I'll Wait - Tumblr Posts

I think it's time for another Jeffrey appreciation post/art reblog. Just look at this handsome man! Such a wonderful masterpiece! 😍

Jeffrey at the diner

he’s looking for potential victims too

“I want you forever even when we’re not together.”

You kept a shirt of mine, one that I know of, but I hope you kept more. I hope you never give it back. I hope you want to wear all my clothes again. Because not only do you look SO damn good in them, they’re still all yours. I’m still yours. And I want you. I love you.

Idk why but this scared the ever loving shot outta me.

The Accidental Princess (Part 13)

Prince Kit x Reader

Synopsis: A contract has been found after twenty years, bearing your name and the Prince Kit's... bound in matrimony.

Chapter Synopsis: Decisions are made and consequences are faced

Word Count: 14.8k words

Warning: angsty angst, violence, mentions of death and blood and murder, death, blood, killings, very bad sword fighting, period-typical misogyny, chapter synopsis makes no sense tbh :/ , ends in a bit of a cliffy :( it's Reader and Kit's Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Days

A/N: hello, my lovely lovely people. Here we are, the penultimate chapter. It's been a long time coming. I apologize to everyone who's waited for quite a while but good news is the Epilogue is coming in a few days! I hope you had fun reading this story as I had writing it. As always, I love your comments and thoughts. Please don't forget to leave them! Enjoy Part 13!

Main Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Epilogue

Louis was livid.

It was two days after the Zaragozan royals had left that he had learned of it. He barged into your room quite suddenly, looking very angry, which surprised Abigail and had her scurrying from your chambers. He looked harried, his face pinched together as though he had partaken a sour lemon, and his shoulders were tight and raised as though he was ready to charge through anything. He looked dangerous, which was a rare sight for the usually benign, charming duke.

You felt the guilt of keeping it from him. Perhaps if you had told him, it would have prepared him for the emptiness he would feel. Or perhaps it would push him into action and beg her to stay. Or maybe it would make him accept that he and Princess Chelina were not meant to be.

No. You do not believe the last possibility. Fate brought them together for a reason.

“She’s gone,” he growled.

He stood at one end of your chambers, overlooking the world outside your windows. He wore a frown, so unsightly in his handsome face, and he looked as though he aged a decade since you last saw him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Chelina. She and her parents left for Zaragoza two nights ago.” He sighed sadly now and made his way towards the seat Abigail vacated in her haste. “She did not even bid me goodbye.”

You looked down on the needlework that was on your lap and feigned being earnest in your inspection of it. “Ah.”

“You do not sound surprised.” The chair scraped against the floor harshly. “Why can’t you look at me? You knew, didn’t you? You knew they were leaving and you did not tell me?”

The betrayal in his voice prompted you to look up, into his sad wide eyes that regarded you with part-anger, part-confusion, and part-pain. Your heart clenched in your chest.

“It was not mine to tell,” you said sadly.

Louis hung his head as he sat heavily on the seat. He threw his face in his hands and groaned an agonizing sound before he looked at you. The betrayal had gone but there lingered the sadness in them.

“What else did she tell you, pet?” he asked. “Has she mentioned me?”

You thought back to your conversation with Chelina. She did have mentioned him innumerable times, of what she found attractive in him, of why she loved him, and if given the chance to, why she would choose him, but you held yourself from telling him. Louis would think of it as betrayal that you did not share it in confidence with him.

“She only told me she could not bear to say her farewells to you,” you said instead, gauging his reaction. He remained stoic and unmoving in his seat. “And she did say her parents would find her another prince for her to marry.”

He made a face of disgust. “Royals and their penchant of marrying off their children like they are prized chattel. She did not fight them?”

You shook your head sadly. “No. I think she’s resigned herself to her fate as a princess.”

He turned his attention to the outside of your window. He drummed his fingers absently against the armrests, anxious-sounding taps as the time went on. You tried busying yourself with the rest of your needlework, waiting for him to initiate the conversation.

“Do you think,” he started and you looked up at him. “Perhaps we were never meant to be? She was engaged to Kit, then she was not, and now she is to be for someone else.”

It was not what you were expecting from him. You raised a brow to ask for elaboration. He gave it.

“Perhaps I misread her friendliness for her deeper affections? Maybe she was lonely in a foreign land and you had always said I was charming. Maybe she only liked me for my charms and openness and not for any other reason?”

You frowned now. There was never a time the Duke of Granville doubted his actions. Louis always walked with a sure swagger, was always popular with the ladies, and not once was he denied of whatever it was he wished for. It was not because he was commanding or that he bore the loftiest title in all of the kingdom after his cousin, but because he was charming and good and kind and everything that made him Louis.

“Or perhaps she thinks I am only a lowly duke. I toured her around Granville, had even given her one of the most important paintings in the Hall, and gloated at its extensive history and for what? She is likely laughing at how stupid and besotted I am with her.” He grumbled.

“Louis.” You wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that Chelina adored and loved and was equally besotted as he was with her, but he only prattled on.

“And to think I had given her a painting from my private collection!” He said with passion, which earned another raised brow from you. “You know how notorious I am for not sharing my art, pet, not even a peek of it and off she goes, leaving me and leaving the painting as though it had no value to her!”

You had no idea of his giving her a painting. He was a great lover of art and to share any of them was akin to bearing the naked truth of himself to the other person. “Louis,” you tried again, sterner this time. He did not heed.

“Maybe she only thought me a friend?” He sobered this time. “I am—was her betrothed’s cousin and perhaps she merely made friendly acquaintances with his family but—”

“Good god, Louis! Will you stop your prattling!” You exclaimed. It was exhausting to hear him utter baseless nonsense.

Your outburst made him frown at you and you knew it was only in offense of your interruption. “Forgive me, pet, but I was in the midst of a love crisis.”

You sighed. Always dramatic, Louis.

“And if she resigned herself to her fate, then there is nothing I can do.” he continued in that forlorn tone of his.

“If you think that, then you are indeed stupid.” you scolded.

“Y/N!” There was no anger in his face, only disbelief that you called him such. If he were any other noble, you would have been tried for your insolence. But this was Louis and his happiness mattered to you. If he resorted to calling himself stupid for bearing the consequences of other people’s choices, then he was bound to be one.

“Will you truly wallow in self-pity, duke?” you asked, irked and, frankly, miserable for him.

“What is there to be done? Chelina is gone. She decided she will heed her parents’ words.” He looked at you squarely in the eye. “I am nothing but the lowly Duke of Granville—”

“You are Kit’s cousin.”

“Hardly matters. I’ve no royal title.”

“Your mother was a princess.”

“My father was a duke.”

“You are still a member of the royal family.”

“I still do not have a royal title.”

Your brows flattened across your head. “Are you going to counter everything I say?”

“Were you going to tell me you knew she was leaving?”

You sighed sadly, repentant. “I’m sorry, Louis. I did ask her if she would want me to convey her goodbyes for her but she did not know what to say.”

“Any farewell would have sufficed.” He grumbled and sighed, rubbing his chest. “Mi Corazon. Did you know she called me her heart?”

Your own heart ached in your chest. You did not like seeing Louis as such, looking far too forlorn and helpless. Chelina was right; this was not him.

“Heart. And you think it a vital organ. Apparently, I am not vital enough for her.” He scoffed scornfully. “It did not matter to her that my own heart would hurt at her leaving.”

Oh, but it did, you longed to say. It is why I cannot tell you. She did not want you to be hurt, even if she did inadvertently hurt you by not saying goodbye. “Louis.”

“Did I assume? We never told each other of our affections but I felt it. It was something intangible, something unnameable, something wonderful between us. Or was it only for me?”

You opened your mouth to speak but Louis continued on.

“I should have seen it, you know? Should have interpreted how she had been acting the past week. I had seen how reserved she had been since you awoke. I thought she only worried for your health and hysterics—” you frowned as you were not predisposed to hysterics and that moment had been the result of a great anxiety “—but perhaps she had already planned her departure. Her music had become melancholier in the past days and—”

“Instead of going on like you are Shakespeare’s lovelorn Hamlet, do you not think it better if you were to act on it?” You managed to interject through his ramblings.

He looked offendedly at your comparison of him to the playwright’s tragic character but did not say anything else of it. “Act on it? Pet, they have left the kingdom. How would I act on it if they are not here?”

You quirked a brow—again—in disbelief that he could not see the obvious. “There is a ship. The seas are calm.”

