"You're dying, aren't you."

Prince Tovias's words rang through the empty throneroom. It wasn't a question. Just a statement. For once, he hadn't been able to find the strength to look at you, turned to the stained glass windows as he looked on at the courtyard beyond.

It was ironic, really. Such a bright and warm day plagued by a realization he'd been denying for years.

You were at Prince Tovias's side since he was a boy, a personal servant gifted to him. You were chosen for a reason. Beyond your loyalty and skills as a serf, the curse you bore gave you scores of strength and agility, ensuring the prince's protection time and time again.

But hexes are scorned for a reason, and yours was no different. You knew this day was coming, but hearing the words from the young man you'd come to revere almost burned more than the curse itself.