"Six impossible things. Count them Alice. One: There's a potion that can make you shrink. Two: There's a cake that can make you grow. Three: Animals can talk. Four: Cats can disappear. Five: There's a place called Wonderland. Six: I can slay the Jabberwocky." -Alice Kingsleigh
It really was love at first sight, but she didn’t go to the ball hoping to find love. She just wanted a night of fantasy and to be in that world. She didn’t even know his name. She just saw a gentleman and actually fell in love with him for who he is … But I think after that, it was a little bit unlucky, in the sense that that night forever changes her and actually makes her yearn for love even more, that she never asked for. — Yerin Ha
SOPHIE BAEK (and BENEDICT BRIDGERTON)
BRIDGERTON | season four
Do you have some klaroline hcs or opinions to share that will last me untill new chapter? Please🙏🙏🙏
I think one thing I love about them---or at least, the way I interpret them---is that they're not actually opposites in character, unlike most enemies-to-lovers ships. And I'm not talking about a sides-of-the-same-coin mentality here, I mean they're literally the same, in more ways than one. They mirror each other in the most beautiful of ways.
First, there's their backstories. They were both born human, and suffered as humans. Klaus suffered under the abuse of his father, and by further extent, the manipulations of his mother. He understood pain and sacrifice; understood what its like to feel weak and helpless---powerless---all too well. Caroline shares this experience, not just through what Damon did to her when she was human, but also in how the other characters treat her, always underestimating her and falling on certain assumptions about her character that aren't always right. She's made to feel small and alone, her voice belitted and defiled, and becomes isolated in her attempts to fix it as a result.
Second---they didn't choose vamprism, but thrived as vampires regardless. Their sufferings as humans meant they didn't see vamprism so much as a curse, but grew to see it as a gift, valuing the power and strength that came with it, unlike many around them. They're both a little too selfish, a little too callous, craving that power, regardless of who it hurts---Caroline just has better impulse control than Klaus. She listens to her moral compass, rather than disregards it. That's the only difference.
How they were turned also has its own parallel---betrayal. Klaus, reborn amongst death, he and his siblings murdered by their own father at the dinner table, and Caroline, suffocated by Katherine in her own hospital bed, the face of her best friend the last thing she saw before she died. They're trauma buddies. It's great.
Third---they both have daddy issues. And mommy issues, come to think of it. The only difference is how they deal with them---Klaus, with avoidance, anger and resentment, blaming them for his own faults, and Caroline, with acceptance, forgiveness and grace, choosing instead to move on, not because she's trying to be the better person, but because it's only way she knows how to survive.
In terms of character, they're both control freaks (I say with the utmost affection). Similar brands of control freak too---Klaus renovates that entire mansion and seems particularly testy about it when Elijah throws him through a wall. He also canonically was (kinda) responsible for two very successful parties---Homecoming, which he made Tyler sabatage so he could throw himself, complete with a BIGGER band and more people, his hybrids hidden in the crowds, and the Mikaelson Ball (Esther and Rebekah may have had leeway on the final decisions, but they're kinda new to the century, so I bet our resident hybrid had some suggestions for it. Plus, they probably used his money anyway). He's not like, canonically shown as a clean freak like say, Elijah or Caroline, but he is a snob, and he also stuffed his siblings in boxes because he couldn't trust them Not To Die. Even though they're unkillable. Immortal. Very much Not Likely To Die.
If that's not neurotic control freak on crack behaviour... I don't know what to tell you.
Other character traits that are similar is that they're both a little bitchy, love throwing shade; sassy; stubborn to a fault; clever and often cunning; fiercely loyal to their friends and family etc. Caroline is a bright soul, and perceived as one of the kindest characters, but I'd argue Klaus has his rare moments of geniune kindness too. Don't get me wrong, he's definitely an asshole, and an unapologetic killer to boot but... I don't know. There's rare moments it shines through---like when he compells Stefan to forget them in the 20s, to protect him from Mikael and also maybe to spare him the grief of their absence, or when he talks so softly when he and Caroline first meet, gentle towards her in that moment when there's really no reason to be. He's soft with Rebekah too, agreeing to go to the 20s Decade Dance for her (even though Caroline's attendance there was probably a big motivator). So yeah---don't tell anyone that the big bad wolf is a puppy in disguise.