“I have Granville to think of—”

“You have a capable steward and one of your unmarried sisters has a head for numbers and for managing estates.”

“But her parents—”

“Louis,” you said with a frustrated sigh. “You are the charming Duke of Granville. You had said it yourself. You can charm her parents into choosing you for her.”

He seemed to consider your idea but to only shake his head after much deliberation. “I am not a prince.”

“And I am not a princess but your cousin fought for me.” You told him matter-of-factly. “If you love her—truly love her—then you would not be making these flimsy excuses at me. You will be on your way to Zaragoza, thinking of what to tell her parents to convince them that you are both deeply in love with each other.” You looked at him seriously, eyes narrowed as you watched his face. “You are in love with her, am I right, Louis?”

“Yes,” he answered desperately. “I would not be losing my mind if I do not.”

It was all the answer you needed. “Then, go. Convince them that you are as worthy as any other prince—worthier than them because you love their daughter and that she loves you in return.”

If he noticed what you had said, he did not comment on it. “Pet,” he said, sighing. “I cannot—”

“Cannot or will not? There is a stark difference, duke, and I would so hate to school you of it.”

He made a face at you. “Is this how you speak to my cousin?” he asked in jest.

You sobered, smiling and knowing you had made your point across. “Your cousin thinks me faultless.”

“He has lost his senses, then.” He sat on your bed, taking hold of your hands. His were cold and damp and you knew he was nervous. He said as much. “What if I am not successful?”

You watched him—the face of the man who had once been willing to marry you to save you from ruin after your divorce, who constantly forgave you for your misgivings and wanted nothing in return. You watched the lines that marred his skin as he frowned in distress.

“I do not know, Louis, but I know the heartbreak will stay in you forever. I know the wound will be fresh for quite some time before it will scar and leave a mark. And that mark, you have no other choice but to look at it fondly because those had been the best days of your life.” You freed one of your hands and touched the curled hair that fell on his forehead. “But do not look back at it with regret because you know, in your heart, you know you have tried.”

He sighed, a piteous sound of defeat. You would not have that.

“Show them you love her, Louis. Show them that you had been willing to traverse the seas just to prove your devotion to her. They may be monarchs, but they are parents to her first and they will always want what is best for her.”

“And if that does not suffice, I will show them my wealth.” he said in an unconcerned tone.

You chuckled. “Tell them you are a descendant of King Midas.”

“But still not a prince.”

You rolled your eyes at him, to which he laughed. “A prince may be what they want, but a duke is what she needs.”

You pushed a wayward strand of hair from his forehead, watching the emotions as they flitted across his face. He was doubtful at first, before he became hesitant, and eventually resolute.  All you wanted was happiness for your dearest friend. Louis deserved it for his kindness and goodness.

He brought your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles earnestly. “Thank you, pet,” he said sincerely, smiling at you will all the brotherly love he held for you.

“No. Thank you, Louis.” You told him with brevity, heart swelling with your gratefulness for him.

“What for?”

“For trusting me.”

He squeezed your hand. “Surely, you must know I trust you with my life.” He kissed your knuckles again before pulling away and heading for the door.

“I wish you all the success and happiness in the world, Your Grace.”

His smile was incandescent and determined when he left.

If the past week had been dreadfully dull, the following days were much duller. Louis seemed to have taken the life of the palace with him. With his sudden departure, Kit had to spend more time in the Study to take care of kingdom matters. He had been arriving late to your rooms every night, always apologizing for his tardiness, even though you had told him you were the cause of it—and you apologized equally profusely for it. He would send Captain Thibault daily to your room to see if your needs were met, to which you would then invite the Captain to spend time with Abigail. Neither protested at your suggestion.

The physician had arrived one afternoon and had inspected you. He had deemed you safe from any health dangers and his only concern had been the healing of your foot. He had taken out the splint to see how it had healed but the moment it had been twisted, the pain that shot from your ankle was unlike any other and you cried at once when you felt it. Despite how cumbersome the splint had been, you begged to have it returned. The man thankfully heeded your pleas but suggested that you walk about the room for at least a few paces a day. Doing anything beyond the corners of your bed was favorable to you and every day, you and Abigail treaded the length of your room. It was how Kit found you one evening.

He stood on the threshold of your room, smiling encouragingly as you tried to return from the fireplace to your bed.

“The idea of walking in the gardens with you soon excites me, my love,” Kit said as he took Abigail’s place beside you.

He snaked his arm behind you, supporting your back and holding on to your hip. His other hand grasped yours. You leaned to him, felt the heat from his body as he slowly led you back to your bed. He smelled of old books and sweet cherry firewood, perhaps from all the time he spent inside the Study. It was a comforting sort of scent, especially when it mingled with an essence that was uniquely his.

“Not too soon, I’m afraid,” you told him. “I can only add one pace a day to my exercise. The physician forbids me from going beyond my capabilities.”

“It is not beyond me to carry you when you tire from walking.” Kit smiled as you felt yourself flush.

You chuckled. “Oh, I have no doubt you would do that, my love.” You walked carefully, one step at time and you marveled at his patience with you. “How was your day?”

He set you down on your bed and lifted your legs carefully atop it. He pulled the covers to your lap and sat on his chair, sighing contentedly.

“Not much has changed since yesterday. There is still a lot of matters to settle.” He smiled ruefully at you. “Tomorrow, I fear I will be called upon quite early. Father is still not well and I must take over more of his duties.”

You nodded, understanding. “Of course. Do what you must, Kit. I understand you are needed by the people. I shall be here, patiently awaiting your return.”  

He smiled gratefully, albeit it did not reach his eyes. Conversation was scarce but it did not deter either of you to remain in each other’s company. Kit was content in watching the fireplace, sometimes asking you of mundane things. You attempted to finish the last picture in your embroidery while replying to some of his questions. You basked in the domesticity of it, felt how natural it was for the two of you to just be with each other without pretenses. There was no need to fill the silence with pompous chatter nor was there a need to delve into deeper topics. Whatever that came to mind was what you both talked about, even if it meant naming a hypothetical newborn foal the most outrageous names you could think of.

Kit slept ahead of you that night and you allowed yourself to watch him. The serenity on his face made him look younger than his current years and you smiled when your mind conjured a picture of a beautiful, little boy with Kit’s curls and his magnificent ocean eyes. A jolly face and bright smile. His eyes, much like his father’s, shone with wisdom and intelligence, one you often saw in the prince. And he—You stopped short before it went any further.

No, you told yourself firmly. No. Remember that while you and Kit love each other, it is his father’s command that must be heeded. Kit was still a prince and you, a commoner. He was to wed a princess, as per his father’s wishes. Despite the hope that flared deep in you at the memory of Kit defending his love for you, you knew you and he were not meant to be.

You slept with that depressing thought in your heart.

The next day, you busied yourself with hobbies when you did not want to engage Abigail in small talk. You found enjoyment in reading the history of your kingdom and its many laws, of the past monarchs and how they had shaped the kingdom to what it was now. You had pushed all sorrowful thoughts with regards to yours and Kit’s future aside, knowing well it would not do you any good. To dwell upon them was torture and you were in enough pain as it was.

You were reading upon King Alphonse’s victory against a former neighboring territory when Abigail went to open the door. You looked up to see her execute a deep curtsy, head bowed as she addressed the person across from her.

“Your Majesty,” she revered.

The king entered your chambers, looking every bit out of place in your simple room, and walked across towards you. You closed your book and cast it aside, moving slowly to get out of bed to curtsy. Only, he held up a hand to stop you and shook his head.

“The physician told me you are still recovering from your injuries. I understand if you cannot curtsy,” he said in a gravelly voice.

You nodded and opted to bow deeply from your bed. “Your Majesty.”

When you straightened, you found the monarch standing by your window, looking out of it and to the gardens below. The clouds had cleared from the sky and the sun shone through, bathing your room in cozy, warm sunlight. The gardens were beautiful around this time of day, you knew.

From your position on the bed, you watched the king silently. He had a faraway look upon his face, pensive and sorrowful that your heart clenched at the sight of it. Like how you had seen Kit when you awoke, the king’s face was also gaunt and his skin paler than when you last remembered it. He stooped now, knowing it was not because of his age but what he had gone through such short time. He was still regal, however, and you wondered if Kit would look like his father at that age.

The king was silent for a while, only staring out of the gardens. He sighed but did not speak, eyes still cast on the beautiful grounds that surrounded the palace. You made no move to take up your book; only patiently waited for him to address you.

