ততততত

𝐈 𝐌 𝐎 𝐆 𝐄 𝐍

We wait in the throne room, my mind in a thousand places, but none of them being here.

My emotions mix around until they form a heavy numbing stew. Anger, frustration are at its core due to Tobin's discovery of Ruslan's bedroom. I've been naive around him, handing him my trust as if he wouldn't mishandle it. Yet, I just didn't want to face the grim reality of knowing that his intentions were always elsewhere. I saw him as a friend. He saw me as a tool. That's what pains me more than the discovery of Ruslan.

And I let him free.

I released him back into Lagulon's countryside as if he didn't know the truth that lies within the castle. He gave me his word, but words aren't enough to seal a promise. I doubt he'll come back, and if he does, I don't know if I want him to stay.

We've developed a strange tether between us, a mutual attraction that beckons us closer. It's an almost inaudible vibration that hums through our skin with every touch, bubbling up with a tingling pleasurable heat. When I stand close, my senses heighten to his every movement and sound. He hypnotizes me in a way no man ever has.

A fraction of me believed that this attraction between Tobin and I could replace the misery of my betrothal—a dream to bask in compared to the nightmare I'm given.

My father sets his worn hand on my shoulder. "Remember, Imogen, you won't fall out of our sight."

I nod my head as I study my father. He dresses in royal navy robes. Embroidered golden waves decal the edges of his sleeves, hems, and cuffs, as well as an intricate pattern of golden-threaded ivy that weaves up the back of his coat. I dress to match him: a navy dress flaunted with golden waves and ivy branches. Long ago, an olive branch symbolized a time of peace, an attribute our kingdom is in desperate need of receiving now.

Beside my father stands Lorcan, his second-in-command, a man so loyal to the throne that it somehow puts my own father to shame. Lorcan's hazel eyes meet mine, and he gives me a sympathetic nod. His long dark hair shelters his face, hiding the pity he has for me.

A chill bellows through the room, the air shifting from an anxious warmth to a bitter winter wind.

King Leighton.

My father extends his arms. "King Leighton," his voice bellows in such artificial happiness. "It's been some time."

Leighton gives a curt nod to my father. "Not since Adirya died... My condolences on the loss."

Adirya. My mother. A saint found by my father in the darkness.

Leighton stands amongst Adoridian warriors, each one still dressed in glistening iron armour. My betrothed wears deep pine clothes, with armour so black one would think it were coated in a mixture of soot and oil. He's a tall man, yet his long peppering tendrils and icy cerulean eyes entice everyone in the room. He's a boulder—biceps aching to escape the stitching of his clothes.

This man could crush me like a dandelion.

My father's lips twitch at the mention of my mother's name. "We did what we could at the time, but no one can win against death, can they?"

Leighton scans our party, mostly just the three of us anticipating his arrival. He then proceeds to introduce more of his men.

First, he points to a man with a deadly scar running down his cheek. His amber hair is shaven on the sides, yet long in a glorious mohawk down the middle. He's shorter next to Leighton, but carries a long rusty spear in his hand.

"This is Brock, the captain of my guard, and this—" he gestures to his other companion. I stop, my breath hitching.

He has black hair, and a pair of heavenly blue eyes. He flashes a smile at me, one handsome enough to have any girl falling at his footsteps. Not I, though. He's nothing compared to Tobin. Yet, there's something familiar about this man, as if I've seen those languid wisps of charcoal hair before. I would have remembered those blue eyes if he was a familiar stranger.

"—this is Gareth, the right hand to my throne."

Each of the two men bows their head in acknowledgement.

Leighton crosses his arms behind his back. "I always enjoy my visits to Lagulon. I would die to have access to those oceans someday."

Access. That's the key word. Adorid is a landlocked kingdom, unlike Lagulon who holds authority over miles of coastline. Leighton doesn't simply want the oceans for nothing, he wants to conquer them.

"We can perhaps come up with a deal to get you what you want," my father grumbles, "but we shouldn't waste our time when we have a bigger matter to deal with."

Leighton smiles and looks in my direction. "I agree. Imogen must have a lot of ideas for the wedding ceremony."

Nausea tears through me as if I just got run over by a horse. As a child, I always dreamed of walking through this throne room in a white gown of lace and flowers. Instead, the dream becomes a horror I don't dare delve into, because at the end of the aisle will stand this man: Leighton.