They were never really an "opposites attract" kinda deal. And idk, I feel a lot of people forget that.
Synopsis: A contract has been found after twenty years, bearing your name and the Prince Kit's... bound in matrimony.
Chapter Synopsis: And they lived happily ever after.
Word Count: 7.4k words
Warning: mentions of trauma and killings, FLUFF, the gif is from Medici (I know, but it seemed appropriate ;) It's so hard to find the best gif since Cosimo is always so grumpy lmao )
A/N: Here it is! The end of an era! I am so proud of this story, it's become my baby. Thank you so much for staying and reading through all of the parts. Thank you for your comments and likes and reblogs. I love you, guys! I hope you enjoyed The Accidental Princess!
Main Masterlist | Series 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
In the days followed that awful night, you became withdrawn from everybody else’s presence. You refused anyone’s help, knowing full well they would not console you in the way you wished to be consoled. You became a recluse inside Kit’s chambers as you kept vigil beside his sleeping, healing form, keeping only to yourself—and to Kit—with your thoughts and memories your only companions. No one understood the weight you suddenly carried on your shoulders, of how a single event skewed your humanity even when it was done from a place of good intentions.
You had indeed killed the Grand Duke and whilst putting a stop to his rampage had the desired effect of removing your anxiety about him, his resulting death haunted your every waking moment. You still felt the heft of the candelabra in your hands or the way you swung it to the base of his skull to deliver your killing blow. Seldom, you dreamt of being a helpless spectator as he slaughtered Kit before your eyes, moving only when your beloved had laid limply on the floor. Often, you dreamt of yourself brandishing the sword and slaying the man without remorse. With those dreams, you saw sightless eyes and brilliant scarlet blood around you, of faceless figures on familiar silhouettes; every single one condemning you for your actions that may have saved the lives of many but at the expense of one.
No one knew the great fear that ran through you, how every sound of footsteps from the hall made you jump in your own skin out of fear that there would be someone wanting to enact revenge on behalf of the Grand Duke. You became afraid of everything and still you refused their help. It was simple, really. It was just because they were not Kit.
And when he awoke, you decided to put on a brave face for him. Kit was still in pain, still in the process of healing, that you did not want to depend on him for your own. So you kept it, kept all your fears and your hurts, kept the inexplicable confusion of your tilted values, to yourself… until it broke one day.
That had been the night where your scream filled the halls and walls of the palace. You had dreamt you slayed everyone just because you could, with no rhyme nor reason at all, and the resulting confusion from your actions broke you. You screamed within your dream and without, the sound echoing all over the palace grounds and it woke all its inhabitants, fearing for the worse at the terror-filled sound. It took them—Kit, the royal physician, Captain Thibault, amongst others—quite some time to placate you, murmuring to you that the man was gone and dead, that his reign of terror has ended because of you. While those words had assuaged the great anxiety you had with regards to the awful man, it was Kit’s arms that calmed you and told you that you were safe.
“He is gone,” Kit had whispered against your hair, cradling you in his arms despite his healing shoulder wound, rocking you gently until you were at peace. “He will not come for us anymore.”
It was these nightmares that Kit would envelop you in his arms, murmuring to you that you saved him as much as he saved you, telling you that the man was gone and that he would never hunt your family again. You both were alive because of each other; those were the aftermath of your actions, actions that might have just been as offensive as the Grand Duke’s sins but they were necessary.
“You need not face them alone,” Kit had often told you when you suffered another of those horrible nightmares. “You have me. We will face them together.”
There were scars borne from that night: Kit’s once-fatal shoulder wound had become hardly indistinguishable among the many battle scars he had incurred in the previous years; the slice on his palm was indiscernible to the casual viewer and yet you still saw the harsh ridges of the puckered skin with just one look; and, of course, the mental scars that you received from the torment the godawful man had inflicted upon your family. These were the only reminders of the man’s brief tyranny against everyone. These, you often told yourself to convince yourself that what you had done was correct, were much more favorable than what the man had intended to happen.
And slowly, ever so slowly, you came into terms with all that had passed. The nightmares became infrequent until they stopped. You ceased jumping at every footstep in the hallway. You gradually started to tell Kit of the fears that held you back and submitted yourself to the help that was offered. You accepted that you killed the man, accepted that you were changed—as did everyone else—from then on, and you just lived.