“I confess,” he started and cleared his throat. He did not turn to look at you. “I confess I do not know how to broach the subject.”

You did not either, and so you remained quiet.

“I ought to thank you for uncovering the truth of my wife’s death. All of us believed she died of natural causes but…” He left his thought at that.

You did not need elaboration because you understood. “You do not owe me any thanks, Your Majesty. It was the right thing to do.”

He nodded. You waited for him to address you again. You would have offered him tea and biscuits but his somber mood and reflective appearance made you reconsider disturbing him for refreshment.

“Have you been to the gardens?” he asked you suddenly.

“I have, Sir, yes.” you replied.

“My wife loved the gardens. Every day she tended to them; if not in the morning before she took up her duties as queen, she would do them in the evening before we were to have dinner. She would bring a fresh bouquet from her gardens to our room and Kit’s. She never faltered in that little activity of hers.”

Kit had done the same; bringing you flowers every day whenever he would not be present to see you wake. His mother had done that as well. Today was an exception, however. You had not thought it ominous but if father was here…

“When she died,” he paused. You saw him frown and heard him clear his throat once more.

You heard the heartbreak and longing in the king’s voice, and you wanted nothing but to console him. You had opened a fresh wound in the king when you had investigated on his wife’s death. You felt guilty of it, of having the frail king relive the pain of the truth, but to investigate for the truth was the correct thing to do.

“When she died, I could not bear to return to her garden.” he told you. “I had commissioned a statue in her memory, thinking I would look upon it every day so I would not forget her, but I could not. I… The memories I had of her were happy ones. I do not think I would want to remember her with pain in my heart.”

You nodded even though you knew he would not see you.

“When you discovered her death, and by my adviser’s own hand, I…” He stopped.

You waited.

“My darling Amalie and I had an arranged marriage.” he said instead, frowning again as though he struggled to find the proper words. “I had been in love before, with a princess from a minor country who had no dowry that would help the kingdom thrive. Amalie’s country was abundant in resources and the dowry they presented to my father was enough to pay the debts my ancestors had acquired. My father forced me to marry her because she would make us prosperous.

“I was less determined than Kit is, with matters of the heart. I did not fight for my love. I only followed through my duty. But Kit,” he paused, an absentminded smile coming to his lips. “Kit had his mother’s determination, did you know? He had been adamant that he join the search party for you, even going so far as apologizing in the instance he would disobey me if I did not allow him to. He is much like his mother that way, I find. They are both resolute to the point of stubbornness.”

You smiled inwardly at the memory of Kit telling you his stubbornness had been from his father and not his mother. You supposed no parent would admit to owning such trait.

“But I married his mother because, other than I had been forced by my father to do so, it had been the right thing to do for the kingdom. I was lucky to fall in love with my wife. And because I had seen the results of my own marriage, I thought I should do the same for my son. I should have taken into account that Kit and I are different despite being the same as well.”

You clasped your hands together and held them on your lap. He looked at you now, blank stare gone from his eyes. He stood tall and smartly and his regality suddenly made you feel drab inside your own chambers.

“Were you always inclined to do the right thing, no matter the outcome?” he asked.

You did not expect the question from the king but answered still. “My parents taught me to choose what is right, Sir, that way I will not be regretful of the result.”

“Because I had done the correct thing when I married his mother and denied myself of my love.” The king told you.

Fear sat on the pit of your stomach. You knew the king did not like you. You knew he wanted what was best for his son and you, only a Diplomat’s daughter, were not it. You knew what he wanted to say long before he voiced it.

“If I ask you to leave the kingdom when you are recovered, will you go?”

You could only stare at the king. Your fingers curled inward, nails digging to your palms at the very thought of being sent away. The thundering of your heart muted away all other sounds in your room. Suddenly it was silent, except for the cries of anguish that you heard from inside you.

You did not know the answer. You loved Kit and with your second chance of life, you promised yourself you would love him as he loved you: ardently and without constraint. You wanted to be selfish and take more than what you were given but this? You could not jeopardize the future of the people, all because you wanted to love selflessly.

“What if it were the right thing to do, to leave? Would you do it?” he asked when his other question remained unanswered.

You blinked the tears you did not realize had come to your eyes. You gave the king an austere look, trying your best to appear put together despite breaking on the inside. “If it is the right thing to do, Your Majesty, then I would.”

His face remained impassive. “You will leave him? And you had said before that you love him.”

You nodded. “Yes. It is because I love him that I will leave him. What will happen to the kingdom if your son chooses me, a lowly Diplomat’s daughter? I would not want to see Kit hurt if he had to choose between his love for you or his love for me. I wish to be selfish and accept all of what he has to give but I cannot imperil the future of the kingdom for it. I may be the villain in your eyes, Sir, but I am not evil.”

He cleared his throat. “So you would rather you break my son’s heart and yours?”

“My heart will be of no consequence. It will not matter in the grand scheme of things. The kingdom above all else, you had said. You wished to leave it in capable hands. Those hands are not mine.”

He gave a silent, singular nod. “You do not care for his heart, then?”

You frowned at the king but immediately schooled your features. “I care for everything about him, Your Majesty.”

“And yet, you will leave him heartbroken.”

You gave an unladylike huff, growing impatient at the King’s implications. He had made his point; he did not have to keep doing so.

“You know the pain of heartbreak, Sir,” you said rather tightly. You felt your nails dig deeper into your palms and looked down on them to see the crescent indentations it left. You clasped your hand tightly together, hoping to draw courage from them. “The pain of it will not leave you but it will numb over time and given enough of it, you may start to live again. I think Kit and I, we will always share the pain of a love that might be, but we will overcome it. Kit is to become king and I believe he will bring the kingdom its promised success with his plans and ideas. He will have the land to worry about; he will not have time to dwell on the heartbreak I will cause with my leaving.”

“And of your heart?”

You shook your head sadly, tears falling with the action. “I had been given the chance to bask in his love, even just for a while. I suppose these memories will suffice. They should last me a lifetime.”

You hastily wiped the tear that had fallen and turned your face from him and to the world outside your window. Just beyond the palace walls was the sea. Once upon a time, you had promised yourself you would return to your travels but now, the idea did not seem as attractive as it once had been. You had learned to love and felt how it was to be loved. You had exhausted yourself with adventures to different land and now felt the need to embark on a completely different one, one where you would not be going anywhere but to stay right where you are. Once, you had no reason to remain in the kingdom but now you had. You had Kit.

“Why are you selfless, child?” he asked you.

Your eyes returned to the monarch but they were expressionless. You were fatigued from the conversation, having been unprepared for the emotional blow the king had wrought upon you.

“I do not think myself selfless, Sir. I see myself resilient and brave. The world is selfish; it takes the things that are important to us. We must be kind and courageous when it happens.” you replied.

He watched you keenly, nothing like the oily way his adviser had done whenever he regarded you but more of in respect and awe. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly as if to assess you before he nodded to himself and turned away.

“You will leave, then.” he said as a statement but you knew it was a question.

Your heart hammered painfully in your chest once more. A pressure settled against your lungs and you struggled to breath. “Yes, Your Majesty, when I am able,” you rasped.

“I see.” He cleared his throat and made to leave your room. “I hope you reconsider and stay.”

…

The monotonous voice of the Magistrate nearly lulled Kit to sleep were it not for the sudden outburst of the Grand Duke from his side of Court. He had not been paying attention for the past hour; eyes wandering to the stained glass windows of the place, absently watching the changing colors with the position of the sun, while his mind lingered on the insurmountable work his cousin had deserted in his desire to run after the Princess of Zaragoza. While he was glad his cousin had decided to follow his heart, he was not amused at the number of troubles he was left. Kit would not admit it outright but his cousin was a capable adviser.

He loathed being away from you but today, he had no choice on the matter. On behalf of his father, he held an audience with the land’s people whose homes and livelihood were devastated with the storm. The added task meant that, despite waking early, he would not be able to pick flowers for you. No matter how much he wanted to find time to do his daily walks in the garden in search for your flowers, his father’s secretary had informed him that he would only be free by dinner. By then, that would be too late. Kit decided he would purchase a fragrant bouquet from the Square to make up for it.

“I will give you time to address the room, Grand Duke. However you try to convince them, the verdict shall remain the same.” The judge said in his booming, yet toneless voice.

Kit returned his attentions to the awful, felonious man who stood before them all. The Grand Duke had seethed all throughout his trial, reacting rarely to the accusations laid before him. He half-expected him to rage at the Magistrate and the jury during the course of it, to appeal the verdict, but he remained quiet in his seat. Now, however, he looked at the royal prince with cold, somewhat triumphant eyes.

