This One is a Little Different – Writing Prompt Wednesday is All New!

Writing prompt Wednesday is a ton of fun and a decent amount of work too. All of that said, the overall response was for there to be more Writing Prompt Wednesdays so here we are!

This Writing Prompt Wednesday is going to be multi-part with a new 800 – 1,200 words released each Wednesday until the short story is complete. The last story was about 10 weeks of storyline and 10,000+ words. So here we go, strap in, and get ready for this fantasy romance short story.

If you weren’t here for the first round of Writing Prompt Wednesday, you can find all of those blog posts here: https://www.bluedandelionpress.com/category/writing-prompt-wednesday/

This short story is brought to you by a random Pinterest prompt I found where you roll dice for prompts and dialogue lines. I used a random wheel spinner to determine how this story was going to go:

Copyright: This Book Beauty, 2025

Note: this story has not been edited for publication; it was written on the fly as the nature of writing prompt Wednesday goes.

He was introverted by nature but anti-social from experience. For as long as he could remember, people had wanted to use him, his power. No one truly cared about a broken boy from a destitute nation; what could he do for them? His was a power that could turn the tides of war and sway kingdoms into and against alliances, a power that kings would kill for, had killed for. But Rohan learned early on that the kings who called the shots never had to answer to the grunts like him.

While he and the assembled strength of Agradell’s army sweltered under the midsummer sun, coated in layers of dust and blood, the kings sat on golden-threaded cushions, sipping expensive wines. They ate with cutlery gilded in precious metals and dined on plates set with uncut gems. The food they filled their bellies with was of the finest quality, not the worm meal the army choked down.

When he was given to Agradell, no more than a weapon of war exchanged in a trade bargain, Rohan had seen the wealth and hope. A kingdom with that many resources surely didn’t have starving subjects, surely they were all well cared for. His hopes had turned out to be just the dreams of a young boy, and in being wrong, Rohan’s soul had darkened just a bit more. He was first sent into the town at the base of the castle as a reminder and warning of the king’s might. By the time he was escorted back to his room in the castle turret, he was sick from the fear he’d swamped the villagers with.

They were fears he knew too well: hunger, pain, grief, one after another they succumbed to desperation and were killed for daring to rebel against the king or died without realizing freedom from their pain. It was the same everywhere he went and the same where he’d come from. He wanted to rage and bellow at the king and the sky and the world around him. But he’d done that before, only earning himself more pain and more chains. Anymore, Rohan didn’t dream, didn’t speak, and hardly existed at all.

He dressed silently in sturdy black leather, the king’s insignia on the upper left chest marking him as a member of the army and yet, other. The chains shackling him were invisible, but still, he felt the biting metal links as if they were really there. With or without the physical representation, he was stuck, a pawn regardless of whose crest he bore on his chest, a tool to be used by any kingdom he traveled to.

King Akar had something none before him had, the only thing that kept Rohan truly unable to lash out, the only thing he could never risk rising up and destroying the monstrosity of Agradell. Rohan wasn’t sure how the king had discovered her existence, especially since neither of them was originally from Agradell. Six years his junior, Jonelle had yet to be born when his father had tossed him into the muddy street to beg for survival. He hadn’t known about her until after he came to Agradell, angry and violent. His sixteen-year-old sister was the light to his dark, invoking hope in those around her.

The first time Jonelle had been forced to provide hope to someone, only to have Rohan shatter it later, she had nearly been broken. She’d fallen to the ground in heart-wrenching sobs Rohan would never forget.

He’d finally spoken, voice rusty from years of disuse, “Leave her be.”

The king had been furious, “You dare to give me orders?”

Rohan tilted his head, focusing beyond the king’s face and sneer, seeing instead the rot and infection that crawled beneath his skin, feasting on every healthy molecule of his being and leaving behind death and destruction, “You’re sick. Leave her be, and I shall remain in Agradell while your descendants continue to rule.”

King Akar scoffed, “You speak as if you have a choice.”

Rohan’s steady, dark gaze met his and held until the king shifted on his throne and finally agreed, “Fine, you remain while my descendants rule in Agradell, remain loyal to your kind and home, and Jonelle will be left alone to know every comfort.”

Rohan’s gaze met Jonelle’s teary eyes as she silently begged him to stay. Instead, he turned on his heel and left the throne room, his little sister a crumpled heap at the king’s feet.

He’d never forgiven himself for that; in the two years since, Rohan had seen Jonelle only a handful of times. She’d worked her way into the queen’s good graces, her power of hope a boon to the young queen. The king had kept his word, leaving Jonelle alone while he used Rohan to bring down destruction on all of the nation’s enemies.

Rohan’s soul darkened bit by bit, the jagged edges of it turned black and shriveled with every dying scream he mete out. Jonelle saw his pain, and the concern in her eyes nearly broke him. He barely visited the castle anymore, even when he had time. Seeing his pain reflected in her was a punishment he couldn’t take.

“Lord Rohan,” a foot soldier with vibrant red hair pushed through the tent flaps to stand before him. Rohan didn’t move, despite the urge to roll his eyes. The title, ‘Lord’ had been added to mock him, another link in the chains that bound him. His eyes flicked to the soldier who danced nervously on his feet, a silent request that he continue.

“We’re upon the village now,” the soldier gulped. Rohan nodded, and the gangly soldier left swiftly.

He sighed and rubbed a hand down his face, tired down to his marrow. His people, an ancient people from a mystical island only seen by outsiders once in a great while, were long-lived, sometimes living for hundreds of years. Knowing he’d bound himself to the horrible bloodline that ruled Agradell made him sick with exhaustion.

He left his tent, sword swinging at his side as he strode through the rows of tents. Those he passed avoided his gaze and backed away from him, reminding him once again why he walked such a quiet, solitary path. He came to stand beside General Maw, an older man with a face crisscrossed with scars. He wasn’t a terrible nice man, but he was fair enough for someone who rode in the army of King Akar.

“They sent out a girl,” General Maw spat in disgust.

Rohan took in the village before them, really no more than a shanty-town, homes built of rotted wood boards and rusted sheets of metal held together by hopes and dreams. Before the village stood a lone figure, her ragged dress blowing in the arid wind. . .

End First Writing Prompt Wednesday. So, what do you think? Drop a comment if you want to see this story go in any certain direction!