.
.
.
.
“There is nothing like the tea you have blended, pet.” Louis said as he took a sip of his specially brewed tea.
You smiled graciously and raised the cup to your lips, sipping at it contentedly. Louis had just returned from Zaragoza after an extended stay and had immediately asked for your nightly routine of tea after dinner despite having arrived earlier that day. You had traveled quite a lot in your lifetime and knew how harrowing trips were and insisted that you would do a morning routine of tea instead, worried that he would be too tired to partake your tradition. He declined with a scoff, adamant to have it with you in spite of being tired as he said it would revive his spirits. You could not find it in you to say no to him—you doubted anyone had ever had the gall to say no to the charming Duke of Granville—and thus promised that you would have it as soon as supper was finished.
“You have not grown accustomed to coffee yet?” you asked.
Louis had written to you countless letters of this certain drink the Zaragozans seemed to love. In every one of them, he mentioned his disdain for it, often comparing it against your tea blend with your blends emerging as victors. You knew he only meant it as flattery but you were flattered, nonetheless.
“I will never grow accustomed to coffee, pet,” he said with feeling. “It is too bitter for my liking and their blend is far too weak.” He pulled a face at how much he disliked the other beverage, earning a laugh from you.
“But I have given you the recipe for your favorite blend. Surely, you have attempted at least once to make it?”
“And poison myself if I do it wrong?” he said.
You rolled your eyes at his dramatics. Even when he had spent quite some time away and around new culture, he was still the same Louis Toussaint. “I had also given you detailed instructions on how to correctly identify which tea leaves are harmful and which are not.”
You were briefly reminded of your investigation of the late Queen Amalie’s poisoned tea and of the dangerous flowers that were planted about the garden. You since had the beautiful but pernicious plants removed from the palace grounds and had them donated to a university to be studied upon, where they were far from people’s immediate reach. The empty spaces had been filled with more lavender bushes, as per Kit’s request, and every summer whenever they bloomed, you always thought they signalled a brand new day of hope.
“Forgive me, pet, but do you see me perusing every tea leaf and bud to see if they are safe for consumption?” he asked. “I would no sooner steep them than inspect them.”
You hummed in agreement, knowing he would do as such. “A bellyache would have signalled you that something is amiss with the tea. Surely, you would stop drinking if that happened.”
“Ah, do you truly not know me? I would suffer the bellyache if it meant I would drink tea than coffee.” He grinned as he took another sip of his tea.
“Their coffee must be abominable for you to dislike it so. You must be relieved that you are back home now.”
You sipped at your tea, savoring the lemon and peppermint taste. Louis took a biscuit and halved it, offering the other to you.
“I suppose it would be amiss of me to say I would much rather stay in Zaragoza—in spite of the matter with the coffee, of course.”
You took the proffered biscuit, quirking a brow as you looked at your dear friend. “Oh?”
“I’ve no work to do whilst I was there. It was refreshing to have a bit of intermission from all the kingdom’s issues.” He grinned devilishly at you before he bit on his pastry.
You chuckled at that, knowing very well what he meant. Louis had been very efficient as Kit’s adviser and the brief respite he had at Zaragoza was well-deserved. If there had been someone, other than Kit, who worked equally hard, it was he.
“How did my cousin fare while I was away?” Louis asked, curiosity on his face.
You nibbled on your half of the biscuit, smiling at him. “It seems you have forgotten that I now help with matters of the kingdom.” you scolded lightly. “And while I know how much he likes having me near him, I do not think I should be replacing you in your position anytime soon. You are far more efficient than I in some matters.”
“Admitting that he lost his way without me is easy, pet,” he teased. “And it uses fewer words than what you had said.”
You chuckled. You finished your biscuit and downed the remnants of your tea. Louis offered to refill your cup, to which you politely declined.
“No, thank you. The physician has said for me to drink only three cups of tea a day. I’ve already had my share of it.”
All laughter from Louis’s face vanished, instantly being replaced by concern. “What do you require the physician for? Is something the matter? Are you ill?”
“Oh, no. Quite the opposite, in fact. I am well and brimming with life.” You grinned ecstatically, finally having your dearest friend to share your news with. “Literally too, I’m afraid.”
