[TW: drinking, swearing, graphic depictions of gore and abuse]

I'm not gonna lie, I'm nervous as hell to post this. But I also think it's an excellent study of why Everett is not actually too bad guy (though he has made many mistakes), and what he would look like if he was. Not to mention, this is the first I've really felt inspired to write anything in a long time.

Prompt (courtesy of Millyna): What would your prince look like if he was evil?

So without further ado, the first chapter of Burning Ashes, rewritten.

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The maid's mouth was hot and needy as her lips trailed rough kisses down his neck. Her hands were roaming quickly, like she couldn't believe she was here, making out with the crown prince of Illéa. To be fair, the Prince wasn't exactly thrilled to be there.

Everett reciprocated half-heartedly, but even while he was getting what he wanted, he was longing for a cigarette or a drink, or something. Still, he had a feeling that the maid didn't notice how far away his mind was, simply content to enjoy herself.

She was certainly trying, that was for sure, and he gave her points for that. But for some reason, it just wasn't doing it for him today. He was bored and tired and stressed, and he was sorely regretting leading her on. This was quickly growing from listless, to vaguely uncomfortable for him, to downright unpleasant.

Her hands were bold, too bold, snaking past his waistband, and her skin was growing sticky and sweaty. Not to mention the heavy amount of heady perfume she was wearing. Everett hated perfume.

"Alright, get off," he said tiredly.

She didn't seem to hear him, moaning and grinding up against him. His temper spiked and he grabbed her wrist in a vice-like grip. She squeaked and stiffened like a board, jumping away from him like his skin had become molten-iron.

He eyed her disgustedly. "You're boring. And you smell like my great aunt. Go away."

The maid straightened her dress, tears pooling in her eyes. "Y-Yes sir. I'm sorry, sir–,"

"What is going on here?" A booming voice cut her off and two gazes turned to the doorway, one of fear, one simmering over with hate.

Everett glared at the floor as his father paced back and forth in front of him. His rumpled shirt was untucked, four buttons undone, and he was barefoot.

A glance at the mirror to his left showed his hair was sticking up awkwardly and numerous hickeys ran down the column of his throat and his chest, standing out starkly against his pale skin.

The king stopped in front of his son, face taut with rage. His mouth opened several times, but he still didn't speak, as if he didn't trust himself to. Everett's pulse was running wild, as he sensed an oncoming storm from the man. Maybe this time, he had finally pushed things too far.

"What on earth possessed you to sleep with the maid, boy?" Jonathan spoke quietly, voice trembling with anger.

Everett remained silently sullen, glaring up at his father. To be fair, she wasn't his most esteemed romantic partner, but she had been enthusiastic.

"Answer me!" Jonathan roared, backhanding Everett across the face so hard he stumbled. White-hot pain flared at the contact and he bared his teeth.

"None of your business, old man," he growled back through gritted teeth.

Jonathan's eyes flashed. Another crushing blow sent Everett tripping into the wall. Spots flared in his eyes, and he blinked to clear his vision, trying to swallow the pain.

His hand flew up to touch his throbbing jaw, already, he was sure, blooming with a bruise.

"You want to repeat that?" Jonathan dared, voice rumbling low like thunder.

"I said, none of your fucking business!" Everett retorted, louder, spitting blood at Jonathan, who recoiled.

"Shut your goddamn mouth, you insolent child!" Jonathan shouted, spittle flying.

Everett laughed mirthlessly and spread his arms. "The fuck you gonna do about it, huh? Come at me, Your Majesty!"

Faster than he could blink, his head was being slammed into the wall. He slumped to the ground, groaning.

"You're not worth my time, scum," Jonathan spat, crouching over Everett's prone form. "But I've thought up a solution. If you insist on sleeping with every female in the castle, drinking yourself into the gutter, smoking three packs a day, and directly disobeying my orders not to, I have to take action."

Everett's jaw clenched and he immediately regretted the action as a spike of pain shot through the left side of his face.

