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Chapter 45 - Chapter 45. The Prince Peacock & Pawn

Chapter 45. The Prince Peacock & Pawn

Prince Chaitav of the Peacock Clan had always craved a mate unlike himself — not one whose plumage matched his own vibrant colors, nor the muted beige that marked the female harpies of his clan, but a contrast so stark it would turn every head in the court. To him, beauty demanded opposition... to dare to stand out from the norms imposed on what was or was not a suitable aesthetic.

For years, the idea had haunted him: a Raven or Dove mate, black or white feathers set against the shimmering greens and golds of his own. A partner whose very presence would magnify his brilliance, without being dull, boring and mute in colour or shade of brilliance herself. Anything less was unthinkable. Anything less was a personal insult to his vision of perfection.

When word reached him that Queen Nox of the Raven Court was accepting noble and royal bachelors to be considered for her daughters' mates, Chaitav discarded any thought of a Dove. His focus sharpened on the Raven princesses — and most of all on Seraphina, the elder twin.

He devoured everything he could learn about Raven customs, the structure of the kingdom, and the private details of Seraphina's life - but he forgot to read up on how strictly they uphold their laws and what was or was not a crime.

He had studied maps of the capital until he could navigate its streets in his mind. He analyzed her mannerisms from secondhand accounts, even commissioning a black-and-white garden in his own estate to lure her should she, or her sister, ever visit. An opportunity that was now most likely never going to happen. 

Of all people, why would they visit him? Why would they even want to come to the Peacock's Valley?

All because his fascination and desire curdled and stewed until it festered into something darker. His admiration became fetishism; his romantic fantasy, an obsession. He saw only the external — the sleek feathers, the dignified bearing — and none of the heart beneath. Love became secondary to the need for contrast, shade, for the satisfaction of possessing something rare to the Peacock's even if it would be deemed ugly. That 'IT' he thought of, was the place his mind held for the figment of a mate he'd never obtain. Never seeing them as a person, and more as a possession, or accessory for him. 

Queen Charula Rajdevan, his mother, at first dismissed his fixation as a youthful eccentricity. It was a phase many young male harpy had and they all usually chose one different culture or another. She had laid many clutches for the Peacock King, and while Chaitav was not her only child, he was the only one who harbored this consistent, extreme and strange aversion to his own kind.

Over time, she even indulged it — quietly seeking monochrome noblewomen from allied courts to placate him. Give him hope of a mate, and the Doves considered but they quickly dismissed the strange request for a political betrothal. It would have just been too strange for them.

His father, the Peacock King, chose silence and blindness to it all. To acknowledge a flaw in the second heir was to show weakness and failure in the bloodline.

Only Solomn, the Eurasian Eagle Owl harpy who served as Chaitav's advisor, dared voice concern. He warned the prince that obsession clouded judgment, that no mate — Raven, Dove, or otherwise — would tolerate being reduced to an ornament.

Chaitav ignored him.

Solomn's cautionary tone only fueled his defiance.

The Prince withdrew from his own people, shunning female Peacock harpies entirely.

Their beige plumage repulsed him now, a daily reminder of what he did not want. He spent more and more time in the black-and-white garden, imagining Seraphina, having believed he had never met Sephora, walking at his side. At times, he even pictured both of the servant girls he had gotten too carried away with, walking with him in his gardens.

His contempt for his own kind deepened, hollowing him out until even his moments of triumph rang empty.

Then came the disaster. His behavior in the Raven Court — arrogance and heinous recklessness perpetrated, given that it was veiled as courtship — led to utter rejection and public humiliation not only in the Raven Kingdom.

He had not only failed to charm Seraphina; he had earned her disdain.

Back in his chambers, pacing like a caged predator, Chaitav tried to imagine how his Father and older brother would react when they heard. His wings hunched high, trailing the floor like a storm cloud, he could almost hear the disappointment in Queen Charula's voice.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts.

"Enter," he snapped.

Solomn stepped inside, bowing slightly. "Your Highness. I understand the Raven Princess has declined your… suit."

Chaitav's eyes narrowed. "Declined?" he hissed. "Humiliated me, Solomn. Laughed in her heart while I stood before her."

"Perhaps," Solomn said evenly, "because you approached her as a prize to be won, not a person to be known."

Chaitav's temper flared. He seized a vase and hurled it at the Owl harpy. Solomn caught it midair with unshaken calm.

"You dare lecture me? You, who failed to give me the counsel I needed?"

"I gave you the truth," Solomn said. "It was not what you wanted to hear."

Chaitav froze, fists clenched. Deep down, he knew Solomn was right. But pride, as always, came first. "Fine," he said through his teeth. "Then tell me what to do now."

Solomn's amber eyes gleamed. "I have a plan. It will require patience… and cunning."

Chaitav's suspicion warred with his curiosity. "Go on."

The Owl harpy stepped closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. The prince listened, and slowly, a smile — thin and dangerous — curved his lips.

He did not know that Solomn's loyalty had already been sold. That every careful word was shaped by King Easton, ruler of the neighboring Eurasian Harpy Kingdom — a man who saw Chaitav not as a prince, but as a pawn.

When Solomn left, Chaitav stood alone, gazing out over his moonlit garden.

The Raven Princess thought she could reject him? She would learn.

What he did not see — what he could not see — was that the board had been set, the pieces already moving. And he was not the player he imagined himself to be.

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