“You think I will cower upon hearing my death sentence?” he asked Kit coolly. Despite being kept behind the baluster, his very being seemed to leap at the prince. “I am not through with my plans. I will hurt you in ways you cannot imagine, boy. I will hurt you and you will remember it until your dying breath. Even in death, it is I who shall prevail.”

Kit watched as he was ushered by the Royal Guards, feeling icy fear at his promise. He and Louis had captured all his accomplices and affiliates and Captain Thibault had purged his Guards of the men who acted with the Grand Duke. All were dealt with; all were given proper punishment. But despite this, Kit knew the man would make good of his threats. He just had to be vigilant until tomorrow.

The Magistrate adjourned the trial. The prince watched as the jury left one after another, each offering bows and genuflections as they passed. The king only nodded them off, Kit watched them silently. They exchanged no words, knowing that every single one of the jury were angered and sorrowful upon the unveiling of the Prussian nobleman’s crimes.

Once they were in their carriage on the way back to the palace did the king speak. “I believe it is now time we talk of other pressing matters, Kit.”

Kit looked up from the bouquet of lavenders he had purchased for you, to his father who looked at him curiously. There had only been one matter that took most of their days and with the trial finished, he assumed all would be well. But to his father, it seemed there were others that needed their deliberation.

“What is it that you found in Miss Y/N that was not present in the Princess Chelina?” he asked his son.

“Father?” The prince quirked a brow at his father’s unexpected question. His father had not raised any discussions about you since he has asked him to bring you back. The only time his questions involved you were when he had inquired about the status of your health. Other than that, there had been nothing.

“Why do you love her?” he asked again.

“I should imagine it the same reason you loved Mother,” Kit replied.

“Your mother was a princess. I do not think it is that reason that you fell for her.”

“Perhaps not,” he agreed and he turned back to the bouquet of flowers on his lap. The lavenders were freshly picked today and they were still as fragrant as when he bought them. “I suppose I cannot put it into words but the feeling is unmistakeable. I feel—I feel complete around her, like she has brought to me something I had not known was missing before. Just the mere thought of returning to her after a day of looking into kingdom matters excites me. She makes me want to be better, to go beyond my capabilities, and I myself feel that I should, because I know she believes in whatever I will do. It must be love because… because…” He looked at his father, a sheepish smile coming to his lips. “It just is.”

His father gave a fond smile of his own. “Your mother would be proud of the man you’ve become, Kit.”

Kit’s heart swelled in his chest and choked at the emotion that rose to his throat. “Why do you ask, Father?”

Instead of answering, his father ignored his question. “I also know your mother would want for me to apologize for my actions with regards to you and Miss Y/N. I had been abominable to the both of you, her more so. I had discouraged her love for you too many times, perhaps even to the point of driving her away.” He turned from his son and viewed the rolling hills from the window. “And when I spoke to her, I must have made a grievous error—”

“What have you done?” Kit asked suddenly. The joyous feeling he felt at professing his love for you to his father had vanished and it was replaced with an unnameable emotion akin to panic. Fear, perhaps? he thought to himself and a silky, sad emotion settled on his stomach. He knew what his father meant, at how he had once forbidden you to speak to him or to voice your affections towards him but to drive you away? What would he have said for you to consider leaving him?

The king turned to his son, abashed at his words and actions. “I merely asked her a question.”

“What kind?”

If Kit pressed too hard, his father did not scold him for it. “The kind wherein I learned she will do whatever is right, no matter the consequences."

Kit felt himself stop at the words. He knew you, knew that you would choose the betterment of the kingdom over you love for him because it was the correct thing to do. If his father ever agreed to that… Kit dared not go forward with that thought.

“Oftentimes,” his father started. His gaze returned to the world outside the carriage window. He could not meet his son’s eyes, refused to see that he had inadvertently hurt him because he only wanted to be sure of your love for him. “Choosing the right thing would demand a great sacrifice. She had been willing to forgo her happiness for the sake of the kingdom because it is the right thing to do. She thought she would not be capable of being its queen and had decided that she would leave once she is able.”

The blow Kit felt against his gut was unlike any other. If he thought he hurt at the announcement of your divorce, he was mistaken. The idea of you leaving, far away from him… It felt as though his soul had left his body and he was but a hollow shell, without the source of its happiness and life. He had found his great love in you, knew he would not find it again or anywhere else, and he was certain he would feel the emptiness that you would leave in your absence. His father had no right to speak to you of such. The decision was for you and him.

“…perhaps you could convince her to stay?”

He looked at his father dumbly, words slowly coming to his understanding. He wanted him to convince you to stay? His father was contradicting his own words with his request. He thought his father did not like you, thought him incapable of having any sort of affection for you. But now he wished for you to stay? What was it that changed his mind?

“What?” he asked, dumbfounded.

The king looked solemn and contemplative but still refused to meet his son’s gaze. “She is pragmatic and wise. I do not recall meeting anyone who thinks the way she does. She conducts herself in a way that I have not seen in other noble ladies—I do not mean offense by it, Kit, I assure you. She is exquisite and I had been too blind by my ideals to acknowledge that of her. And her friends are powerful lords and princes all of whom, I find, put her in their highest regard. I believe Prince Frederick is besotted with her, even.” He turned in time to see his son frown at him. “I admit my mistake and now I ask is for her to stay, Kit. Not because of the alliances she has but because I have seen that she truly does love you, despite the obstacles that I had thrown in her way.”

While Kit was glad that his father had changed his mind about you, there was still the matter of you leaving. He sighed. “Even if I convince her to stay, she will refuse to marry me. You have said it yourself; she is pragmatic. She believes you will only have me marry royalty or nobility.”

“I surmised as much,” he said as he pulled a folded parchment from his breast pocket. “This, I believe, will give answer to any more questions you have.”

The prince gingerly took the missive from his father, unfolded it carefully and read through its contents. He noted the insignia of the kingdom and the wax seal that bore the royal signet before fully reading what had been written. It started just like any other decree of the kingdom but it was, however, the two lines written in the middle of the parchment that made him look up to his father in surprise.

Let it be known henceforth that the Prince Kit and all his kin and successors shall be free to marry any of their choosing, may they be of noble blood or not.

He heard thundering in his ears and realized it was his heart that beat furiously. The words became muddled before his eyes, swimming incoherently and he forced himself to remain focused at the decree. Marry any of their choosing, may they be of noble blood or not, Kit read once more. His father had drawn up a decree, without his knowledge, so he and you could marry.

“F-father?” Kit called slowly. He could not find the words to voice his happiness. While he threatened his father with abdication to the throne, he never would have pushed through with it. He had been meaning to tell his father of it but he never found the time to do so, especially since he had been de facto ruler of the kingdom while he recuperated. But now… This decree…

“I thought that if you had a marriage like mine, you would be happy. I see now that I am wrong.” The king gave a sad, contrite smile and clasped his hands together on his lap. “I may not have shown it for quite some time but I value your happiness above all else, Kit. Perhaps I was too distraught or too engrossed in my pain at the loss of your mother but know that the reason you were engaged to the Princess Chelina was because I do not want you to be lonely at the event of my death. You suffered greatly at the death of your Mother; I wouldn’t have wanted you to suffer through it again with mine.”

“Father…” Kit refused the idea of his father leaving him as well. He had survived despite the Grand Duke’s attempts of murdering him.

“But now, you have Miss Y/N. While what I initially wanted for you was a companion, I see now that what you need is someone you will care for as well.” He smiled at his son, a fatherly smile he so rarely wore. “I have no doubts that Miss Y/N will make for a great queen for the kingdom.”

Kit swallowed the impossibly large lump on his throat and looked at the words that granted his freedom. He was finally free to marry you, and your children and grandchildren would be free to do the same.

“Thank you, Father,” Kit whispered fiercely and wiped at his tears. “Thank you.”

The prince spent the rest of the trip home telling his father of your adventures, chest brimming with pride with each story. He also told him of the times you had unknowingly helped him with matters of the kingdom. His father was impressed after every story, affirming each of them with a nod. Kit knew it only strengthened his belief in your capabilities.

