Kyzar was dead on the inside, cynical and derisive towards all things in life. How could he not be? For seven long years, he had been stuck in a mental and physical prison. He had a mouth, but he could not speak. He had hands, but he could not write. He had a good head on his shoulders and a well-functioning body, but he looked, moved and sounded like a monster from a dungeon.

There was no woman out there who could stand the sight of him, let alone sleep with him. His chances of returning to his true form were slim to none, so why even bother? 

Apart from the evil witch who blighted him with his current predicament, there was only one person who knew who he was under his purple skin: Elliot Osham. For his sake, Elliot had been bringing in ladies of all backgrounds, ladies who were known to be brave and strong in their communities, and not a single one of them had been able to bear the sight of Kyzar the monster. It was not easy, not when Elliot, too, was barred from communicating anything related to the curse – the slightest insinuation of it to an outsider, even if spoken in riddles, would throw Kyzar into hell.

Elliot was probably at his wits’ ends. For seven years, he had tried everything he could within the confines of the curse. He had tried boarding some of the ladies for a few weeks before Kyzar revealed himself, and nearly half of them had attempted suicide shortly after. He had tried hypnosis. He had tried putting a mask on Kyzar, but no mask could cover the array of thorns and spikes off the top of his head, and no clothes could hide his three-fingered hands and massive purple body. In his most benumbed and foulest moments, Kyzar had even been talked into exposing himself and masturbating in front of some of the women, with the hopes that they would see past his unseemly behaviour and into the so-called desperation behind his eyes, but it was all to no avail. Nearly two thousand women had been in and out of his manor, all of whom had reacted hysterically the moment they set their eyes on him. Not wanting innocent blood on their hands, Elliot would set them free without hesitation if they showed any signs of self-harm.

Only one lady remained in his castle now. According to Elliot, she had appeared out of nowhere, dressed in clothes completely unsuitable for their season, and more interestingly, not commonly seen in their territory. It was safe to assume that she had come from afar, without a chaperone, and like all other ladies, had not the slightest inkling of the true reason they were sent to his home. After countless failed attempts at breaking his curse, Kyzar did not care to hear about her or look her way. Elliot was trying too hard, vomiting out every speculation he had about this strange lady, as if it would miraculously propel Kyzar into giving a damn. His undying optimism was an nuisance like no other.

He said her name was Chrys, and that Chrys was a lady of very few words. 

You can just call her a mute. What could possess you to think that we would be able to connect when neither of us are capable of speech?

But Elliot was visibly excited about this girl. He had always been the sanguine one, the one who never gave up when Kyzar himself had long resigned himself to his fate, but he was also careful never to cross into unrealism. After all, having hope was very different from having faith. Yet, there was clearly something about this mysterious lady that had transformed Elliot’s positivity into blind confidence.

Just shut up already, Elliot. How special could this lady be? You’ve treated this castle like an inn, and there’s nothing to show for it. Give it a rest before I put you to rest.

Woe was life, when his butler still could not make heads or tails out of his gruff, inhuman sounds after all these years. He was still rambling on and on about how Chrys was nothing like the others before her.

So what if she’s different? Does that mean she’s going to have sex with me? Wake up, Elliot.

“You’re not even listening to me, are you, Your G? You don’t understand. She hasn’t asked about you! Doesn’t that tell you that she isn’t here for riches or status?”

Elliot was not wrong. Many of the ladies that walked through the doors had been under the impression that Huvestria castle was looking for its mistress, simply because news had gotten out that Elliot, with his severe lack of discreet techniques, was ‘on the lookout for robust and hardy ladies’. As a result, they were very forward in the way they conducted themselves, roaming the floors as if they owned every carpet and every room. Chrys, however, had not even tried to speak with Elliot, much less enquire about the master of the manor.

His butler’s optimism was rubbing off on him, and he was very displeased about it. If Chrys was not interested in the position of grand duchess, perhaps she was a genuine person, or perhaps she had other motives. Perhaps she was on the run, in need of refuge, and the places held no importance or relevance to her so long as they offered her safety and security. But, there was no denying it now, he was mildly intrigued by her. 

But getting a glimpse of her was hard. Many bids to have Chrys leave her room were fruitless. 

On her first day, Elliot did not call on her too early, figuring that she needed more rest after such a wicked night in the biting blizzard. He invited her to the dining room for lunch at noon, but she politely refused, requesting that a small plate be brought to her. Fearing that she would not eat at all if he insisted she come out, he had obliged. This went on for five days, until the lady decided to humour him and finally ate her first lunch at the dining table. After that, she had all of her meals there, but apart from that, she kept to her room all times of the day.

Mealtimes became the only time for Kyzar to observe Chrys in secret. Elliot was right about her. She rarely ever spoke, and when she did speak, she was gracious and sedate, only using the bare minimum of words to get her message across. Even after a week, she had asked no questions, not about the territory or the master of the castle she was living in. Kyzar did not know why she had travelled so far, only to pass her time in his castle doing nothing. Her behaviour was odd, and he was growing more suspicious that she might be a spy sent by the evil witch.

 If his misgivings about Chrys were true, it would make sense that she was not seeking him out because she already knew he was a monster. His jaw clenched, nearly severing his tongue in his rage. The witch had already ruined his life for the past seven years, and now she wanted to bask in the humiliation that she had casted over him through the eyes of a spy masquerading as a bride candidate. He would show Chrys that he was not one to be trifled with, that he still held his head high and proud regardless of the form he took.