My father casually nudges me to answer, and I force my eyes to meet the icy cold gaze of the King of Adorid. "I have plenty," I manage to say, "but they're nothing you would like."

Leighton chuckles at this. "I can be persuaded."

"Not with this."

"Imogen," my father urges, biting his tongue to hold back a bark. Instead, he clears his throat and continues on. "I'll have the servants move your things to the guest wing. How long shall we be expecting you to stay?"

Leighton smirks. "Until the wedding."

The wedding with no date. The wedding that will be set earlier than anyone in this castle desires.

My father sets his hand on my spine, sensing the disarray building within me, threatening to unravel me full. Just a tender touch, and I settle, but the rush of anxiety will only return as long as Leighton is in my sight. I need to get out of this room. No, perhaps even out of this castle.

"Shall we proceed to the feast?" my father says, changing the subject. "We have only the finest meal prepared for this evening."

It seems everyone in the party is in agreement on this. I follow behind my father as we are guided towards the dining hall. Lorcan brushes his arm up against me, gaining my attention in such a swift subtle action. The man leans towards my ear, his voice a hushed whisper.

"Do not trust any of them," he warns. "Not even his soldiers."

I glance over to Brock and Gareth. They walk side by side. Brock locks his dark eyes on the large doors ahead of us that part way into the dining room, while Gareth appears to be more analytical. He takes in the marble columns that rise to the towering ceilings, and he studies the ancient tapestries that tell of ocean legends strung from wooden beams.

When Leighton's right hand soldier lowers his eyes, he finds mine staring directly at him. He gives me a brisk wink, his gaze sultry yet ice, then reverts his attention to Brock. My heart shakes like two tectonic plates crashing into each other, sending my body into a trembling earthquake. There's something off about him, and his familiarity certainly isn't helping the cause.

We take our seats in the dining room. My father sits at the head of the table on a throne of gold and navy velvet. I on one side of him, with Lorcan next to me. Across from me sits King Leighton himself, and then Gareth, and Brock. The table certainly weighs more on the testosterone side than I would like it to be, but I know Adorid is a kingdom condemned in a patriarchy of woes. Lagulon was nothing like that. Before my mother died, she aided my father in vital decisions. In fact, it was her that made the final call. Things have shifted since then, none for the better.

The first round arrives the moment our asses hit the seat cushions. Wine pours into golden glasses and overflows onto plates. Soup boiled with the finest produce in Lagulon fills our bowls, and the first glistening roasted venison is placed in front us. And bread. Gods, freshly baked bread always is a way to my heart.

Yet, with one look at Leighton across from me, and my appetite vanishes.

The horrid king lifts his eyes to meet mine. Ice. A cold blizzard arriving without warning to bite me with frost. They contrast the dark wrinkles that begin to form under his dangerous eyes and scarred skin.

A smirk traces his thin lips, although I can hardly see them beneath his thick beard.

"I have been waiting for this moment, Imogen," he speaks, his voice low. It's almost as if he meant this conversation to be a private one, completely disregarding the fact that my father sits next to him. "You have always had this charming aspect to you, and it's a shame we haven't had more reasons to meet such as this."

I swallow. Small talk with a man I despise will be the death of me. "Such a shame."

My father grunts at the blunt sarcasm. Underneath the table cloth, I cross my fingers that my father will swoop in with a conversation that will pivot it away from Leighton and I.

Leighton crooks his head, almost offended that I didn't bite at the opportunity to speak with him, but what did he expect? He's the one binding me to this horrendous marriage to end a war he started.

My father clears his throat. "Well, before we even begin to talk about the, er, reasons for your arrival, we need to speak about the warfront."

"The warfront?" Leighton's gnarly knuckles bend the metal spoon in his grip. Gods, he's strong, built like an ox. "This is supposed to be a celebration, and you want to talk about the war?"

"Yes, the betrothal between you and Imogen is joyous," my father puts extra emphasis on the word, almost spitting it out in disgust, "but I can't proceed with planning a ceremony when there's still blood on the battlefield."

"I didn't come here to be accused," Leighton seethes. "I came here to meet with my wife."

The word slaps me in the cheek, and words shoot out of my mouth like arrows. "I am not your wife, and I won't ever be your wife! If you think that you can—" Lorcan grabs my arm and squeezes so tight that it probably left a mark. I shut up.

Lorcan leans into my ear. "Watch your tongue, princess."