As soon as they arrived, he saw his father’s secretary waiting for him. He knew it meant he must resume the business he has left for the trial and would not be able to see you until everything has been concluded. Despite wanting to be with you and to share the news of the jury’s verdict with regards to the Grand Duke, Kit felt nervous. It was, perhaps, the idea of proposing properly to you that made him nervous. He never had the chance to do so when you were first wed and because of it, he had not one idea how to go about it. He figured he would ask Captain Thibault for help on the matter. He had been successful in his courtship with Abigail; he would be a leading authority in these matters of the heart.

Kit had the lavender bouquet sent to you as he busied himself with the remainder of his work. Had his cousin been present, he would have finished it in half the time, despite the occasional nuisances from him. Without him, however, it took him longer than the expected. He perused over records and accounts, making sure each of his decisions benefitted his denizens. He let his work overwhelm him as it kept his nervousness at bay.

It was many hours after his arrival that Captain Thibault entered the study.

“Your Royal Highness,” he said as he bowed.

Kit looked up from his latest record, unaware that the rest of the Study was bathed in darkness. He had been too consumed in his work to see that the fireplace had died out.

“Captain,” the prince acknowledged him as he stood. He made his way to the fireplace with the intentions of adding kindling to the fire. “Am I needed by my father?”

“No, but he worries you had not had something to eat since your arrival from the trial.” Thibault replied, helping the prince with the task. He took the fire stick and poked at the embers and logs.

“I fear I am too busy,” Kit said. He moved to return to his seat but hesitated. He had plans on talking to the Captain before but now that the opportunity had presented itself, it would be amiss of him not to take it.

“Captain,” Kit started, taking advantage of his easy camaraderie with the Captain. He straightened and set his face determinedly. “Captain, how did you go about courting Abigail?”

“I beg your pardon?” Captain Thibault asked, surprised.

“Surely, you’ve done something akin to courtship when it came to your Abigail,” he said.

Thibault’s face was a mixture of confusion and amusement at the prince’s statement. “Yes, I have.”

“Well, how did you go about it?”

It was odd that the prince went to him for advice. He had seen him with the other ladies of the nobility. They were all smitten and besotted with him and he had never given courting much thought if he had wanted any of them. “I find myself at a loss with your question, Kit,” he said instead.

Kit huffed. “It’s a simple question,” he said rather impatiently. He promptly apologized, shaking his head as he gathered his thoughts once more. “Father has given me leave to marry Y/N, and while I would much rather have the Archbishop marry us immediately, I wish to court her. Properly.”

“Ah.”

“Yes. Ah. And I do not know how to go about it. We were married without me courting her. My betrothal to the Princess Chelina happened without formal courtship. I fear I have no idea how to do it.” Kit went back to his seat and sat heavily on it. “I had an inkling you would know as you are successful in wooing Abigail.”

Thibault’s frown gave way to an entertained smile. He motioned for the chair, Kit waved for him to have a seat, and cleared his throat as he planted himself on the chair. “Your father now wishes for you to marry Miss Y/N?”

“Yes. He has made a decree, that for any of my kin and successors be free to marry anyone of their choosing.” He showed the parchment to his friend. “Inconvenient, isn’t it, that he has us divorce then marry each other almost immediately afterwards.”

Thibault cracked a small smile at the irony and in agreement. “Let us see. There is no need for me to ask of your intentions then, Kit, since I know you wish to spend your life with her.”

He gave him a wry look in answer to his question. “Have I ever given you doubt of my love for her?”

The Captain nearly laughed at the look. “No, not at all, but it is the first step of courtship. You must know how you truly feel for the one you wish to court. Positive feelings, of course, not ill ones.”

“Yes, of course.” He said with a nod.

“Next comes the speech of the things you love about her. You must be accurate in your words, do not mince them. Say what you mean and mean what you have said.”

Kit nodded eagerly.

“Would you need help in that regard as well?”

He paused, considering his friend’s offer. “I wouldn’t know. What have you said to Abigail?”

Thibault fidgeted in his seat, a rare sight for the formidable Captain of the Guards. Kit wondered if he were the same, reduced to a lovesick man at the mention of his beloved. Thibault frowned and opened his mouth and frowned some more when nothing came out of it. He cleared his throat and began again.

"It was done on a course of many days, Kit,” Thibault said. “I did not do it all in one afternoon. In the times we spent with each other, I reminded her that she is the most beautiful woman I had ever beheld. That I enjoy her company because to be with her makes me feel alive. With her, I feel complete and without her, I am nothing. I… There are words I have forgotten that I had spoken but they are all in the same vein as that.”

The prince merely smiled. He had not seen his friend and confidante this passionate about someone. Thibault had dedicated much of his life in service to the crown. He was glad he has found something—or someone—he was fervent about.

Captain Thibault cleared his throat once again, slightly discomfited at what he had shared. “And once you have said so, do not forget your actions. They must be in accordance with your words.”

“Of course,” Kit agreed with an eager nod.

“You must—”

A hurried rap sounded from the door which alerted the two men. Kit and Thibault shot to their feet, each looking at each other confusedly. The door flew open and a harried guard burst in, panting and wide eyed in fear.

“The Grand Duke! He’s escaped!”

Kit had no time to name the icy feeling that kissed his being. He drew out his sword from its sheath beside his desk with a shaky hand, remembering the Grand Duke’s promise before he was brought away. I will hurt you and you will remember it until your dying breath. Even in death, it is I who shall prevail. No. He will not. Kit would make sure he would not be successful again.

He turned to the Captain, all friendliness and light demeanour leaving his face. Instead, there was a renewed steely determination, one that even the Captain feared to be in the presence of.

“Go to my father and see he is safe,” Kit commanded and rushed towards your room.

He sped past hallways upon hallways, taking two steps at a time at the staircase, across the palace but it seemed to go on endlessly. Kit’s heart hammered against his ribs, its beats thundering in his ears. His mind flitted through possibilities of the scene he was to see, each of them more grotesque and terrifying than the last. He wished to rid himself of these thoughts, want none of them to be true, but he knew—surely, he knew—one of them was bound to be true. This was the Grand Duke. He killed his mother without remorse. He attempted to murder his father to install Kit and Chelina as monarchs of the kingdom. And he nearly killed you when he disposed of you in the deep well.

It would be miracle if the Grand Duke were not in your room. Kit hoped for it to be true.

Sword in hand, he flung the door open and stopped as he witnessed the horrific picture before him.

.

It was all so sudden. Abigail had only been helping you return to your bed when the doors to your chambers burst open and a Royal Guard that came in began beating your maid. You stood in stunned silence, surprised and horrified at what you were seeing, before you threw your body towards her attacker, hoping to free your poor maid beneath the oaf of a man. You pulled at his garments, his helmet, anything at all that your hands found purchase to pull him off of her but all of your efforts were in vain. He was strong. Your meager strength was no use for someone brutish and rotund as he was.

“Get away from her, you brute!” You screamed as you slapped at his helmet again and again. “Let go of her!”

You heard a squelching sound come from Abigail and saw how she coughed out blood before falling to the floor with a dull, lifeless thud. Mouth agape, eyes closed, chest still, you were quite sure your maid did not survive the punches. But it had not stopped you from throwing some of your own towards the man.

“What have you done!” You pummelled your fists against his back, putting all of your strength in your hands. How dare he attack someone as helpless as Abigail!

The Royal Guard turned abruptly and slapped you with such force that it flung you across your room. Your breath left you at the suddenness of it, momentarily stealing your voice as well. You fell to the floor before the fireplace, dazed at what had just happened. Something ached at the side of your face. You brought a hand to your cheek and flinched when you touched it, skin raw from the power of the slap. You touched wetness and belatedly realized that your tears had fallen—from the slap or out of fear, you did not know, but they fell all the same.

A rogue Royal Guard. Abigail is dead. I am next, you thought to yourself.

“Help!” You screamed as you looked around, hoping to find something within reach to defend yourself with. "Help me, please!”

The door out of your room was still ajar. You still had strength in you to pull yourself up and out of it to seek help. You started for it, pushing your body as you stood, broken foot protesting at the unwarranted weight. Pain and fear only spurred you to continue. You limped towards it, one foot hopping, the other being dragged. So close, you thought determinedly. So very close.

“Hel—!”

You nearly swallowed your tongue when you were gagged from behind. Your hands immediately went to the cloth around your mouth, trying with all your strength to pull it off of you before they were jerked unceremoniously behind you. You screamed against your gag, at the pain of having your arms wrenched so suddenly.

“No one will come for you.” The voice whispered menacingly.

You abruptly stopped your screams. Your mind blanked. Cold, wet fear slid down your back.

The Grand Duke.

