1 Chapter One: The One With The New Citizen

"Faggot!"

Amidst the clamor outside the formidable gates, a tumultuous revelation echoed through the Sick City, that enigmatic place of shadows and secrets.

An announcement, so powerful in its implications, rippled through the crowd like a tempest, bringing forth a cascade of derisive voices.

Alas, it was a soul who dared to embrace their truth, to be true to themselves, that stood at the heart of this commotion.

"Kill him!" The bellow of outrage rang forth, a stark proclamation revealing the new citizen's identity as a young boy.

As I peered out from my window, bewilderment and astonishment consumed me.

Amongst the throngs stood the majestic monarchs, the King and Queen, regal in their glory with crowns that sparkled like stars in the night sky, all behind this unexpected boy.

Awestruck, I descended to the ground, landing near Madison, who remained unfazed in her own idiosyncratic way.

"Look at the multitude," she remarked, her expression peculiar. "They hunger for him to leap off the cliff with great fervor."

Silent contemplation engulfed me as I gazed upon the pallid prince.

In this sorrowful ritual of banishment to the Sick City, enacted upon those who bravely revealed their true selves, a peculiar and disheartening tradition took root.

Hence, our city's populace remained scarce, for many succumbed to despair and self-inflicted demise, their first day, week, or month becoming their last.

Yet, this time was different; a throng of over a hundred souls stood behind the prince, including his very own parents, the King and Queen.

"Kill the abomination! He doesn't deserve to live!" A venomous cry arose from the crowd.

Stepping closer to the gate, I found myself near the forlorn figure. His eyes, however, gazed beyond the boundaries of our Sick City, fixed upon the imposing castle.

Amidst the agitated crowd, the resounding voice of King Arthur hushed them.

The monarch, regal and commanding, with brown hair adorned with hints of silver, and eyes of deep blue, clad in garments of opulence befitting the King of the Flame Kingdom, commanded their attention.

"Desmond Flame," Queen Angela began, reciting the same decree she had uttered countless times before with different names, "say you were sick, now you healed, and we shall free you."

"No." The prince's firm retort struck the gathering like lightning. Concealed behind a column, I watched as his resolute gaze met the Queen's.

Truly, Desmond was not the typical, docile prince one might expect.

With his light blond hair, almost as if kissed by the sun, and eyes of a soft azure hue, he cut a dashing figure.

But what set him apart was his courage to be authentic, to declare "I'm gay, and I am attracted to boys."

The ensuing scene left the assembly silenced in shock.

The Queen's hand met his cheek with a resounding slap, crimson evidence of the impact lingering on his skin. Blood trickled from a cut on the prince's lip, yet he held back tears.

"You disrespectful child!" Queen Angela's scolding resounded. Her eyes betrayed no warmth or affection, only pride befitting her royal station, as her delicate crown shimmered with the emblem of her kingdom.

"I'm sorry, my Queen." The rumors proved true; the prince addressed his parents as ordinary people would, with "my Queen" and "my King." "This is who I am."

In that moment, the truth lay bare before us. He was no coward, as whispers might suggest; he embodied bravery, resolute in his self-discovery. Now, he stood, his true self unveiled beneath the cumbersome crown that adorned his young head.

Yet, the ritual persisted, and the taunts resumed. "Kill him!" "Banish him!" And so they did, the royalty cast aside their own blood.

"You're no longer a member of this family," King Arthur declared, his tone harsh and unforgiving. "I will banish you to the Sick City, and hopefully your miserable life will end there."

"Say it!" The Queen's voice rose again, surprising the crowd once more. Clutching her son's shoulder, she shook him vehemently.

I glimpsed a single tear rolling down his pale cheek, hidden beneath his tousled hair.

"Say it was all a sickness! Say that it was all a mistake! You will not survive there!" Queen Angela's words reverberated, leaving the crowd in perplexed silence.

"Sorry, mother." Those words were sufficient grounds for the crowd to push him beyond the confines of the Sick City, into the abyss, as they hurled their burning torches into the chasm, enshrouding both sides in a wall of fire that would last a day.

I alone caught sight of a royal tear, a poignant testament to a banished prince's sorrow.

The Queen's visage displayed a lone tear, akin to her son's, yet her countenance remained cold, as if emotion had fled her soul.