At Louis’s confused look, you slid your hand to your abdomen and cradled the gentle swell. It had only started to show beneath your gowns, just a tiny bump beneath the many fabrics that were draped upon you daily. You had asked your lady’s maid to loosen the binds to your stays to give way to the life that was growing between your hips. Kit had not noticed it yet. You were soon to tell him of it.
“Y/N!” Louis erupted suddenly, clearly astounded. When he had left, you were not yet with child. “That’s wonderful news! Does Kit know?”
You shook your head. “No one knows, apart from me and the physician. You now, I suppose.” You speared him a serious glance. “I’ve told the man not to tell Kit about it. If he knows before I tell him, I shall have you to blame.”
His face turned solemn as he nodded. “I promise I will not tell.”
Knowing Louis, he would keep true of his word.
“Good.” You smiled. “Now, I have been meaning to ask you—”
You both paused as commotion ensued in the kitchen. There were surprised shouts and scattered murmurs of “Your Royal Highness” from the staff before you heard the rushing pitter-patter of little feet.
“Do you suppose that is one of yours or one of mine?” Louis asked when he looked at you.
The answer came a few seconds after.
“Mama!” cried your daughter, jumping at you with alacrity.
Behind her, Abigail stopped to curtsy at you and Louis.
Your sweet little girl, a miniature of you in all ways except for her hair and eyes, which she had gotten from Kit, scrambled on your lap as she grinned at her nanny. Her ebony waves shook with her laughter.
“Why are you awake, my little dove?” you asked her as you arranged her on your lap. You wrapped your arms around her tiny waist, securing her into position. “I thought Papa and I had put you to sleep?”
She looked up at you with her arresting blue eyes, eyes that often commanded the attention of its receiver. They were still mirthful but they had a gravity about them that only a four-year-old could possess.
“You and Papa did not tell me a good night story.” she accused. Her tone was very grave, as though what you had done—or had failed to do—was a sin against mankind.
“Oh! I’m sorry, my dove. Mama seemed to have forgotten.” You kissed her downy cheek, eliciting a giggle from her. “Shall we go back to your room?”
The impish look on her face—very similar to yours—did not vanish as she shook her head. “No.”
“No?” You looked at your dearest friend, who was chuckling silently in his corner of the alcove. You would have shushed him if it weren’t for the little girl on your lap. You chose to ignore him instead. “Do you not want Mama to read to you? How about your parrain? Would you like him to read you a good night story?” (Godfather)
She contemplated upon your question, eyes big and lower lip jutting as she pondered her reply.
“I would be happy to read you a bedtime story, moppet.” Louis said with a soft smile at her direction.
But your daughter frowned at him, shaking her head gravely. You anticipated as much. “It is a good night story, not a bedtime story, parrain!” she told him.
He turned to you suddenly, a look of question on his face, to which you nodded with all the seriousness you could muster upon it. Louis had left before the good night story-bedtime story dilemma. It was a little matter to the adults but not to your daughter.
“She insists it is called that. She will correct anyone who calls it otherwise,” you told him as you bounced her on your knee.
“Ah,” he said as he nodded, playing along. Louis knew better than to defy the little princess. He smiled contritely at her. “Forgive your parrain, moppet. Your cousins call it a bedtime story.”
But she did not look convinced. “They are wrong,” she pronounced with conviction, sounding like her father.
You let out a surprised chuckle, as did Louis, and hugged her close to you. “Oh, my darling, you mustn’t say that. Just because you call it differently than they do does not make them wrong.” You scolded her gently, tapping her nose to soften your words.
“But they are wrong, Mama.” She looked at you with her innocent and wide eyes, knowing full well the power it held over the adults. Now, she used it to ask for your support. “It is called a good night story. It is what you and Papa call it too.”
You smiled gently. “For you, my love, it is called that. But for your Parrain Louis’s children, it is called a bedtime story.” you told her. “There can be many different names for one thing.”
Your daughter pouted but she nodded, accepting your explanation. She had always been clever and intelligent, much like how Kit had envisioned her, but none had accounted for her stubbornness. Clearly, she had gotten it from both you and her father.
Louis stood from his chair, hand held out to your daughter. “Shall we go? What is your favorite good night story?”
She shook her head and snuggled closer to you. “No.”