But how—why—

“You’re more trouble than you’re worth, girl. You should have died in that well,” he said against your cheek. “You would have spared me this revenge.”

You squirmed against your bindings, hoping to loosen the impossibly tight ties that bound your hands. He yanked at your hair and you yelped out loud despite the cloth gagging you. He laughed sarcastically and evilly and it made the hair on your skin stand on their ends. This monster killed Abigail. Now he was going to kill you as well. Just like your dream.

“Be a good girl and say your prayers.” His hot breath fanned your cheek but his words cooled your soul.

A tear slid down your eyes and you shut them tight. This is it, you thought to yourself. Your stomach roiled. Bile rose to your throat. This is my death.

You felt something cold and foreign and sharp against your neck. You shook at the feeling, shying away from it, foot slipping, anything at all to be far from it, but he pulled at your hair again, exposing your neck further to the weapon against it.

Oh, Kit. I love you. Forgive me for not trying enough.

.

Kit saw red. Anger clouded his vision. The Grand Duke was a dead man.

The Grand Duke—dressed as one of the kingdom’s Royal Guards—was grabbing the back of your head with the use of your hair, dagger against your throat, ready to slice your neck open were it not for his intrusion. Kit saw a flash of the curtain ribbons that were used to tie your hands behind your back. You were whimpering behind the piece of cloth that gagged you—in pain or in fright, he did not know, but neither were favorable to him—with your eyes shut tight. You shook excessively. Your lame foot kept slipping as you tried to keep yourself upright.

“Grand Duke!” Kit boomed, glaring at the man. He drew his sword forward, assuming a fighting stance, surveying the room for a place where he can tackle the man away from you. On one side laid Abigail, unconscious, blood down one side of her mouth. He had seen the horrors of war but what the madman had done was far more terrifying.

Your eyes opened wide at the sound of his voice. They were big and fearful and crying, begging for him to come save you. You squirmed in your bindings, whining against the gag. You were alive; he was not too late.

The nobleman yanked at your hair, silencing you. The smile on his face was malicious and crazed and there was no fear in him. He only looked emboldened by the weapon that was in his hands.

“Ah, Your Royal Highness,” he called mockingly. “What an unexpected surprise. I was hoping to merely leave a gift for you but I see you’ve come to see it yourself.”

He pressed the top against your skin, cutting you. You cried against the cloth, tears streaming down the same time a rivulet of blood rolled from the site, staining the collar of your nightgown. You whimpered at the pain and fear of having the dagger dig into your skin. You stopped from moving, fearful that if you had, you would cut yourself bigger.

Kit strained against his own skin, wanting to move to save you but he held himself. If he moved unexpectedly, it might trigger the man to dig his dagger deeper into you.

“Let her go. Your quarrel is with me.” Kit told him icily. He held on to his sword tighter, waiting for the right moment to drive it through the awful man.

His maniacal laugh grated against the prince’s skin; it was one he would not soon forget.

“You see, if it were not for her, my actions would not have been found.” He pulled at your hair tighter, eliciting a pained whimper from you, as he ran the tip of the dagger down to your chest, against you heart.

Kit’s eyes followed the action, as did the panic that slid down his stomach. He had to act fast or else.

“My quarrel is with her as well,” the Grand Duke said.

“Let her go.” The prince demanded again.

“Don’t you remember our talk, boy? Of how love makes you stupid?” He bared your throat towards Kit and the puncture site oozed brilliant red blood. Kit’s eyes hardened at the man wielding the dagger. “This is what I meant when I had said it will only make a fool out of you. Love cripples a person. It makes them stupid and helpless.”

Kit lunged forward a step, sword aimed at the nobleman. The sudden action made him draw his dagger towards the prince’s direction. He stopped short.

“Uh-uh-uh.” He shook his head mockingly, smiling in that evil way of his before he shoved your face towards the crackling fireplace.

You screamed. The violent action twisted your still healing foot, making you cry at the pain that lanced your being. Your scalp protested at your position; your hair was the only thing that held you upright. Your feet were useless beneath however you tried to find your footing. The Grand Duke’s grip on your hair was the only thing that held your entirety from being thrown into the fire.

“One more step and I will burn her.”

Kit’s grip on his sword tightened but he did not move. He saw the fear in your eyes, as well as the defeat in them. He refused to feel it as well. There is time, Kit. She is alive. You can save her, he thought to himself.

“Drop your sword.” When Kit remained still, the Grand Duke’s dagger returned against your neck. “I said drop it.”

The sword clanged against the marble floor as Kit glared at the nobleman.

He laughed once again. “You would do anything I ask you for this chit?” He clutched your hair tighter for emphasis and more tears rolled down your face in pain. “What’s so special about her—a commoner—that you would do as I ask?”

“I will not—”

A strangled cry filled the air as he pressed the tip against the side of your throat. Kit clamped his mouth shut. A snide smile appeared on the nobleman’s lips.

“Hmm. Yes. I thought so.” he said.

“The Royal Guards are coming—”

“I’m a dead man walking, Kit. It will not make a difference if your guards come for me or if you kill me yourself. I will be dead either way, and I want a companion to my travel to Hell.” He pulled you to him, lips disgustingly close against your cheek. “She seems to be the best candidate.”

Kit’s hand itched to retake his sword. You whimpered as the Grand Duke’s hot breath touched your skin.

"It is all your fault, you filthy commoner.” He sneered against your cheek. More tears fell down your face in fright. “If you had kept your mouth shut, you wouldn’t have a dagger to your throat. I wouldn’t have a noose waiting for my neck. The prince would have lived his life in blissful ignorance of his mother’s death. But you decided to pry, meddle where you were not invited. It must come naturally to you, doesn’t it? Inserting yourself where you are not supposed to be. You trapped the prince into a marriage he was unaware of and now your wiles have ensnared him once more. You have made him useless. He is practically powerless without his alliance with Zaragoza."

He looked at Kit, an annoyed gleam coming to his eyes. “My niece would have made the perfect queen. She is easily manipulated. She does not have any thoughts inside her proud, Zaragozan head. I would have ruled the kingdom into prosperity! But I heard you had decided to end your engagement with her. You have destined your land into ruin because of your childish emotions.”

The prince merely watched him. He saw that he had slackened his hold on the dagger as he went about his monologue. If he could tackle him with enough force, it would make him drop it. He was only five paces from him. Near enough to attack him but far enough for him to react to it and do something with you—

“I am an adviser, boy. It is what your father employed me to do. I had advised you that love will only hold you back. Look at you now, powerless before me, all because I hold this girl you love hostage. You never had to love Chelina. You wouldn’t be faced with this dilemma with her."

If Kit kept him talking, he would be able to reach for his sword.

“She is your niece,” he said, crouching ever so slightly to the floor towards his sword. “You wish to kill her as well?”

“I hold no love for anyone.” The Grand Duke said proudly.

“Only for yourself.”

“Of course.”

Kit scoffed.

Offended, the Prussian nobleman thrust you to the fireplace once more. Your eyes widened and you screamed as some of the flames danced near your night gown, almost making it catch on fire.

“Do you think me blind? I can see you wish to take your sword.” The Grand Duke nodded at the weapon. “Kick it towards me.”

He hesitated, wanting to do the opposite but he saw how precariously close you were to getting burnt and sent it clattering his way. It stopped by the madman’s feet. He did not move to take, only stepped on it to avoid the prince from grabbing it.

“So helpless you’ve become. I quite like this taste of power over you.”

Kit glared. The Grand Duke smiled a self-satisfied smile, preening quite early at his supposed success. The prince wanted nothing more than to prove him wrong.

“You will not be successful, Grand Duke.” The prince promised.

“Is that so? I beg to differ.” The Grand Duke mocked before he banged your head forcefully against the mantel.

“NO!” Kit charged towards the man just as you fell unconscious on the floor.

He threw his whole body against the Grand Duke’s torso, shoving him away from you and towards the floor. His dagger flew somewhere as the squabble ensued. Things clattered everywhere as punches flew between them, blows landing on various parts of their body.

Kit landed heavily beside him when he was pounced on his side and reached for his sword, only for it to be swatted away by the nobleman. The weapon slid several paces away, far from the both of them.

The Grand Duke pummelled at Kit once more, hitting him in the temple and scrambled towards the discarded sword. Kit grabbed the man’s leg, pulling him, halting his progress. He crawled across the floor, to his sword and was about to grab it were it not for another blow on his other side. He curled at the force of the swing, giving the noble time enough to steal the sword from him.

