he thought as he took out another cigar and held it between in fingers, twisting and turning it around.
Amara had hated it, hated the whole rolled tobacco and the way it's tip burnt red and how the smoke polluted the air. Not to mention that she hated the way his mouth tasted and smelt after he had smoked enough cigar for putting a reaper to work, on a mortal that is. Not on Damien, not on death himself.
He turned and looked out the window, the light drizzle was just enough gloomy to cast a gray shade on the and, but sadly sunny enough that all the edges and greenery sparkled in light, covered in probably thousands of crystalline raindrops. There was once a time that he had enjoyed the sight, now it only reminded him of the day he had buried his Amara.
One could argue for an eternity on whether or not Damien was a masochist or a sadist, he himself wondered whether there was a screw loose somewhere in his brain. After all, he had been smiling and quite in a good mood when she was lowered in the ground, her coffin closed on her pretty face never to be opened and for her body to become one with the land.
He never understood why he wasn't devastated or weeping on her grave, or why whenever he visited her grave he had a smile on his face and a spring in his feet. But whatever be the case, he had been a good husband, loyal down to his bone and loving right from his soul. After she had gone, he had respected each and every wish of hers. From making donations to the poor to raising and looking after the children in the orphanage that she had started, Damien had always done everything that she would have, respected all her death wishes as well.
All but one.
He failed to protect their son. But how could he protect someone who had already chosen his path? Their son had truly been the offspring of damnation, for he had chosen his own ruination.
In the dim golden lights of candles that flickered in the closed room, Damien stared off into the scenery outside that reflected his grey mood. Till date he would never forget the death he had imposed on his own blooded son.
With tears streaming down the eyes that had never cried, a sword in the hand that had caressed and comforted his child, he had clenched his jaw and buried his sobs in his throat. Damien had looked down at his son who was begging for mercy, mercy not to be given after the treachery he had committed to the crown.
His son had planned his assassination.
Raphael had decided to kill his own father.
When Damien had painted the floor in Raphael's blood, it had been because his son had been the first to raise his weapon. And when Damien's sword had slashed Raphael's throat, the very alive and living part of his soul had simply given up on him. Damien had been ever since a filled container, left alone and stranded for the water within to contaminate. His soul had suffered a lot for him to actually care for something.
So why did he care for Elle?
Damien brought the cigar to his mouth and lit the end with his lighter, realizing well enough that he had watered eyes and his hands were trembling.
Never for once had he seen in his son a traitor, not even when he was lying on the floor beneath his foot and begging for forgiveness. No.
The father in Damien had seen a son who had made a mistake. A mistake his son regretted, a mistake that Damien could easily forgive, a mistake that if forgiven would have left him with a living son whom he could cherish again.
In the mature face of his crying son, he had seen the infant that had grown in his arms, played in his room and at times slept in his embrace. His begging eyes had been the ones that had once looked up at him with pride and love, his quivering lips those of a toddler reaching for his toys. Damien's Raphael had yet been his sweet kid when Damien had allowed the reaper to pull him in his cold embrace.
From where Damien had gotten the strength to kill his son, he never knew. He just knew that the crown demanded justice to be served equally. All traitors to the throne be put to death, no exceptions to be made.
Not even if the said traitor was the king's son, or the only child of the said king's dead wife.
Damien had not his wife and his son, lost the only family he had known since he had grown up. Lost the two people he had cherished the most in his life.
How could Lady Fate have been so cruel in writing down his life? Why cause him to be the death of his son, the one whom he had loved beyond heavens and more?
He took a deep inhale an held the smoke inside.
In times like these, when Raphael's ghost brought back memories and doubts in his mind, his cigars were his only companions. Raphael could've been saved, no matter at the cost of ever existing doubt and disappointment, but love would have found a way, right?
If Damien had allowed him to live, he would have also found the strength to look past how Raphael had tried to kill him, right? Forgiveness would surely have blessed the both of them, and he would have had his little boy back.
But that was his regret speaking, not the king who had killed his son with shaking hands and a drowning heart. Sorrow was always way better than regret, Damien decided, for regret never loosened it's hold on a person, even in joyous and happy times.

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