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It had been a late summer night, when the Black-Kingdoms crown prince had ran away. No one knew where he had left to, leaving everything behind.
It had broken his younger brother, the back-up prince, when the news of no one being able to find the crown prince had reached him. The Black-castle standing forever alone on the hill, throning above the kingdom, tall, dark and threatening.
It wasn't that the rulers were unloved in their own kingdom, it was more that everyone knew of the danger the ruling family possessed and trusted in them to never let it out somewhere else other than on the battle field.
Late summer had bled into autumn, a cold silence breaching into the young princes heart, smiles became rare, until they disappeared completely during the winter.
Once upon a time the brothers had been inseparable, you could hear their laughter echo through the castles halls, until they got reprimanded by the king. Now? An empty silence clouded the halls. The servants only talked in hushed whispers and when more time passed by, a sixteen year old prince turned eighteen.
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Regulus was empty. His heart felt numb, his eyes had lost their spark, and he was just outright tired.
He attended conference after conference, had to plan making allies like the Crouch, Rosier, Nott and Mulciber families, as well as attend the war council to discuss whether they'd take up Voldemorts empires offer to ally themselves with his own kingdom.
Sure, geographically his kingdom sat right at the edge of Voldemorts empire; but the Black kingdom held enough influence to not be under command of the dark empire.
His head hurt. Everyone knew of the feud between Dumbledores and Voldemorts empires and he would be damned if his kingdom would be destroyed by their childish war game.
Had -h-i-s- -b-r-o-t-h-e-r- 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘵𝘰𝘳 still been here, at home, he wouldnt have to attend these meetings, Regulus thought.
After Sirius had left, Regulus was forced to take over the responsibility of being the thrones heir, despite not being officially so.
Even after more than two years, there still were people hoping for Sirius to come back, and to take over the throne and rule over the kingdom.
No one knew why Sirius had left. Atleast outwardly it had appeared so.
Despite having to keep the appearances up, Regulus Arcturus Black knew quite well why his brother
(traitor, traiTOR, TRAITOR) had left.
It wasn't fit for a prince to be imperfect, to have marks on their skin. But the queen made quite sure that Regulus possessed enough black long sleeved formal shirts for no bruises would ever be seen.
Though what would some bruises be against the scars that littered his skin?
He was quite lucky that no matter how many bruises the king or queen inflicted on their heir, they would always heal the worst part, no one could know that they weren't perfect after all.
Although there were new bruises nearly everyday, Regulus would consider himself lucky, that those bruises kept to his upper torso, and arms. It wouldn't bode well for them to find out about the scars that hadn't healed yet, the scars one could find ever since Regulus had been twelve.
The scars that adorned his legs, nicely hidden behind his formal attire.
The scars that weren't yet scars, that wouldn't yet become scars, as there was no reason to let them heal, when the pain made him forget everything else. The thick red blood, seeping out of the fresh wounds, bundling itself and falling onto the bathroom floor. A slow, yet steady drip.
Drop after drop.
And every new drop, Regulus could breathe a little easier, till he forgot who he was, where he was, and when he was.
Unfortunately he had to come back down to earh soon. Salvation had been so near and yet so far.
Sometimes he wished that Sirius would've taken him with him.