The Grand Duke rose to his feet, aiming the point towards Kit’s chest and swung. Kit rolled the other way, hearing the clang of the sword as it made contact with the floor. The Grand Duke groaned in frustration, swinging again.

“Don’t you want to be reunited with your mother and father, boy?” The man asked as the sword went down near Kit’s torso. “All it takes is a single blow and you will be with your family once more!”

Kit tamped down the bile that rose to his throat. The Grand Duke was slowly killing his family. It was good luck, then, that Louis left for Zaragoza or else the madman would have gone for him as well.

The prince turned to the man, eyes angry and scornful as he looked at him. The noble only laughed at the expression on his face.

“Do you think you will scare me with a scowl?” The Prussian lifted the sword and swung it in a wide arc. “You had the chance to kill me before but you decided against it. You are weak, boy. You do not have it in you.”

Kit shielded his face with his hand as the sword came upon him and sliced his palm open.

The Grand Duke’s smile turned feral when he saw the blood on Kit’s open palm. He drew his sword up again, ready to dig it deep in the prince’s chest when Kit swiped at his feet. The nobleman stumbled and fell heavily, dropping the sword.

Kit crawled towards the discarded weapon, almost grabbing it had it not been pushed farther away. He turned to the man and slapped his bloodied hand across his eyes, groaning at the pain but hoping to stall him while his other hand reached for the sword.

The Grand Duke pried the hand from his face and punched him strongly on the temples. It knocked Kit aside, discombobulating him. He blinked away the dizziness and spat out the blood from his cut cheek. He moved sluggishly, groping blindly across the floor for any part of the sword, swiping everywhere for anything he could use against the man. His hand grabbed a shard from a broken vase and held it up, only to stop when he saw the sword aimed for his throat.

Kit swallowed; eyes kept on the sword. He slowly lowered the shard he held, knowing it was futile against the silver weapon.

The Prussian took the sword with both of his hands and raised it high above his head. “I win.” And brought it down.

It rattled to one side as it fell from the man’s grasp.

Kit watched as the Grand Duke gave a mighty howl of pain, back arching as his arms twisted grotesquely towards it. When he hunched over, Kit saw what it was that stopped the man from killing him. Embedded on his back was the dagger he once held. You stuck it there.

Bloody, beautiful you.

You were alive. And you had stabbed him.

.

Your head pounded. You opened your eyes, blinking away the darkness that danced on the edges. Realization came slowly to you as you heard the grunts and clangs of metal behind you. The Grand Duke had killed Abigail and would have killed you were it not for Kit’s sudden appearance. The last you remember had been facing the fire before the immense headache and the blackness that overtook you.

You rolled your body carefully on its other side, catching a glimpse of the men. The Grand Duke swung the sword down on Kit, catching his hand in the process. You bit back a horrified gasp as you saw the blood from his palm.

You darted your eyes around your immediate vicinity, spotting the discarded dagger just by your leg. You wiggled your body towards it, slowly and quietly, silently hoping they would not see you, and turned back to grab it. Once you had, you scurried away against the wall and attempted to free yourself from your bindings.

You sawed against the curtain ties as fast as you could with all the aches in your body. It broke free just as you saw the Grand Duke punch Kit in the temple. You made quick work of your gag and with a dagger in hand, you stood. The pain you felt all over your body was nothing compared to the fear you felt for Kit.

You crept towards the man, dragging your injured foot carefully amidst the rubble. You decided against decapitating him, knowing you would not be able to reach across his broad back to slice his neck. Stabbing him was the only efficient way, from your position, to incapacitate him. You decided against stabbing him in the torso, knowing it would not mortally injure him in the way you wanted.

You aimed for the side of his neck, dagger already poised above your head before bringing it down with all the force in you. Your aim did not prove true as it landed on his upper back but it made him lose his grip on his own weapon.

You staggered back in fear when he turned to you. There was a sneer on his face, and with the crazed look of pain, it made him look all the more sinister. Your breath caught in your chest and you scurried from him as he marched towards you.

You tripped on your lame foot and landed heavily on the floor.

“Why can’t you just die?” he asked as he swiped the dagger at your direction. “The world has no need for you. It does not need any more meddling women who think they hold power over us men!”

You tried kicking him with your good leg but all efforts were futile. He was gaining pace on you and you barely moved from where you fell. Turning your face at him, you wore an angry scowl as you regarded him. “You do not choose who survives, Grand Duke! You have no right to take a life!”

“Grand Duke!”

You turned to Kit, finding him wielding the sword in his uninjured hand, marching purposefully towards the man.

“Do not touch her! Do not come near her!” He swung at the man with a might you had not seen before and nicked him in the arm before he tried again. “Enough is enough!”

You saw the way the man’s eyes blazed like pools of hellfire, clutching at his sliced arm and screamed in agonized fury, before he turned to Kit. You took the given time to haul yourself from the floor, searching wildly for anything in the debris to use against the man. The knife barely did any damage to him so you decided against the shards of glass and porcelain that cluttered your room. You needed something hefty or pointed, something to impale him that would go through his body. The splinters from the broken table were not long enough.

Your eyes landed on a felled candelabra. If you hit the man hard enough, the sconce of the candle holder could be injurious. It might not impale him but the trauma, if you hit him on his head, would prove to be fatal. It was better than the shard or the wooden splinter.

You grabbed for it, just as you heard the clanging of the sword against the floor. Holding it tightly between your hands, you made your way to the Grand Duke. Your eyes remained on the crazed man’s form, putting all your strength and will to the harmless item that you now brandished as a weapon.

You stood behind him now, all of your pent up anger and resentment and raised your weapon above your head.

“Say your goodbyes, boy. They may well be your last.” he told Kit.

“Rot in Hell,” Kit spat.

And with all your might, you swung the candelabra.

There was a sickening crunching sound as it came in contact with the back of his head and the Grand Duke fell with a loud thud. Blood trickled from where you hit him, steadily flowing as it pooled beneath him.

A moment passed and he did not move.

You did it. You did it. It was over.

You turned your eyes to Kit, smiling triumphantly when you’ve finally stopped the madman’s rampage but halted when you saw him.

Shoulder impaled by his own sword and pinned against the wall, Kit looked at you with unseeing eyes. The flow of his blood drenched his white coat, turning it red every passing second. It was too strong for it to be a minor wound.

“Kit!” You exclaimed and threw the candle holder away, clumsily going to him. You dragged your lame foot, bringing debris along with it and you did not care that you kicked the Grand Duke in the head in your haste to get to him.

“Help me remove it,” he said weakly.

You did as he asked, taking it out of him carefully and discarding it somewhere behind you. The blood flowed continuously from his wound. He clamped a hand to stem the bleeding.

In your frenzied panic, you had the strength to tear the ends of your cuffs and packed them to his wound, hoping to stop it. Your hands shook as you held on to him.

“Don’t cry,” Kit said with obvious effort. “I do not like it when you cry.” He raised his other hand slowly, grimacing as it neared your face to wipe the tears you had not realized had fallen. You felt the hot slickness of his blood across your cheek.

You looked at him through your brimming tears, noting how much paler he had become. His skin has lost its vitality, looking very sickly and nearly white. His lips more so. The light in his eyes were gone but they fought to stay open. His effort was palpable. You cried some more at the sight of him.

Kit winced and he slowly slid down to sit on the floor. You followed suit, not minding that you sat on your broken ankle, and tore your other cuff when the first cloth had been soaked through. You pressed it against his wound, holding on to his hand. It was a contrast of two sensations: the warmth of his blood under your palm and the coldness of his hand atop yours. It was frightening to you.

“Help!” You cried out to the open door. “Help us, please!”

“Have I told you…” Kit started, looking at you with tired, adoring eyes. “Have I told you that Father has agreed for us to marry again?” His eyes fluttered and you saw how he wanted to stay awake. “We will marry again, Y/N… I promise you…”

You cried harder at that, pushing against his wound to stop its blood flow. “Don’t speak, my love. Save your strength.” You told him gently.

His hand cupped your face and you felt the wound of his palm against your cheek. Such a harsh gash on a caring hand. “I… I was planning on courting you properly.”

You sputtered at his words; eyes bleary as you turned your attention to the door. “Help! Somebody, please!”

Kit winced again. You gasped as you cried, pulling yourself closer to Kit’s body, hoping yours would warm his slowly cooling one.

