The year: 2023

3699, First Street,
Lonest,
Albion

[Dwight's POV]

Today was going to be a good day. 

I glanced at the decade-old wall clock; it urged me to wear my uniform. My eyes moved lower where my Mum's dowry: her old television, sat looking not even slightly out of place. So what if it couldn't catch HD channels? The only show worth watching was The Royals, anyway.

"The Royals…" I sighed, stepping out of the bathroom and getting ready for work. The show- filmed entirely in the Pendragon castle- had stopped broadcasting recently. With no explanation forthcoming, the media contemplated that perhaps the creators had done something to irk the Royal family, resulting in them not being allowed inside the premises.

Could the Royal family afford to reject their sole source of income? 

Many things didn't make sense when it came to the Royal family. For instance, even with our economy going to dogs, neither the media nor the press had anything to say about it. The state treasury was empty, and the citizens' lived in abysmal conditions, yet no one raised their voices. There were no protests or strikes or anything that could show the true face of Albion to the outside world.

Though the nation was suffering, I had never lacked anything, well, almost nothing. Though not affluent, Mum and I had always had just enough to get by. 

I never knew my father. Once, I had overheard Grandma complaining to Mum that she didn't feel connected to me and sometimes doubted if I was a Peyton at all. It sounded odd from her mouth since neither my mother nor grandma had ever tried to bond with me. I was like a piece of furniture that occupied the place because its need might arise in the future. None of what I did was ever enough. Yet, no one asked me to do better. Once, when I was ten, I asked Mum if I was a Peyton at all, to which Mum had laughed. 

'Of course, you are, son. Why would you say that?' She had asked rhetorically and smiled. That was it. No hugs or kisses followed the confirmation. 

That's why, when I finally left home at eighteen, I decided to be the best, most charming Peyton ever. It came naturally to me. Everyone loved me. However, no matter what I did, none ever stayed next to me long enough to forge a bond, be it love or friendship. 

It was strange. Was it not?

It was Sunday; it was supposed to be my day off, but Roger, my manager, had called me late last night and requested- yes, requested- my presence at our headquarters today.

Never one to refuse, especially since he was being so very polite, I had accepted, realizing immediately after that today I was supposed to go on my non-date with Marty. 

My guy told me that I wasn't going to be able to keep my appointment with him. Remorse, the kind I had seldom experienced, washed over me. However, the fog in my mind cleared soon after. Marty wasn't anyone special, was he? I could always meet him another time, right? Right.

A few minutes later, I was on my bike, cruising on the almost abandoned streets of Lonest, the place I had called home for the past five years.

The chilly November wind should have bitten my skin, but it didn't. Why wasn't I feeling cold? I wondered, but before I could arrive at an answer, my eyes fell on a brunette dressed in a denim jacket and blue jeans struggling to keep up with the five dogs she was walking, and every other thought except one- help her- flew out of my mind. 

After doing exactly that, we exchanged numbers, and a few minutes later, I was where I needed to be: in Roger's office.

"I am sorry for asking you to work on your day off, Dwight." My manager gave me a smile he reserved for whenever our CEO visited our branch. It made me feel uncomfortable. Almost disgusted. Shaking my hand with reverence, he asked me to take a seat. No sooner had I done so than he took my dominant hands in his and asked,

"How's your finger?" The hazel-eyed man turned my right-hand palm up.  

A sharp pain shot through my finger; it reached my elbow, making me gasp. Pulling my hand back, I shrugged, "It's fine. It doesn't hurt much." The truth was, I had forgotten about it entirely until Roger had asked about it just now, and then it had hurt like hell.

Roger slapped my back, "Brilliant!" He exclaimed and retrieved a package from somewhere behind his couch. Handing it to me, he instructed. "Go to gate number six of the Pendragon castle and ask for Jared."

I nodded; excited to visit the place, I left for it immediately. 

When I was about three, I had watched the Pendragon castle for the first time on television. I remembered it like it was yesterday when King Gregory had returned from a hunting trip injured, and the media was allowed into his residence for the first time. 

Everything about the castle fascinated me. From the jeweled chandeliers, the antique silverware, the delicate china- more for showing off than for meals- the dimly lit narrow corridors and so on, to the gardens lined with sculptures of fairies welcoming those who entered through the arched main entrance, everything felt familiar. Then again, why wouldn't it? After all, I had made it my life's mission to gather as much information as I could about the Pendragon castle and its residents, of which there were three: the reigning monarch, King Gregory Pendragon; Queen Melissa and their only child, the ten-year-old, Princess Alexandra.

Before I knew it, I reached my destination. The security guard stationed at the entrance took one look at my uniform and promptly walked me to an office a few meters away, where a young redheaded boy was waiting for me. 

As our eyes met, he stood up and gestured to me to follow him. Despite not wanting to do so, I complied. It was strange, I had always wanted to visit the castle, and now, when I was going to do just that, every fiber of my being warned me not to.