The partition of fire, searing and relentless, sundered their paths, and she stood, an indifferent observer.

The intricacies of the royal family's bonds tugged at my mind, but my focus lay firmly on the forlorn figure before me.

Drawing closer, I couldn't help but be entranced by the glimmering light in his tear-filled eyes, shining like stars in the night sky.

An expression of stoic detachment draped his features, but the floodgates soon opened, and his tears cascaded freely.

I stood there, a witness to his anguish amid the pandemonium.

"The prince is gay," I spoke, acknowledging the truth that lay bare. The fire's crimson hue cast an ethereal glow upon his pallid countenance, radiating a spectral luminance.

"The Sick City can be harsh, yet if you dare endure, if you don't surrender to its depths, you may yet find a glimmer of solace." Mentally, I underscored the precariousness of hope in this forsaken realm.

His gaze bore into my very soul, and in that moment, an unspoken bond took root.

"I'm Elijah, by the way." He acquiesced to my outstretched hand, our fingers entwining like two halves of a forgotten melody, destined to meet once more.

"Desmond," he intoned softly, revealing his name. I resisted the impulse to jest about the obviousness of his identity, as something in his tearful gaze silenced my jests.

Curiosity compelled me to inquire further, "How do you fare amidst this life-altering tide?" As we treaded toward the main gate of the ancient castle, I knew he would follow. "You are part of the royal fold, and now..."

"Were," Desmond interjected, his voice trailing into a realm beyond my grasp. I halted, observing him as he stared intently at the castle before us.

It was as though his eyes saw through its stone facade, glimpsing the secrets veiled within. Then, he turned his gaze toward me, as if awakening from a distant reverie.

"Why did you pause?" he questioned, his tone a distant echo of his revelation.

Unaware of how much he had unveiled about his own transformation, he appeared like a child untethered from reality.

Yet, my tongue stilled, respecting the vulnerability he showed.

"It is of no consequence," I replied, resuming our journey. "You stand apart from the others," I noted, desiring to maintain a semblance of casualness while grappling with the weight of conversing with a prince, with Desmond.

The object of admiration, envied by many, he was a striking figure sought after by both girls and boys.

Yet, the allure of his beauty did not diminish the truth he embraced, that he was gay, a reality set apart from the expectations of the court.

Was I presumptuous to discern so much in but a few moments? An inner voice questioned my presumptions, yet the riddle he presented was captivating, an enigma with no easy answers.

"And now?" I inquired, observing the distance that seemed to shroud him. "Who do you hold close in this realm?"

"I hold myself," he responded, as if he were a secret, the key to which resided only within his own soul.

As the castle loomed large, an air of silence enveloped us, an interlude neither amiable nor uncomfortable.

We approached its grandeur, and I pointed toward the Sick City, making a dry observation, "Behold, the Sick City." Inwardly, I chided myself for stating the obvious, feeling rather foolish in the presence of Prince Desmond, a vision of desire for many hearts.

His gaze lingered on the castle, bereft of its former grandiosity.

I understood his trepidation, for within its walls lay a life of seclusion, distanced from all he had known, yet surrounded by those who, like him, sought solace in the shadows.

"Why?" Desmond mumbled softly, his voice like a gentle melody that tugged at my heart.

His confusion implored me to delve deeper into his thoughts.

How could someone be so cruel to a soul as kind as his? Did one's sexuality matter so much, that it warranted such harsh judgment?

"Why do we still call this place the Sick City? They may think us sick, but do we share the same belief? Why should we heed their rules?"

His questions struck a chord within me. I had never pondered such matters before.

We obediently followed the rules they imposed upon us, even though there was no one to enforce them, no one to arrest us for defying their decrees.

Our world, shaped by their misguided prejudices, perpetuated sadness, even in moments of joy.

Why did we acquiesce to their notions? Why did we continue to label ourselves as sick, and our city as such?

My silence was enough to answer his inquiries.

Desmond pushed the gate open, his countenance calm, but this time, I perceived the undercurrent of trepidation that lay beneath his façade.

He was a prince, still of royal blood in some capacity, and this foreign territory presented a daunting challenge for him.

As we ventured into the castle's garden, I recalled its humble origins, once ugly and unkempt.