“I wanted to bring you flowers everyday… Share more meals with you, not just supper…” He swallowed and a tear fell from his eye. “You promised me a walk in the gardens… when you are better.” His words sounded regretful, almost wistful, and you refused to entertain all hideous thoughts of finality in them.

“We will,” you rasped. You could not stop the tears. “I promise you we will, Kit. As soon as tomorrow.”

“I would have wanted to have a family with you, my love.” He looked at you and coughed. You felt sick to your stomach when the blood from his wound lurched and flowed beneath your palm. “Have I told you… I once envisioned our daughter?”

You shook your head in reply as you cried. “N-No,” you choked. You could not tell him you thought of having a son with his features, a little boy in both of your images. It was too much to bear, too much to think of, when he looked like this.

A shaky finger ghosted your cheek, his touch as soft as the sigh that left his lips. “Oh, she’s beautiful. She would look like you. She would be smart and clever and…” He breathed deeply. “She would love you like I do.”

His smile was weak. His hand slipped from your face but you brought it back and held it there. His eyes fluttered once more before settling half-lidded. He looked at you so solemnly, so reverently that it made you weep. He took a deep, shaky breath. His voice was stronger but it was low, as if the effort pained him.

“Know that you are the air in my lungs… The wine I drink when I am parched… The strength in my sword when I wield it...” he whispered. He slowly leaned his head against yours, closing his eyes. “Know that I will always love you even as I take my last breath.”

You cried at his words, anguished wails that rend the air at his confession. “Oh, Kit. I love you! I love you with every beat of my heart!”

Only, he did not say anything to that. The cries died in your throat as you looked at him.

“Kit?” You shook his other shoulder, trying to rouse him. He remained still. “Kit? Kit! Do not do this to me! No! I forbid you to leave me!”

You whirled wildly about the room, hoping to see someone by the door to help you but there was no one. The blood beneath your palm had slowed and for once in your life, you wanted nothing more than to feel it speed up.

“Kit!” You turned back to your beloved and pounded against his body in an effort to wake him. “Please! Do not do this! You promised we’d marry and have a family! Please! Please! I am yet to give you our daughter! Please, do not do this to me!”

You embraced his head to you, crying, screaming, begging.

“Help! Somebody help, please! Please!”

You still kept your hand against his wound, wailing against his body. “Please…”

Captain Thibault arrived a few seconds after to see you holding Kit close to you, cries of agony and despair ringing through your thrashed chambers.

“Miss—”

You looked up at him through your tears. “Help me, please.”

The physician arrived shortly after. They had to forcefully pry you from Kit, with Captain Thibault carrying you in his arms to bring you to another room. You protested against him and squirmed, wanting nothing more than to remain with Kit. He needed you like you needed him.

“No!” You cried terribly, reaching out to Kit, who was now under the physician’s expert ministrations. “Please! Do not make me leave him! I don’t want to leave him! He needs me!”

You protested even as you were deposited in another room. You begged and pleaded and cried and groveled but Thibault refused your pleas. He turned to you just as he exited the door, shaking his head mournfully.

“Please, Miss,” he said as the door clicked shut.

Your protestations died on your tongue upon hearing the words from the Captain. Those had been the very words from your nightmare, from when one of the crew of the ship had locked you in the Captain’s cabin while they battled the storm. Those were the last words you heard before you found out that Kit was slain by the Grand Duke.

Your throat dried and all fight was drained from you. You could only stare at the door in horror, gripped by fear for what was to come. You were not one for superstitions but you felt it in you that if you were to act like you had in your nightmare, the events would follow. You refused to bang against the door nor cry for help, in the instance that the nightmare may become reality.

You did not know how long you sat unmoving on the bed. The room was drafty and dark, no kindling to start a fire, no candle to illuminate what was before you. The only light source was the little slip from under the door that escaped from the hallway and into the room. It gave you time to truly feel and discover the pains and aches you had incurred during the fight. You were bloodied but you did not know whose blood it was that covered your nightgown. You had stepped on a broken shard of vase. There were burn marks on your wrist from the curtain ties. Blood had dripped from your head wound at where the nefarious man had banged you against the mantel. The headache had restarted. All of these felt nothing as compared to the fear that enveloped your being.

You turned your back to the door and faced the open window. The moon shone big and bright in the sky, incandescent amongst the smattering of stars, almost goading you to talk to it. You rarely spoke to heavenly bodies, finding them quite infantile at times, but now, you had no one to speak to. Abigail was dead. Kit was dead. Louis was away. There was only you.

“How could you take him from me?” you whispered in the wind, eyes burning as tears came anew. “How could you bring us together then part us again? Have we not been in enough pain?”

You raged against the moon, having nowhere else to place the anger in your soul.

“His father wanted me to stay and yet you took him from me! How could you!”

As if ashamed of your accusations, the moon hid behind a passing cloud.

You cried now, face in your hands as sobs racked your whole body. You could not voice your frustrations anymore, instead opting to weep at the pain and the heartbreak to make way for the eventual emptiness. What was life without Kit? Nothing. Your life had no purpose without him. And despite the many times you had spent with each other, no memory of it came to mind. Nothing encompassed the pain of seeing Kit dead.

The tears kept spilling, washing away your blood and Kit’s that had caked in your hands. Perhaps the Grand Duke was correct; that you were the cause of everything that had happened. If you had kept your investigation to yourself, Kit would not be dead. He would be alive, albeit unaware of the truth of his  mother’s death. He would not be dead. You would not have his blood in your hands, quite literally but also figuratively.

“I did this,” you whispered as you looked at your blood-soaked hands. Despite the moon being the only source of illumination, the blood appeared brilliant and red to you.

“No, Miss. You did nothing wrong,” came the Captain’s voice from behind you. There was a sliver of light and a creaking sound before the door closed after his words.

You turned to him with a shake of your head, defeated and weary. “I caused all of this. My investigation caused all of this.”

“You only shed light to it. The Grand Duke did all of this.”

“Captain—”

“Kit would not want you to blame yourself for this.”

Your eyes blazed, tears burning as they tracked down your face, all resentment and pain and fury and sadness coming out at the sound of your voice. “How could you tell? Kit is dead! He is dead because of me! I might as well had plunged the sword into him! I killed him! He is dead!”

Captain Thibault shook his head sadly, coming to you. He pulled out a handkerchief and held it out for you to take. “There is hope, Miss. There is always hope.”

It was some time after that that the door opened. The physician stood beneath the arch, his front bloodied and looking worse for wear. There was, however, a relief to his face that made hope burn in your chest.

“Captain,” the man said. “The king is saved.”

Captain Thibault stood.

“And the prince?” you asked desperately, almost choking at your words. “What of the prince?”

There was a brief pause—long enough to steal the breath from you—before he uttered the words that made you weep once more.

“He is alive.”

If you ever wonder what goes on in a female readers head, don’t. It’s usually just fictional characters, fake scenarios, dirty thoughts, and trauma

— I was having such a good day until this notification. 😭 what are we going to do w/o Joon’s IG updates, Jungkook’s amazing lives that make us feel so close to him, Jimin’s constant love towards us, and V’s short but super meaningful lives that leave us always wanting more. MY HEART IS BREAKING. The sooner they go the sooner they come back and we willl have all 7 of them again, that’s what I have to keep telling myself. ♥️😭

— I literally broke down into tears reading this. How can this all be real? 😭😭😭😭

“Zim did the worst thing ever to Dib in Dark Harvest”

Nah.

“Omg Zim did the worst thing ever to Dib in Bad, Bad Rubber Piggy”

Wrong. The most fucked up, sadistic, and effective thing Zim did to Dib happened in “Dib’s Wonderful Life of Doom” and there is no close debate to be had on the matter. That walk of humiliation and genuinely upset “you stink, Zim” after being shot by a muffin instead of some instant alien death beam let you know loud and clear that one incident was going to take a hell of a lot longer to get over than rubber pigs and a moo can.

pretty smiley soobin for @bamgeut

what a cutie~

embarrassed yoongi  🙈

embarrassed yoongi  🙈

I don’t want to stop being friends with someone I really want to be friends with

I hope we’ll talk soon and see you :)

freind I miss you

Will you come back

The most terrifying thing is when you looked at me like I could heal you. And I did not know how to tell you that I had never pieced a broken heart together before.

All The Things I Never Told You

I miss them

is there anyone in Gotham City who DOESN’T have daddy issues ?

Supernatural S5E14 My Bloody Valentine

Eddie “this is what happens when I can’t talk to Buck for ONE EPISODE” Diaz