The Devil's Betrothed novel Chapter 13

Chapter 13: Venting Out

Arlan's morning started early as well due to the nightmare he had in the night. Just like Oriana, he could not go back to sleep and spent the night sitting in bed, staring at the ticking hand of the longcase pendulum clock on the other side of the room.

Tick, tock, tick, tock...

His mind was filled with the most horrific memory from his childhood.

Although almost two decades had passed, those memories still hurt him the same, and even as he grew into a full-fledged adult, the wounds of the past continued to bleed, with anger and his thirst for revenge being the only outlet.

Until he successfully killed the ones behind his mother's early demise, there was no escaping the hauntings of her death.

Her wide eyes lifelessly staring at him, the tears of guilt and relief streaming down her face—

'Mother, I....'

The rest of his words faded. He didn't know what exactly he wanted to say to her.

After what seemed like an eternity, morning finally came. The mild sun rays started to shine through the curtains, filling the chamber with light. As the brightness chased away the shadows, a bit of vitality returned within the prince's deep blue eyes.

Relief washed over him. Night was over. The nightmare was over.

Nobody knew that the always so confident and charming Crown Prince had always hated the darkness, only given his status, he never showed his weakness to anyone.

He stepped out of the bed, and without calling for the servants, readied himself to go outside. He chose to wear the most comfortable attire available in his wardrobe before grabbing his sword on his way out.

'The training grounds should be empty around this time,' he thought as he tightened his grip on his sword pommel.

When he stepped out of the chamber, the knights guarding outside his door were about to follow him but he raised his hand which was a signal for them to stand down.

"Good morning, Your Highness."

To their greeting, Arlan merely smiled before continuing on his way. It was not his usual good-natured smile but a cold one that gave them shivers.

His knights who were familiar with him could see it was one of those bad days when their liege would either brutally train them or harshly punish them for the smallest mistakes. This kind of Crown Prince was normally quiet and calm, but it was precisely this quiet prince that frightened the people of the capital.

On days like these, people would be most wary of him, and those who had plans of offending him would think twice before doing it.

One of the knights left his post, intending to warn the captain and their fellow knights about their liege's mood.

Slash!

Stab!

Slash!

Inside the indoor training ground, a man with long ash brown hair brought down his sword as if he was facing a ferocious beast, each of his movements overflowing with bloodlust. There was no beauty or elegance in his moves—there was only pure violence in his strikes, as if he was mutilating the image of his mother's assassin in front of him.

Arlan practiced with the sword again and again, to the point his shirt was soaked with sweat and he had to cast it aside.

Slash!

Some time later, Imbert and Rafal arrived but did not disturb him, only relaying to the rest that no one was allowed to go closer to the training ground. Imbert and Rafal wordlessly stayed at a distance, watching Arlan vent his negative feelings through his swordsmanship.

Time passed by slowly. The taut lines of Arlan's half-naked body glistened with sweat, his movements somewhat slowing, showing his exhaustion, yet his sword strikes remained frighteningly brutal. He didn't stop for a moment even though two hours had passed.

Imbert understood what she meant. "Shall I help His Highness vent?" _{fɾeewebnoveℓ.co๓}