"You're a lazy man-whore, and a despicable mess. You're a disappointment to your country and your mother," Jonathan jeered, lips curling up slightly. The sadistic asshole was taking pleasure in this.

"You think I care?" Everett snarled. "I'll kill you, old man."

"What did you say to me, boy?" In an instant, Jonathan had grabbed him by his shirt front and slammed him into the wall. The impact knocked the wind right out of him, and the younger man wheezed. Blood filled his mouth, and he smiled coldly, feeling crimson leak between his teeth.

Everett stared up at his father with half-lidded eyes, smirking despite the frothing blood trailing down his chin. "Watch your fucking back, Pops."

If fear went through Jonathan's eyes, he recovered quickly.

"Here's what you're going to do. You're going to shut up and do what I tell you, or take fifty lashes," his father snapped, leaning forward. "You're going to have a Selection."

And with that, Everett's life began to end.

Everett stalked down the hall, an ice pack to his face.

Fury radiated off every line of his body, and he held the pack to his face with his shoulder as he rummaged around in his pocket for a cigarette.

His fingers shook, making it difficult to take out, but he succeeded after a moment and he lit it quickly.

The first drag had the most effect, and the tension faded from his shoulders. Everett exhaled a plume of smoke and reached back up to hold the ice pack to his bruise.

He slowed in the hall, all the rage draining away with his second drag.

Everett started walking slowly to his room, feeling three hundred years old. His shoulders slumped with exhaustion, and he rubbed his eyes.

Everett's eyes flickered up as he noticed a figure standing in front of his door.

It was his brother, Cal. Perfect Cal, Father's favorite, Cal. Cal who took after their mother, with his quiet nature and gentle tendencies. Cal who was sweet and intelligent and put-together, always. Easy-to-like, kind Cal. Everything Everett was not.

Despite the pain, his guard went up immediately, and he straightened. Everett's teeth pulled back over his teeth in a snarl, and he advanced menacingly.

"What do you want?" He spat, scowling threateningly.

Cal shrank back, obviously afraid, and rubbed the back of his neck. He was a little shorter than Everett, and definitely slimmer, his narrower frame caving in the closer Everett came.

"I-I heard about the Selection. I just- wanted to say I'm sorry," Cal mumbled, not meeting his eyes.

Everett sneered. "What do you care? You're probably thrilled some girls will be in the house."

Cal reddened and he looked away. "No, no. It's your Selection, I would never-,"

"Just admit it," He scoffed. "I don't blame you. You get less action than those books you read. You gotta be pretty fucking desperate."

"I'm sorr-,"

"Retard," Everett snapped, giving Cal a hard shove. His brother staggered back, and Everett snickered.

Cal made a move to escape, but he seized the younger by the wrist, easily twisting him into a half-nelson. Cal struggled, but Everett easily kept him in his merciless grip.

"Admit you're a fucking virgin who's trying to creep in on my Selection," he drawled lazily around the cigarette in his mouth.

"Everett, please–,"

Amusement flashed to rage in a second. "Admit it, freak!"

Cal was gasping in pain as Everett applied pressure to his pinned arm. "I'm a virgin trying to creep in on your Selection, I'm sorry, I'm sorry–please let me go–please–,"

"Whatever," Everett said, rolling his eyes as he let go. "Go crawl back into your hole, you pathetic shitstain."

The younger was gone in a blink.

The door slammed behind him as he entered his bedroom and Everett was left in silence at last.

He massaged his temples and reached for a glass and a bottle of whiskey.

"What a dilemma," he murmured to himself, as he looked between the bottle and his cigarette. How pathetic it was he was genuinely having trouble deciding.

He put the cigarette between his teeth and took a drag as he poured the whiskey into a small glass. The amber liquid flashed gold under the light, and he sighed in anticipation.

Everett put out his cigarette in the ashtray on his bedside table and gulped down a mouthful of whiskey.

Sweet mother above, he hated himself. Everything. His father. God, he didn't even know what he hated anymore.

More importantly, he didn't know what he liked anymore.

