Chapter Text
"You finally came!" His gesture is initially warm, and without a second thought, he buries his face into the crook of someone's neck. But for some reason, something feels wrong. Extremely wrong. Everything is so strangely familiar, and this…
Has definitely happened before.
“D-damien?!?” Will suddenly stammers, arms relenting from the small of Damiens back, “What are you doing here?”
He's back. William had just narrowly escaped this dungeon, but for some reason he's back at the top of the witch's cavern. He swiftly turns his head, only to see the same platoon of aristocratic princes ready to engage in combat.
Skeptical about his change in demeanor, the shorter narrows his gaze. “Yes, it’s me. I came to save you. You know, from being boiled by the witches who kidnapped you.”
This can’t be right. Damien had already unlocked them from the dungeons hours ago. The last Will remembers, he’d encountered that morally-conflicted witch boy named Dorian, boarded the dragon in hopes of rescuing the other princes… and got hit in the back by a thunderbolt spell.
Was this part of the hex?
“Quick, Damien! Tell me something about me only you would know!” He immediately demands, thick fingers pulling the roundness of the shorter’s face. In that familiar flustered manner, his cheeks turn a stunning bright red.
“I’m not a hallucination.” Damien insists, hand heaving on his chest.
“And I can assure you, neither am I,” Amir cuts in, one arm slinging around Damiens shoulder. "But if you must seek attestation, I can narrate each instance you attempted to kiss the king's butler, in detail." He teases. In response, Damien promptly shuts him up with a muting spell. William bites his lip for a moment, but chooses to ignore the comment, rubbing the pink tinting his cheeks with a fist.
It would be best to survey his surroundings. He's never been particularly observant, but seeing as how he's been locked in this dungeon for weeks, he can naturally recognise nearly every nook and cranny on the wall. It was the same brick he had spent hours burning his eyes into, with hopes that a miracle would happen. Without weapons or magic, he was disappointed there was not much they could do at that time, despite their desperation. "What happened to not abusing your magical advantage?" William jokes in reference to the muting spell, although his tone hides some reservation.
"I’ll let myself loose for one day. Been waiting to do that for years." Damien retorts. Embarrassed, he storms off, cloak rippling behind him. Which is horribly ironic considering William should be the one doing so, weighing the nature of Amir's comment.
"Alright, alright. If you say so." He complies. Nevertheless, he's still confused about what could be going on, but he has little other choice than to follow the brooding Damien and scheming Amir down the more-ominous-than-he-would-like staircase.
By now, he's able to tell that this isn't an illusion. Whatever thunderbolt had hit him prior to this repetition was probably the root cause of all of this. He attempts to let his gears click and determine what the spell could be, based on the little magical knowledge Damien had shared with him over the years. Alas, not a single thought transgresses. Disappointment bubbling up within, he sighs. At times like this, he wished he was just the tiniest bit brighter! Unlike Damien, he's not the greatest at piecing the puzzle together.
Wait, that's it. "Damien, say–"
"Quiet, Will," He hushes. Will hadn't noticed that they’d already reached the bottom of the staircase, "Wait a minute. I want to hear what they have to say." Just as Will remembers, they stop to observe the creepy floating old woman the rest of the crowd are leering at.
"But…"
"Please. This is important." Word by word, history repeats itself.
And just like last time, he gives in. "Okay, okay." He replies. You're so weak, William, he can hear Amir tease with that knowing gaze, had he not still needed to wait a few more minutes for the muting spell to subside.
"LET ME GO!" a voice suddenly shouts. Normally, his first instinct would be to glimpse at wherever the noise had summoned itself from. But he stops himself, eyes burning to the floor.
If his intuition is correct, the one who would have been to shout the earlier statement would be an orange-haired child. "No, you could die!"
"And now you care about it? You're not-my-father!" He slowly turns his gaze up, and just like he expected, the same old wizard half-heartedly reaches his hand out to a boy slightly younger than him.
The past was repeating itself. This had all happened before.
"I see something.. The pictures are confusing. Of war, of darkness, a dark dripping crown.. and fire.. and sounds… yelling, and roaring sounds. And, I see a name—" The plump old woman announces to all the kingdoms witches , eyes turning a milky white.
Wytte . Damiens surname.
The next time Damien suggests they fly off, he has a sneaking suspicion about what was going to happen next. “Ride with Amir first,” He insists, “If we must, I’ll go second. I will protect them if we get separated.” He comforts, lifting his sword and gaining a cheer from the other princes. Overhearing their conversation from the last cycle, he wanted to test the waters to see if he can change something, and just how far it would change the situation. He could prove to be useful, and find a way to save all of them.
Damien is concerningly contemplative, but seeing as how they have no time to lose, he lets Amir hop on with him. “I’ll make it quick.” Damien mutters.
“Awww, I thought you would take your time with me,” Amir taunts, “You really are only concerned about—”
“Shut up, or I will hex you thrice more.” It’s most certainly not a gag. Now taken aback, Amir complies to just lightly wrapping his arms around Damien, and nodding extremely eagerly.
I hope this works. Once the duo descends, he is left with the rest of the princes at the top of the hill. But.. his head suddenly feels light. He’s definitely forgetting something. A pair of lifeless eyes, a stack of potions. Being struck by that thunderbolt wasn’t the last memory he had before this… time-loop. That was the only word he could use to describe this phenomenon. William is abruptly struck with a horrible realization. One that isn’t about the battalion of witches and normal folk fighting for their lives down there.
“How terrible, you’re finally awake.” Every sensation felt like a fever, and his body… was unusually numb. His pupils can barely dilate, so it is difficult to locate the perpetrators voice, but he recognises that it’s a woman’s voice. Her voice sounds like honey. It’s a shame she was probably going to kill him.
“I— I won’t allow you to—” He manages, but stops himself mid-sentence when he feels a liquid being shoved down his throat.
“Listen, stupid prince. There’s only one reason we haven’t murdered you. A reason that aids my revenge.” He’s finally able to open his eyes, but once he realizes that the woman above him is someone he’s seen before, his throat runs dry.
Long raven strands and equally black eyes burn into him, sedate but fervent hate tearing him down as if a war flame. He’s seen her in pictures, briefly, when someone he knows extremely fondly was willing to open up about a portion of his homelife. But he mainly knows her because she shares the same dollish features as that boy. It’s Damien's mother. “What do you want with me?”
She has to gauge to laugh at him, revenge-driven heart deriving off his misery. “It wouldn’t be symbolic enough to simply… kill you off. I suggested we pull off a grand scheme.”
“You’re not as bright as my Damien, so I’ll explain this carefully to you. War is like a chess game. Even if you fork two pieces, you’re not obligated to trade. Especially if that knight can land you a checkmate,” Monica always beats him at chess, but, sure— he’ll listen to the allegory, “You’re a powerful bait, William. Once princess Monica desperately comes to give you her ‘true loves kiss’, we’ll be there to destroy her. It’s a perfect trap.”
“The catch is, we want her to fall into greater despair. To torture her mentally. Damien will eventually find his way to you, and tell her that she needs to wake you up with that ‘true loves kiss’. But what he won’t know is that if she turns out to not be your true love, you’ll die. You’ll be cursed to see either yourself, or your real true love die over and over again.”
Williams' breath hitches. “Then again, if she turns out to be your true love. Then it’s whatever. We’ll just kill the both of you off immediately. You will pay for what your fathers did to us— did to me, ” She shoves the final potion down his throat, “Good night. Delirious aristocrat.”
William feels a thunderbolt strike at him. Damiens voice echoes in the background, screaming for his name.