The Lost Prince and The Demon King [BL]

Beautiful and unfeathered rage filled his senses. The Demon King of the Fifth Circle inhaled deeply and when he opened his eyes found himself standing outside a bedroom door. 

He glanced down at himself, opened and closed his hands. The rage that fuelled him felt potent and pure. But his own body felt strange. He still wore the same red and blue robes he had on that fateful night. Now that he stopped to think about it, how long had he been in that underground place? 

A light breeze moved the strands of his long hair and he turned to find an open window nearby. Dawn had barely broken through the clouds. The air outside the window still felt sleepy and lazy. 

Where was the young man? He turned back to the door, studying it more closely. There was a magical barrier between him and the source of all that glorious anger. He could easily break it. 

The king approached the door, raised one of his index fingers, pressed it to the intricately carved wooden door, channeled a fraction of his power - it would be enough -, and… 

Nothing happened. The king frowned at the door, his finger, then down at himself. This had never happened before. He had never had performance issues. 

Determined to break through the flimsy spell and get his hands on that beautiful aura, he pressed his finger harder against the door and tried again, summoning more of his power. 

Nothing. 

The king stepped back and took stock of himself. He closed his eyes, concentrated, and searched. And… there. An emptiness where his heart should be. 

He sighed. That meant his physical body was still trapped in that place and this was his Shadow Form, a projection of his soul. 

He could interact with the world around him and hold a weapon, but his sense of touch was muted. And he would need a strong supply of anger to keep him here. Otherwise, he would be pulled back to that dark and stale place and wait for another burst of rage to bring him back. 

And until he recovered his body, his magic was severely diminished. 

He stared at the door again. Footsteps broke into his thoughts. 

"Halt! Identity yourself." The voice sounded young, green. But the swish of a sword being pulled from its scabbard almost made him smile. 

"Where am I?" The king asked, the rough sound of his voice surprised even him. 

The man - who looked far too young to be allowed to wear a uniform, let alone brandish a sword - frowned at him. "This is the entrance to the prince's private rooms. And you have no business being here."

The king tsked. Giving information about members of a royal court to an unknown person? Too young indeed. 

Though, if the man were to learn the king's true identity, he would probably evacuate his bowls onto the pristine carpet underneath him. It would all be terribly embarrassing for both of them. 

"Then I am in the correct place." The king locked his hands behind his back and turned to face the other man. 

The man's frown deepened. It did nothing to improve his features. "I was not informed of this."

"That is because I am your superior and had not yet found you so that you may be informed." It was technically true since he was a king. The fact that he was not a human king was of little consequence. "But here you stand. Consider yourself informed."

The man gaped at him and took several steps toward the king, brandishing his sword. He had a terrible form. Sloppy and untrained. Even unarmed and with his strength significantly diminished, the king could easily defeat him. 

The man opened his mouth, probably to berate the king, and the king prepared to snap his neck and find somewhere to dispose of the body. And then try once more to open the door hiding that treasured aura from him. 

The creak of wood and a direct current of anger made him completely ignore the approaching man and turn toward the door. Messy brown hair and wide brown eyes met his. 

And there was red. A deep and almost intoxicating red. He recognized the young man, the one fallen over the gravestone and lying lifeless in a prison cell. He was the one who had called the king, his summoning and the potency of his anger having freed his Shadow Form. 

"What-What's happening here? Who are you?" The young man asked, his voice sounded even rougher than the king's. 

Malrik frowned. Did the man not remember him? That was not possible. One did not accidentally summon a king of hell. 

Or maybe he was putting on an act for the guard. As if on cue, the guard decided to speak up. "Your Highness, do you know this man?"

Those wide brown eyes swung back to stare at him. "I, um…"

The king thought how to best get both of them out of that situation. If he was to find and recover his body, he needed this young man's cooperation. He could capture him and force him. But the king had found that that method often led to despair - a decidedly useless emotion. For him, at least. 

No, he needed to be close enough to the prince without raising suspicion and find a way to gain the his trust. And keep him angry enough so his Shadow form would not be yanked back to his body. 

There was one way. Maybe not the most practical or dignified for someone of his status, but it was practical. And the king was nothing if not efficient. 

"Your Highness," the king said, turning to face the prince fully. "Your new bodyguard is reporting for duty."

The prince's eyes flashed and his anger surged, swirling around him in glorious red ribbons the king wanted to reach out and touch. 

The king smiled. Yes, this would work out quite nicely.