ততততত

𝐓 𝐎 𝐁 𝐈 𝐍

My tongue has been rapid with cutthroat curses.

Gareth and Brock force me to walk—on my goddamn fucked-up leg with a blistering knife wound—through the bleak hidden passages that weave within the walls of the Lagulon castle. Gareth stands in front of me, guiding me to where he wants to go while Brock kicks my bad leg to keep going (as if I couldn't get the message). I stumble forward, attempting to brace my fall with my hands, but they got fucking shackles wrapped around my wrists.

When I hit the cold heartless ground, Gareth pauses and turns to look at the commander of Leighton's army. "We need him to walk. I'm not carrying him the rest of the way."

Brock gives a disapproving huff, but complies to Gareth's orders. He hoists me back up to my feet. "Keep walking," he mumbles under his breath.

"Bastard," I hiss.

I won't make it far if I break for it, not with my injured leg and certainly not when I'm bound in chains. Still, as Gareth weaves through the passages with a torch in hand, I begin to recognize where we are in the castle. All those nights of sneaking around here have allowed me to create a mental map of this place, and I know exactly where he's taking me. This stone corridor—it's the same one where I watched Imogen stand before her people and announce the betrothal to Leighton. It's where Gareth found me and convinced me to steal Ruslan's crown.

This corridor has a hidden view of the throne room through the cracks in the wall, and the throne room is the exact place where Imogen will marry Leighton.

"You motherfucker," I spit as Brock forces me down to my knees. He grabs me by the scruff of my hair and cranes my eye to look into the crack. There, I observe the vast crowd of Lagulonians vying to see a glimpse of their princess as the bride. The ceremony hasn't started yet, thank the gods, but it will soon. Music echoes through these walls, the noise muffled by the stone, but the image before me will be clear as day.

The knife wound is torture enough, but Leighton knows how I feel about Imogen, knows that it'll hurt more to watch that light I adore become extinguished. She's selling her soul to the devil to save her kingdom, all with a simple 'yes' from her lips in marriage.

It's a wicked choice her father made, and yet Imogen's willing to tip those scales to save her people.

Brock holds me in place as I swing my hand towards Gareth. The torchlight flickers against his grim features, almost as if it pained him to see me like this. So feeble. So weak. Our eyes meet, and... he looks disappointed, or maybe that's sorrow, but I can't tell because I hate his entire fucking face right now.

Gareth swallows. "Leighton's orders. He wanted you to have a view of the wedding."

"He's going to kill her." It'll be a slow, brutal, heart-crushing death of her soul, and I don't even know if I'll be alive to bring her back to light. What if I can't resurrect her when she's already too far gone into such darkness?

"I can't disobey my king, Tobin."

"He's a fucking dick," I spit.

Gareth breaks our eye contact, finding more interest in the soles of his leather boots. "Imogen will be well taken care of in the Adoridan castle. You should know that she'll be under close observation from our guards. Nothing will bring her harm."

"I don't trust you or anyone with her."

"Aspen will serve her," Gareth mutters. "Do you not trust her?"

Aspen. He can't throw Aspen into the mix. She doesn't belong in that castle either, but it seems everyone in the Adoridian regime is set on stealing away those I love. How ironic that a thief can't even steal what he truly wants. Now, I'm captured and set for execution.

"I asked Imogen if she had a message she wanted to give you," Gareth narrows his eyes at me as he says this. "She says, 'I like the name Blair.' It's up to you to understand what that means, but I guess you'd know, right?"

I pause.

Blair.

I guess she never did tell me her opinion of the name that night, not that the notion is important now. That's one of my many suggestions I thought of when I thought she was pregnant with our baby—

Wait.

Blair.

Baby.

Pregnant.

I exhale, then turn my attention back to the crack. By now, the pompous music increases in the crowded sanctum as the ceremony draws closer to beginning. There's no sign of Imogen, but I suddenly need answers. So many of them. The name shouldn't matter now, not unless she needed it for a blessing to come in the future.

