The Prince's Script

Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Dancing Shadow

The ink on the diary page didn't just bleed; it pulsed, the letters expanding into jagged, aggressive strokes.

‘8:05 AM: Get dressed. Wear the crimson doublet. If you aren’t seen at the banquet, they’ll declare you dead by noon. Smile, insult the Duke, and for God’s sake, keep your hand off the dagger—you don't know how to use it.’

Bakti tossed the book onto the bed, his pulse hammering. He caught his reflection in the gilded mirror—a pale, terrified face looking out from beneath the dark, regal features of Prince Lucius.

"Alright, let's play villain," he hissed to the empty room.

*

The banquet hall was a cavern of gold leaf, crystal chandeliers, and the nauseating scent of roasted peacock. Bakti stood by the entrance, his jaw aching from forced composure. Beside him, Sartika drifted closer, her presence like a blade pressed against his spine.

"You look tense, Your Highness," she murmured, swirling her wine. "Most men would be terrified. You? You look like you're waiting for the floor to swallow you."

"I’m just enjoying the view, Sartika. It’s not every day I get to watch vultures eat," Bakti replied, his tone sharp.

She laughed, a brittle sound. "Vultures? That’s my father you’re looking at. Be careful. He’s already discussing your 'health' with the King."

Bakti felt a sharp sting of paper against his palm. The diary had manifested in his hand again. He glanced down. ‘Duke Wahid is nearby. He thinks you’re a coward because you haven’t married his daughter yet. Tell him she smells like wet dog.’

"You’re shaking," Sartika noted, her eyes narrowing. "What is that book?"

"It’s a reminder of who I am," Bakti snapped, walking straight toward a portly man in velvet robes. "Duke Wahid. Looking radiant today. Does the wet dog perfume come from the kennel or the daughter?"

The room went deathly silent. The Duke’s face turned a violent shade of plum.

"Your Highness?" Wahid stammered, dropping his goblet. "I—I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me," Bakti pressed, his heart racing. "Or is your hearing as failing as your fashion sense?"

"Bakti—Lucius—what are you doing?" Sartika hissed, grabbing his arm. "That’s political suicide!"

"Is it?" Bakti jerked his arm away, staring at the diary as new text bloomed. ‘Good. Now tell his wife she’s the only one who knows where the bodies are buried. Make her sweat.’

He pivoted toward the Duchess, who looked ready to faint. "Duchess, a word? I know where you hid the gardener. It’s been bothering me all morning."

"I... I have no idea what you mean!" she shrieked, clutching her pearls.

"The banquet is off!" the Duke roared, his voice echoing off the vaulted ceilings. "The Prince has finally lost his mind! He’s dangerous!"

"Dangerous?" Bakti grabbed a flute of champagne from a passing tray and downed it, wincing. "I’m the only one in this room who isn't currently lying to their spouse. That makes me the most dangerous man here."

"You’re digging your own grave," Sartika whispered, her voice dangerously low. She looked at the guests who were now whispering and pulling away. "They’re going to call the King’s guard. They’ll exile you."

"Let them," Bakti muttered, checking the page. ‘Turn around. The dance floor is clear. Grab the Princess. She’s the only one who can protect you from the guards.’

He looked across the floor. Princess Nani stood alone near the orchestra, her eyes wide with terror.

"You’re really doing this, aren't you?" Sartika stepped into his path, her rapier partially drawn beneath her silk cloak. "You’re acting like someone who has nothing to lose. Who told you to do this?"

"I don't take orders, Sartika. I just like watching the panic," Bakti lied, stepping around her.

"If you touch Nani, I will gut you right here," she threatened, her voice a cold rasp.

"Try it," Bakti challenged, flashing a grin that felt completely alien. "But you’d have to kill me before the music stops, and the guards are already watching."

He walked toward Nani, feeling the weight of every gaze in the room. He reached out, grabbing her hand just as the orchestra began a slow, melancholic waltz.

"Dance with me, Nani," he commanded, pulling her close.

"Lucius, you’re mad," she whispered, her voice trembling. "They’re whispering about execution."

"Let them whisper," Bakti said, spinning her into the center of the floor. "I have something important to tell you."

‘Tell her about the poison,’ the diary urged in his peripheral vision. ‘She’s the one who brewed it.’

Bakti froze mid-step. "You? You tried to kill me?"

Nani looked up, her expression shifting from fear to a chilling, vacant calm. She leaned in, her lips brushing his ear.

"You were never supposed to wake up, Lucius," she whispered.

Suddenly, the candles around the room flickered and died. A shadow detached itself from the balcony rafters, falling toward them like a falling star. Bakti ducked just as a cold, steel blade hissed through the air, carving a jagged red line across the Princess’s shoulder.

"Assassin!" someone screamed.

The music stopped. The ballroom erupted into chaos. Bakti looked down at the diary. It was glowing, the ink shifting into a single, terrifying word: RUN.