A knock sounded at the door, and he growled, lifting his head. The last thing he wanted right now was some stupid maid coming in to try and clean. He reached for a paperweight to lob at any intruder. "No one enters!"

"Everett, please," came a soft, musical voice, and Everett hesitated, putting the paperweight down.

"The fuck do you want," he demanded.

Queen Oriana Schreave entered, pale blue eyes watching him warily. Her blonde waves cascaded neatly around her face, and her posture was as immaculate as always. Lines framed her eyes and mouth, but other than that, she hadn't aged much since his father's Selection.

His mother closed the door behind her quietly and took a few hesitant steps forward, wringing her hands anxiously

"It's not so bad," Oriana said softly. "Maybe a Selection will be good for you."

Everett laughed bitterly. "Oh, so you're picking his side, huh?"

"Well, I think it might be a good chance for you to get out and meet some people," Oriana commented, shrinking away.

"Get out?" Everett mocked cynically. "I'm not getting anywhere. In fact, I'd be shocked if I ever left this castle. God, I hate this place."

"You will be King someday, Everett," she reminded him. "You may do whatever you want when you are king."

"Nah, dear old dad will have me killed before then," Everett smirked, setting the glass down. "Then that little fucktard down the hall can take over, and all of Dad's little dreams will come true."

"Don't speak about your brother that way," Oriana chided. "You and Callum should stick together. All brothers should."

Everett glowered at her. "Yeah? And moms shouldn't let their sons be abused, so I guess we're both fucking failures."

The words died in her mouth and she looked guiltily to the side. "Everett, we've talked about this. There's nothing I can do to stop him. He… Jonathan is the king. The abuse laws can't touch him, even if I did tell someone. And that's on the miniscule chance anyone believed me."

"Don't feed me fucking excuses," Everett snarled. "You're so full of shit. Hope you're not expecting pity from me, you bitch."

Oriana nodded quietly and got to her feet silently. She began to leave, but stopped in the doorway, looking back at him with sadness in her glacial eyes.

"Ev, during the Selection..." Oriana trailed off and Everett cocked an eyebrow.

"I don't give a shit what you want, just so you know."

"I know, I know. But– I want you to try and keep an open mind," she said quietly. "There are some nice girls out there, and I want you to give them a chance."

"Fuck off," he said incredulously. "If you think you're in any kind of position to ask favors, you're sorely wrong."

She nodded, but took a deep breath. "And– And another thing, I'd like you to try and stay sober while the girls are here."

"No fucking way. If I can't get a drink during this fuckfest, I'll commit a homicide," he laughed cruelly. "I don't give a shit if I ruin the royal image."

"That's not why," Oriana said pleadingly. "I just think it's a good opportunity for you to begin to... shape up a little. All these things you do, they'll kill you before your father does."

Everett's crossed his arms. "Again, don't tell me what to do."

"Everett," Oriana said softly. "You want to outlive your father, don't you? You want to be king?"

His eyes narrowed. "Bold of you to assume I want to live in any world my father has touched."

She sighed in defeat and made to leave.

"But I'll consider it, if you tell me something. When are they announcing the Selection?"

"Tonight, on the Report," his mother said.

Everett swore profusely and his fists clenched.

"I think Jonathan was eager to get things moving. But it will be fine. Please be sober on the show tonight," Oriana said, eyes begging.

"Get the fuck out."

"Ev-,"

"Get the fuck out!" He roared, whipping around throwing the paper weight at her. It crashed into the threshold, leaving a considerable dent.

Oriana's flashed with terror and she turned on her heel and fled, tears rolling down her cheeks.

As if she had the right to cry over him. Everett knocked back the remainder of the whiskey and prayed for a missile to obliterate everyone in this whole cursed castle.

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Feel free to share any thoughts with me on this. To be clear, this is an AU of Burning Ashes, and does not fit into the canon work.

Unrelated: If you'd like to see a much happier oneshot series for BA, go read tyozzie123's Family Time series. It's a lot happier than this.

See you on the next chapter of Burning Ashes!