She told me she took the elixir. We both agreed that there was no way in hell we'd be able to take care of a child under these circumstances.

Oh gods.

Blair. She likes the name Blair.

And I'm locked up in chains within these passages.

I thrash within them to be freed. I need to see her, see the woman I love and ask her with such adoration just one question: Are you pregnant?

Imogen, what have we done?

What the fuck are we doing?

Brock holds me steady to restrict me in place, while Gareth pulls a strip of cloth from his pocket.

"I don't want to do this, Tobin," Gareth mutters as he steps closer to where I cower, "but like I said, I can't disobey my king's command. I have a wedding to attend to, but Brock will be here in case you decide to go rogue again."

"You fucking ass-kissing—" he cuts me short as he gags me with the strip of cloth. Although muffled, I seethe an alphabet of curses, but even that's not enough to describe the pure fury worming its way through my veins. Imogen just sent me a message, a flicker of hope that I have to hold onto in order to survive. It feels like I've gone to the pits of hell, only from the bottom to see the light before me.

No. This can't be how I go down in flames. The only reason I'll burn is if I'm coexisting next to Imogen. All those nights of gallivanting in the meadow and wretched evenings of trying to forget this madness under the twilight only added timber to our flame, and yet that same fire has scorched us until we're nothing but crumbling ash.

Gareth shakes his head as he takes one last look at me. "You were a good friend, Tobin. I'm sorry it's ending like this."

Gareth disappears down the corridor, leaving me alone with Brock. The rest of Leighton's goons and guards will be close by, but Brock will crush my skull if I get away. Still, I fight back. I squirm in his grasp, aching to be freed so I can rescue my princess.

With Brock forcing my gaze through the cracked walls in passageway, I observe the ceremony beginning to unfold. The crowd remains thick as the room congests itself with the festivities. The music roars louder, a melody that should be the sound of celebration, but to me, it sounds like war.

Betwixt it all, walking down the aisle as the room draws silent, is a moonbeam.

She stands there in white, the same shade as the white orchids that grow by her mother's grave. The dress pools down her frame in satin waterfalls. Gold vines are embroidered into the bodice, as well as navy ocean waves that symbolize her kingdom's coasts. Her golden moonlit hair drapes down her shoulders in the shinest silk curls, a golden laurel strewn across the crown of her head.

Around her neck, she wears a pendant. A crescent moon. The same one she gifted me all those nights ago until it was stripped away from me.

I scream, my voice muffled by the gag over my mouth. I can't fight. I can hardly breathe. Yet, Imogen walks forward, those grey eyes never wavering from that bastard of a king.

Sweet, sweet Imogen...

I know you'll say yes, but Imogen, listen to my plea.

I love you.

I've admitted it to you before, but it was never enough. I should've said it every dawn and dusk, should've climbed the peaks of Mt. Elora and shouted it from the top of my lungs. I showed you me in every way possible, and you accepted every flaw and scar, claiming every deformation with a brush of soft fingertips. I was a fucking mess. I was broken, bended, wounded deeper than just the surface of my skin, but you mended me in a way I never thought I could. Leighton destroyed me once, and he might get away with it again, but now I know you.

You're a light, Imogen, and we're living in a void of darkness. If it's true, if you really are carrying a child within you, just remember who their father truly is. A thief. A warrior. A fighter. A lover. I just wish I could be more, but we both know I won't be alive next nightfall. We both know that this might be my last.

You know, Imogen, I chose the name Blair for a reason. You loved the meadows near my home, seeking the wildflowers and tall grass to let you sleep in peace. It was the place where we laughed, sparred, made love. Yet, we both know that this marriage to Leighton only binds you to raise your bow and arrow in battle. Blair will be our battlefield, our fight.

If I make it until dawn, just know that the war is just beginning, and I will come back and steal you for eternity.

── •✧• ──

:)

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