I bite my cheeks to hold back the influx of words aching to lash at that man. How could my father let the chefs prepare such a meal for that monster? How come we let him in our castle walls as if he didn't kill thousands of our soldiers? How can he give me away in marriage to him when he's known to be ruthless to his own brethren? We're overseeing such sins and giving him a clean slate, but he hasn't changed at all.

"I'm sorry," I choke out. Fortunately, Leighton gives a slight nod at the forced, unfelt apology.

A cloud of silence hovers over the table-only the sound being awkward cutlery clanking against plates and slurps of wine fill the void. Although, I'd rather hear such sounds than the sound of my betrothed.

The silence only lasts so long until Leighton attempts to speak with me once again. "I assure you, Imogen, that you will be well accounted for in my castle. You won't even miss being away from Lagulon."

"It's a lot to ask of me," my throat tightens with every word, "to relocate my life to a new kingdom."

"You'll be comfortable, and everything that I have will be at your fingertips."

"Will it really be?" I breathe. "Or are you making false promises?"

"You need to have more faith in me," he responds, his voice cutting through the air in hostility. He doesn't like my uneasy thoughts towards our marriage, considering I want this marriage to be nonexistent. "You agreed to this, didn't you?"

Leighton looks at me, then to my father. I'll admit, the King of Adorid has been quite friendly compared to his other known occurrences. He's known to erupt, to lash out and scar those around him without an ounce of pity. The darkness that lurks beneath his skin comes to the surface.

My father stares at him, shooting daggers across the table. It's not like we agreed because I want to marry Leighton.

"We did," my father answers. No, he agreed to this. I didn't. "This marriage will bridge our two kingdoms together, correct?"

"I don't see why we would have to be enemies if you agreed to give me your daughter."

"If you prove you are worthy of her."

Leighton crooks his head in offence at the remark. The trust between the two kingdom's has always been thin during Leighton's rule, but this marriage would mend what once was broken.

"King Orion," Leighton mutters my father's title, breathing each syllable as if he were spitting poison. "If you intended to break this marriage before my arrival, then you certainly are wasting my time. You know I can send my men to your borders within a matter of hours. In days, Lagulon will crumble to my fist." The room draws silent. "Is that what you want?"

My father swallows. "You're drawing the wrong conclusions to this."

"Is that what you want?" he asks again, a little louder.

"Any father has difficulty giving their daughter away in marriage—king or not," he rouses. "I'm sure you'll earn my approval easily." A lie, one meant to ease Leighton's easily riled emotions.

"Good. That's what I want to hear," Leighton's shoulders settle. The king wavers his attention back on me. "Now, Imogen, we shall pick a wedding date."

I force my fists to dig into the fabric of my navy dress skirt. "You said you were staying here until the wedding, correct?"

"Yes, but I have matters to attend to in Adorid. I would like it to be sooner than later... How about a moon cycle?"

A month. He wants to get married in a month. Gods, that's only a matter of days. My heart begins to hammer against my ribs, twisting my stomach into a knot. Under the table, my father reaches his hand over and clasps his warm palm against mine, morphing our hands into one.

"That's not enough time," I respond, trying my best to keep my voice collected. "I would need dress preparations, and you would need robes and tunics, and we'd have to taste meals for the feast..." All lies. Each one of them is another careless wedding task that I do not give a damn about. "It wouldn't work."

He ponders over this, then rolls his eyes with a begrudging nod. "Then what do you suggest?"

I swallow. He wouldn't want to push it a year. The longest I know he might stretch this wait out is... "Six months."

Leighton slams his palm against the table. "No."

"I can't do any earlier than that."

"It doesn't take that long to plan a fucking wedding," Leighton grits, his gaze deadlier than any moment before. He's not impressed with me, probably due to my lack of submission to the marriage.

Though quiet most of the night, Gareth opens his mouth to speak. He pushes back locks of charcoal hair from those sapphire eyes, his irises beaming as they meet mine.

"My king, I actually think the prolonged wait might be nice for, er, settling in," he shrugs as he says this. "She's unfamiliar with our castle spaces. What if, in a month, we brought Imogen back to Adorid? She can stay in the castle and become accustomed to the grounds. It would make the transition to marriage much easier."

I open my mouth to disagree, but my father spits it out the moment Gareth stops talking. "No. Imogen is not going to the Adoridian castle, certainly not alone."

Leighton cocks his head, a deadly smirk crossing his lips. "Do you not trust me?"