You cast Louis an apologetic glance before addressing your daughter. “No?” You pushed the hair away from her eyes. “But surely, you must be exhausted from entertaining your cousins?”
She shook her head again, looking at you with a pout on her lips. She knows how adorable she is and uses it to her advantage, you thought to yourself amusedly.
“Oh, very well, then.” You chuckled, relenting. It was a struggle to decline her pleas, especially when most of them were trivial and harmless. She was a curious child, much like you were when you had been younger, and whilst she was yet to start her formal studies with a governess, you had taken it upon yourself to teach her of the things that were not taught within the confines of the classroom.
You turned to Abigail, who had been standing and awaiting your orders, and smiled gratefully at her. “Can you fetch me a cup of warmed milk, please, Abigail? After that, you may retire for the night. Her Papa and I will bring her to her room later on.”
Abigail, who had miraculously survived the Grand Duke’s assault that fateful night many years past, was unwaveringly loyal to you. Her attack did not deter her in wanting to remain in your employ; in fact, it only strengthened it. She had been a witness of the horrific display of your great anxieties and did not leave your side during the months of your recuperation, despite she herself was healing as well. You had promoted her to be your lady’s maid upon your marriage to Kit, had been your confidante when you could not depend on Kit or Louis on keeping some of your secrets, and upon the birth of your children, had appointed her to become their nanny. While she may not be educated in the accepted lessons of child-rearing, you knew you could not leave your children without someone you cannot trust. Abigail proved to be capable in her new role, despite coming into it unknowledgeable. She, along with her husband Captain Thibault, were the few people you entrusted with your family’s lives.
She bobbed another curtsy and left for her errand.
“There is something different about you, moppet.” Louis said. You turned in time to see him scratch his chin in mock contemplation. “Did you grow taller?”
Your daughter giggled as she nodded eagerly. She held out her hands horizontally, widening them to show how much she had grown while he was away. “I grew very tall, parrain!”
You smiled as you adjusted her hands accordingly, turning them vertically, showing to her godfather the inches she grew in his absence. “Like this, my dove.”
She beamed at him, thrusting her hands towards Louis. “Like this, parrain!”
He gave an exaggerated gasp as he looked at the distance between her hands. “That is tall! Soon, you shall be as tall as your cousin. Isabella was once as small as you were and then she grew very tall too.”
Her smile was beautiful and her eyes sparkled at the new information as she turned to you. “Mama! I want to be as tall as Isabella!”
You tapped her nose again, smiling gently. “And you shall be, my princess. You just have to be patient.”
“And you have to sleep more.” Louis nodded seriously at your daughter, giving you a sly look at his attempts to have your daughter return to her bed to sleep.
You chuckled, nodding along. “Yes. You have to sleep as well. Shall we go now? Abigail can bring your milk to your room.”
“But I am not tired,” she told you matter-of-factly, tone so similar with her father’s. “Papa says I mustn’t lie and I will be lying if I say I am tired.”
“She has quite a lot to say,” Louis commented mildly, sipping at his tea. “When Philippe and Isabella were younger, they did not have much to say. Is Henry like her?”
“No,” your daughter said before you could reply to his question. “Henry is taller than me! He is this tall!” She held out her hands to show him again, adjusting them as wide as her little hands could take her. “I am only little and small.”
You smiled amusedly at how she had interpreted the question. Louis was absolutely correct; she had a lot to say of anything and everything. She always made sure her voice was heard. Henry, on the other hand, while precocious like his younger sister, was politely assertive. He was all the positive traits of his father—as well as resembling very much like him—and you combined. While he may not be as loquacious as his sister, whenever he would speak or address anyone, the quiet authority in his voice rang loud and clear. He was Kit’s miniature in every way possible.
“No, not at all. Henry’s quiet, much like his father,” you told Louis. “She overtakes him with her questions and thoughts almost always.”
Abigail returned and set down the cup of warmed milk before you. Your daughter turned to her with a wide smile on her face.
“Thank you, Abigail!” she said cheerfully.
The nanny smiled and curtsied. “You are much welcome, Your Royal Highness.”
“We shall see you in the morning, Abigail. Thank you,” you told her with a smile.
She bobbed another curtsy. “Madam,” and left.