Stories passed down spoke of the efforts by generations before us to transform it into a vibrant sanctuary.

Now, it thrived as a splendid realm of fresh air, green grass, and a kaleidoscope of colorful flowers.

"What is the name of this place?" Desmond's composure dissipated, revealing a joyful, emotive side.

He beheld the flowers and everything around him with wide-eyed wonder.

"It's called Ten Shades of Red." I offered the name with a sense of pride, though his fascination puzzled me.

After all, the King's castle was renowned for having the most magnificent gardens. Yet, he regarded this simple space with unbridled admiration.

"Why are you so excited?" I couldn't help but ask.

Regret coursed through me as soon as the words escaped my lips. Instantly, his demeanor shifted, the mask of calm returning, concealing the emotions beneath.

He reverted to the boy I had met a mere five minutes ago, yet it was evident that there was so much more to him, a depth that beckoned me to uncover.

"I rarely left my room," Desmond confessed dreamily, his voice laced with nostalgia.

It was a bittersweet symphony, impossible to decipher whether it conveyed sadness or joy, pride or disappointment.

His soft words compelled a desire to protect him, to keep him sheltered from the harsh world.

In this delicate boy, I saw the epitome of a prince, a wisdom far beyond his years.

I recollected the day I first laid eyes on him. He was said to be seventeen now, which meant that at the time, he was merely thirteen, while I stood at fifteen.

That day, etched in my memory, was the turning point that made me realize I was gay, all because of him.

My first longing in this world was for the allure of a man's touch.

"I saw you," I revealed as he rose, gracefully making his way towards the main door of the castle, adorned with red rose flowers by the skilled hands of the florist twins, Duke and Debra.

He looked at me, his eyes harboring curiosity. It seemed to be a frequent expression on his countenance.

"What do you mean?" he inquired, his soft voice akin to a captivating sonnet. It was as calming as a tranquil forest and as soothing as the melody of a waterfall.

An auditory embrace bestowed by nature itself, a gift from the divine.

"The day you ventured out of the castle," I replied, attempting to emulate his serene demeanor. In many ways, he was like a soothing balm amidst the chaos of our lives. "I saw you when you were outside the castle."

In that fleeting moment, I yearned to become that special person for Prince Desmond, despite my own uncertainty about how I truly felt about him.

I couldn't bear the thought of leaving such a pure soul like him alone in this unforgiving place. It had only been ten minutes since we first spoke, yet I was struck by the overwhelming sense that he was the most innocent person in the world, as pure as a newborn day.

"You did?" Despite his calm demeanor, I detected a flicker of shock in his voice, and I took pride in knowing that I had managed to create a chink in the formidable walls he had built around himself. Even if he didn't realize it, those walls were there, a shield to protect his vulnerability. "And you remember?"

I offered a wry smile to the prince. "Of course, no one could ever forget you. They all spoke about the sweet prince who freely conversed with people without expecting them to bow every single minute. A smiling prince whom they were delighted to have and eagerly awaited for him to ascend the throne with wisdom and grace."

His genuine smile waned, replaced by a sad semblance of one. "And I can only imagine how disappointed they were when they discovered my... secret."

My words seemed to stir regret within him, and I instantly wished I could take them back.

"Hey, little prince!" I called out suddenly, leading him towards one of the empty rooms while making sure to stay together.

The unspoken code among us dictated that we leave the newcomers to the guide until the next day. Thankfully, I had become the guide for our prince.

"Umm... Yeah?" He appeared taken aback by my sudden nickname and the urge to engage in conversation, and I found it utterly endearing.

His eyes gazed up at me, and once again, that inexplicable feeling washed over me – as if he could see through my very soul, reaching depths that no one else had explored.

"Why do you care about what people think?" I posed the question with a carefully crafted carefree tone, only to realize the folly of asking such a thing to someone with such an aura of wisdom.

Bravo, Elijah. Bravo.

I mentally cringed at myself, but Desmond seemed unperturbed by my question's lack of sophistication. He looked at me thoughtfully, as if searching for the right words to respond.

"I am a prince, Elijah," he said calmly, the way he pronounced my name causing my heart to skip a beat, or perhaps more.

In just fifteen minutes, he had managed to find his way under my skin and into my heart, a feat unnoticed by both him and me.