"You may be getting married to her, but that doesn't change the fact that you are both unfamiliar with each other," my father gestures to Lorcan. "Lorcan will escort her if she goes, as well as her handmaiden. That's the only way."

The only way? There shouldn't even be one way that would make me agree to going to that god forsaken kingdom. Not even having Lorcan and Elena by my side would affect that.

"Fine, she can take Lorcan and a servant," he grumbles, "and I'll even have Brock guard outside her door at night. No one can sneak around him, and if they dare try," he chuckles, finding humour in his threats, "they certainly won't last long."

Brock lifts his head from gnawing on a pork chop, oblivious to the tension tying itself between opposing sides of the table. Despite being a high ranked official, he refuses to use any pious mannerisms that should have been taught to him when he was a kid.

"Then it's settled," Leighton announces. "In four months, we will wed here, in the castle of Lagulon, and forge our two magnificent kingdom's together."

My heart stops. "Did you just say four months? I thought we agreed on six."

"Four is the best I can do."

"But-"

"Imogen," my father's voice cuts. He doesn't want me to fight this.

He wants me to marry him in four months. Four. Months.

Before, this nightmare didn't feel as real as it does now, because now there's a day. There's a beginning to the death sentence that might send me to my grave. I have to prepare myself, my heart, my body, my soul—there might not be a way to heal myself if this marriage goes through. I've already broken once thanks to Ruslan.

I won't let myself break again.

The feast continues on, although now the melody of the lute and chimes breaks the chilling silence. This marriage is one that I can't escape, and I have to remind myself that I am getting the brunt of this deal. If Leighton truly is a man of his word, then the war will cease. Our kingdoms will be unified for generations and generations.

I will be the reason the kingdom of Lagulon will prosper.

As the feast concludes, the men all slip into a drunken state. Leighton becomes relentless in his asking, attempting to convince me to go with him into the courtyards for a walk. He's aggressive and heady due to his intoxication. After denying his requests several times, Lorcan finally slips by and guides me into an empty corridor.

"I can't do this," I cry to my father's most trusted friend.

Lorcan's hazel eyes have always held a strange fierce gentleness that I admire, like an eagle soaring in the sky, stalking prey. "You're the only one that can."

"You have to find a way to fix this," I beg, tears cutting slices down my cheeks. "Please. You know the kingdom better than my own father. There has to be some ancient rite that can overthrow the marriage."

But Lorcan only shakes his head. "There's no ancient rite. Just you. Princess, you're doing something that no one else in this kingdom would."

"I don't want to do this, though."

Lorcan pulls me into his embrace. Although I taunt the man with a bow and arrow in my free time, I've always felt a level of trust towards him. He's like an uncle to me-considering my father was an only child, and according to my mother, she left her family when she discovered she was pregnant with Ruslan. There was only us.

"You should get some rest," Lorcan whispers as he pulls apart. "I'll find Elena and tell her to meet you in your bedroom-"

"Don't bother," I shake my head. "I'd rather just be alone for now."

I step away as the first round of salty tears swell in the rims of my eyes. Heart aching, chest heaving, breath rapid-all symptoms that can easily be cured with one option: going numb. It'd be so easy. It'd be what I would have to do to survive. I'm afraid that with every turn down these corridors, I'll see Leighton. His icy eyes. His taunting smile. He's like a ghost, haunting an innocent victim. There's no guessing what demons will be unleashed tomorrow, because Leighton's strike will come, and when it does, I might not be prepared.

In four months, I will marry a monster in the flesh.

I swing open the door to my bedroom, shutting it behind me. I need to rid myself of these clothes. They're meant to please him, to let him think I'm an honourable prize to be won. I don't belong to him—not anyone. They might bend me, twist me, break me, but they will never own me.

I claw at the ribbons on my spine, fighting for them to break loose so I can breathe in.

Instead, when I lift my gaze, all I see is a thief.

Tobin grips a white-knuckled hand to the hilt of his sheathed sword, his usually playful aura now tainted with a cutting tension. It weighs heavy over us, like a humid storm. His kind brown eyes fall under the shadows of a messy chestnut cowlick.

His voice cracks like thunder, and I fall stunned, as if he hit me with a bolt of lightning.

"You never told me you were getting married."

── •✧• ──

I'm sorry for leaving you on a bit of a cliffhanger, but I promise I'll let you know what happens between Tobin & Imogen very soon! In the meantime, have an amazing Christmas season and holidays with family and friends!

I truly love you all so, so, so, so, so, so, so much.

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