You gave your daughter the cup, supporting it with your hand as she brought it to her lips. “Finish your milk, my dove, so we may go to sleep.”
She took small sips before turning to you. “I am not yet sleepy, Mama.”
“Then how will you grow tall like Isabella?” you asked her seriously. “Ask Parrain Louis what made her tall and he will tell you it is because she sleeps when it is her bedtime.”
Louis nodded when her attention shifted to him. “Yes, moppet. Isabella and Philippe always sleep when we tell them to sleep. Now they are tall.”
“But—” There was an adorable frown on her face.
“And Henry is asleep, isn’t he? Don’t you think it the reason why he is taller than you?” he asked.
She shook her head at him. “Henry is tall because he is older. Isabella and Philippe are older than me too.”
Louis stuttered, blinking at your daughter’s logic before turning to you. “I see she has taken more than just your looks, pet. She has taken your stubbornness from you too.”
“I beg your pardon?” Your brow rose sharply.
Louis only grinned his charming grin. “Where else would she get such persistence if not from you?”
“Kit is stubborn as well,” you said, looking put off. “Perhaps he does not show it to you but he can be very adamant when he wishes to be.”
“Are you talking about Papa?” your daughter asked as she took a chocolate biscuit from the tray.
You looked down at her with a nod. “Yes, my darling. We are talking about Papa.”
“Papa is very busy,” she said with gravity as she bit down on her pastry.
You chuckled at the unexpected statement from her. “Yes, he is.”
“I want to help Papa.” she declared.
“Oh? With what, my dove?” You tipped the cup again when she asked for her milk.
“With his work.” she said simply, as though the answer was very obvious to everyone.
“You can be like Parrain Louis, my dove. He is Papa’s adviser. He helps Papa with his work.” you said. You took a napkin and dabbed at the sides of her lips to catch the droplet of milk.
She looked at Louis now, face set and serious. You chuckled to yourself at how much she resembled you, especially when she looked thus. “Parrain, you mustn’t leave anymore. Papa has been very busy since you went away.”
“Oh!” Louis exclaimed at the admonishment he received from her. “Begging your pardon, Your Royal Highness, but your marraine wished to see her home even for a while. I could not deny her simple request.” (Godmother)
She turned to you as if seeking for advice on what to say next.
“While you are correct, my darling, about your Papa being very busy, your parrain also has his family to think of. He is free to do as he wishes, like leaving your Papa to visit your marraine’s home kingdom.” you said.
“Marraine does not like our kingdom?” she asked innocently.
“She does but she misses her family and the people from her own kingdom.”
She turned to her godfather, who was watching her in great amusement as he sipped his tea.
“Will you forgive parrain if he gives you a gift from Zaragoza?” Louis asked when he set his cup down.
Her eyes shone brightly, clearly having forgiven him at the mention of a gift. “A present!” She clapped her hands excitedly.
He chuckled. “Yes. It is a beautiful little thing they call a marioneta.”
“A marionette, my dove. It is a puppet.” you said when she looked at you at the mention of the word.
“I chose this specific marioneta because she looks like you. She has your beautiful black hair and your blue eyes and your happy smile. Her name is Mariana.” He grinned at her eager look. “But we must come to an agreement. I shall only give her to you when I learn you have slept tonight. If not, you will not see Mariana until I hear you have properly rested.”
Your daughter contemplated on it for a while before nodding enthusiastically. “Yes, parrain!”
You turned to your dearest friend, smiling in thanks at the gift he bought for your daughter. “Aren’t you in the least bit tired, Louis? You need sleep as much as she does.”
“I shall be—”
“Mi corazon?” called a voice from the kitchen door. (My heart)
You all turned to the doorway, to the Princess Chelina entering your little alcove. She looked much more radiant and livelier since you had last seen her—and very much with child. She smiled as Louis stood to help her take a seat at the table.
Louis’s impromptu trip to Zaragoza years ago had been troubling. He not only left his estate quite so suddenly, but had been gone for nearly a year in his attempts to court the King and Queen of Zaragoza for Chelina’s hand in marriage. Initially, they did not accept him, adamant as they were that their daughter will only marry a prince. Louis’s letters to you had chronicled his hardships when he had been courting them; of how he nearly gave up when he heard rumors of her parents having found another prince to marry her to or how he very nearly wanted to steal Chelina from a celebration to marry her secretly.