"Everyone expects me to embody perfection, to excel at everything. But the truth is, I am not flawless, nor will I ever be. They refuse to see it. Now, it feels surreal to know that all those who once showered me with praise and support now harbor resentment simply because I dare to be myself. But why should that matter?"

His eyes held profound sorrow and pain, and it pained me to bear witness to it. His soul was as pure as untouched snow, unblemished by the world's harshness. "Hey," I said softly, and he looked up at me, tears welling in his eyes, which he quickly blinked away.

"It's going to be okay. I promise that everything will eventually be fine. Maybe not tomorrow, not even in the next month or year, but the point is, someday it will be. I've known you for less than twenty minutes, and yet I can say without hesitation that you're the most beautiful and sweet-natured person I've ever encountered, and believe me, I've met countless people. I'm going to be here for you, if you'll have me."

Though he heard my voice as that of a friend, I was content as long as he felt comforted.

And then, to my surprise, he did something I didn't expect – he embraced me, wrapping his arms around me tightly, as if holding me for dear life.

At first, I was taken aback, but soon I recovered and hugged him back, understanding that he needed this – a person, a friend – to assure him that everything would be alright, and that loyalty would never waver.

I was more than happy to be that friend.

"Thank you, Elijah," he mumbled against me, his head barely reaching my chest, yet he fit perfectly against my body as if we were meant to be this way.

It felt like a cosmic connection had brought us together, and I didn't want to scare him away with my newfound but long-hidden feelings.

Then it hit me. From the very first moment I laid eyes on the prince, I liked him.

It was inexplicable, but there was an undeniable bond between us that seemed to complete each other's existence effortlessly.

We connected on a level that went beyond the short time we had known each other, as if fate had conspired to bring us together.

"Anytime, Des," I replied with a smile, having already given him a nickname in the brief twenty minutes we had known each other.

Yet, it felt like much more – as though I had known him my whole life, as if he had always been a part of my world, and I, a part of his.

He broke away from the embrace, wiping his eyes and pushing back the tears. "You know I don't cry that much," he managed a bitter laugh, but I understood.

Even for someone with a mentality as strong as him, this place could break anyone, and crying did not equate to weakness.

"No matter who you are, no matter how tough or cruel you may seem, this world will test you, and you will break down from time to time," I reassured him, knowing it to be true.

The Sick City did not spare anyone from its trials, and vulnerability was a part of being human.

He seemed embarrassed about his moment of vulnerability, so I didn't press the matter. Instead, I led him to his room, and by coincidence, it mirrored his personality in its simplicity and charm.

The light blue walls of his room matched the color of his eyes, and a cozy single bed occupied one corner, adorned with crisp white covers. The room had a basic desk and a long closet, providing the essentials for a comfortable stay.

"You know," Desmond suddenly spoke, his eyes taking in the room with mixed emotions. Amidst his gaze, I saw a glimmer of hope, surprising me yet again. "Maybe, just maybe, people don't hate us that much. This room is cozy and well-furnished. Perhaps they care more than we think."

I chose not to reveal that the materials were all sourced from the Sick City's land and that his parents had not contributed anything. I didn't want to shatter his hopeful outlook.

If he found comfort in the idea that people cared, I would let him hold onto that belief for now.

"You want to rest a little?" I asked, noticing his yawn as he settled on the bed. "It's been a long day. I'll be around here, so if you need anything, don't hesitate to come to me."

As I turned to leave the room, Desmond's hand caught my arm, halting me in my tracks. I turned back to look at him, and there was a faint blush on his cheeks, finally adding some color to his otherwise pale face.

"Can you stay?" he whispered, and though his words were soft, I understood their meaning.

He looked so adorable, but I wondered why he wanted me, of all people, to stay.

He was a prince, a dream for many, and he knew I was gay. Shouldn't he be worried about me doing something inappropriate?

"It's the first time I'm alone," he continued, his voice trailing off as he seemed hesitant to elaborate further. I nodded understandingly and offered a reassuring smile.

I settled down beside his bed, watching him drift off into peaceful sleep.

In just half an hour, I had grown protective of him, and I vowed to shield him from any harm that may come his way, for however long we shared this unexpected bond.