"Are you Jared?" I asked, even though I knew it was him. It was odd; I was sure I had never met him, yet, something about our encounter felt eerily familiar. 

The boy remained silent as I knew he would. He had no tongue, after all.

The thought made bile rise to my throat. How did I know that? Goosebumps erupted on my arms and neck. The chill that had eluded me till now returned with a vengeance. My teeth clattered; my knees knocked together. I wanted to stop. No. I wanted to turn heel and run out, but my limbs refused my command. I continued to follow Jared past the castle and onto the private garden of the Pendragon castle. 

The breathtaking sight brought me no pleasure. I closed my eyes and heard metal clanging and men laughing. For some reason, the cacophony brought me peace. And a face floated in front of my mind's eyes. It was Marty: the barista at Dragon's Den. My heart clenched. I felt wetness on my cheeks. And just like that, every exchange I had had with the ebony-eyed man came rushing back. His genuine smile lingered in my memory till my legs stopped moving.

I opened my eyes, but all I saw was dark. "Jared?" I called, but no one replied. I was all alone. Was this the end? 

Apparently, not. 

Warm, moist breath fanned the nape of my neck a second later, sending shivers down my spine. 

"Dwight Peyton, it's wonderful to see you again." A familiar voice, King Gregory's, fell into my ears.

Gulping thickly, I looked over my shoulder, hoping to catch a glimpse of the king whose face graced our nation's currency. Even if he was close by, he was shrouded in the dark. I almost closed my eyes, wanting to return the one person I knew could keep me from falling apart: Marty, when the place took on a vermillion hue.

Tilting my head up brought me face to face with the source of light, a pair of large fiery eyes. The glowing orbs moved lower, and now we were separated by niches of air. Maybe you should look away, my voice of reason suggested, but a more dominant part refused to heed it. A fire burned in its depths, I presumed, to warn those who would dare to approach it.

"I don't think we have met, but you seem to know an awful lot about me," I hesitated, and on an off chance of this being a prank for his royal highness's pleasure, I added, "My King."

It has been years since anyone has laid eyes on Gregory Pendragon. Though he is the face of our nation, it was his wife, Queen Melissa, who attended to all the royal duties. Rumor had it that since the past week or so, even the council of ministers couldn't get a hold of him. The only one allowed in his chamber was the queen.

The Eyes laughed, or so I thought. It sounded exactly like King Gregory's laugh. Hollow and rough around the edges, ending in a short, ridiculous snort.

But it couldn't be him. Right?

"So Dwight, tell me, how have you been feeling lately?" The room, or whatever this place was, returned to its earlier state. Dark as hell. Was this hell? Why was I here, though? 

I really wanted to ask them to go fuck themselves, but it didn't seem appropriate. I wished to be back in Dragon's Den.

The king, or whoever it was, chuckled. "Young man, you are in a dragon's den, and though you don't remember it, it's not your first time here."

What the hell did this... whatever it was, want from me?

"Answers," the wind spoke in my left ear. Under normal circumstances, I would have found it mysterious and sensual, but it was making my skin crawl now. 

A second later (or so I thought), I woke up on my bed wearing my red pajamas, stinking of sewage. My eyes landed on the fluorescent green hands of my table clock. 

11.30 pm, Sunday.

It was close to midnight! How? 

That couldn't be right, could it? The last thing I remembered was entering Roger's office. 

What had we talked about? 

Why did my clothes stink like I had swam for miles in the gutters?

Nothing made sense. 

Getting off the bed, I searched my cubicle-like apartment for my phone till I found it in the pocket of my work pants a few minutes later. Unlocking the screen did nothing to calm my nerves. 

11.35 pm, Sunday.

What the bloody hell!?

Where had the day gone?

Today was supposed to be a memorable day; I had planned to meet Marty. Why had it turned out like this? I still couldn't believe I had found a person, an actual human being, who had captured my attention from the get-go. Not only had he not found it odd that I had asked him to hang out with me, he had agreed to it wholeheartedly. And I had stood him up! Deep sorrow blanketed me, making it hard for me to breathe. 

I needed to get out. I needed to see Marty and apologize. I needed him to understand that I hadn't stood him up intentionally and that something was terribly wrong with me.

With my mind made, I entered the bath. Steam fogged my mirror cabinet, and flashes of the ordeal I had been through flashed before my eyes. 

Our king, but not our king. Not really. 

The Pendragon Castle, but somewhere the cameras had never been. 

A voice that had not belonged to a human.

And eyes. Red. And older than Albion itself. 

However, when I stepped out, all I had recalled during showering had melted away, replaced with something fake that someone had engineered to fill in the blanks left by the lapse in my memories of the day. 

I couldn't recall why I was making a big deal about missing my non-date with the barista. It was nothing special. Was it?

Yes, it was unfortunate that I had bailed on Marty, but that's just what it was, unfortunate. Right? Right.