But his perseverance and insistence—coupled with his bountiful charms and riches—finally convinced the Zaragozan monarchs into choosing him. They were impressed with his tenacity and his fierce love for their daughter, that, in apology for their harsh reception of him, they immediately had them married as soon as they were able. Not long after their union, Louis and Chelina were blessed with their beautiful daughter Isabella, and their son Philippe followed soon after.
“Why are you not asleep, mi vida?” Louis asked as he poured her a cup of tea. (My Life)
“I cannot sleep without you, mi corazon.” she replied as she took her cup. She turned to you, smiling. “Louis had been very excited to return home just for tea. Had it been any other reason, I would have understood his giddiness.”
You chuckled. “He is rather fastidious with his tea. I’ve already given him the recipe for his favorite cocktail but I do not think he made one for himself.”
“Pet, you must know it is only a blend by your hand that I will drink.” he said with a wink at your direction. “I had had someone make it to your instructions but it did not taste nearly the same as yours. There is something special about it when you make it.”
You shook your head at him, looking at his wife for support. Chelina only laughed. “Flattery will not make me grant you another few months’ respite in Zaragoza.” you teased Louis.
“Y/N!” he exclaimed, scandalized. “I would never!”
“And I shall tell Kit to say no to you if you ask him.” You helped your daughter with her milk again, drinking it to the last drop. You wiped the crumbs and milk off of her mouth.
“Mi vida, she is accusing me of using my charms on her.” Louis told his wife.
Chelina gave an amused shake of her head at her husband. “You’ve made an error of using it on her, mi corazon. I did not think she will fall for it like I had.” she said as she sipped at her tea. She looked at your daughter, a sudden playful gleam in her eyes. “Why are you still awake, princesita? I thought you had gone to bed?” (Little princess)
“Papa and Mama did not tell me a good night story.” she replied with a pout. She then turned to look at you, eyes innocently wide. “I think I want to sleep now, Mama, because Parrain Louis will not give me my marionette if I do not.”
You smiled, kissing the tip of her nose softly. “Okay. Let us see Papa about our good night story problem, my dove.” You wiped her hands for any remnants of the chocolate biscuits. She had a proclivity for them, much like her father.
You looked at your friends and guests once more, smiling apologetically. “I fear I have to leave the two of you alone,” you told them regretfully. You had been looking forward to hearing of their adventure in Zaragoza but your daughter and her sleep had to come first.
Chelina waved a hand, shaking her head. “We shall tell our stories tomorrow. La Princesita must sleep so she could get her present.” (The little princess)
You chuckled. “I hope Isabella and Philippe found their rooms to their liking. If not, I can always ask the staff to arrange it to however they wish,” you said as you helped your daughter down from your lap.
“You mustn’t trouble yourself with us, pet. We are perfectly able to adjust to our accommodations.” Louis said.
Chelina nodded in agreement. “They do like it but thank you for offering.” she replied graciously.
You turned to your daughter, straightening her nightgown. “Shall we say good night to parrain and marraine, my darling?” you asked.
She held the sides of her nightgown, executing a wobbly curtsy to her godparents. “Good night, parrain. Good night, marraine.”
The Duchess of Granville smiled, bowing her head regally. “Good night, princesita.”
Louis got to his feet and bowed with all pomp and grandiosity. “Good night, Your Royal Highness. I thank you for gracing us with your presence.”
You daughter giggled as she took your hand and waved them goodbye with her other. You said your goodbyes to your friends before making your way to your husband’s office. She talked throughout the short trip, telling you of her plans for the marionette her godfather had bought for her and how she would make a show for you and her Papa. You chuckled amusedly, reminiscing of a certain time when you had regaled the crew of your father’s ship with the stories you have read. You had also used puppets but yours were ones you had crafted yourself from scraps aboard the ship. You told your daughter of such and saw the sparkle in her eyes at your story.
You arrived at his office and, before opening the door, turned to your daughter with a devilish gleam in your eyes.
“Shall we surprise Papa?” you asked her. At her enthusiastic nod, you grinned. “You must be very quiet. He does not know you are not asleep.”
She giddily clapped her hand against her mouth.
You entered the office, one hand behind your back, clasping your daughter’s small one. She kept close behind you, walking with small steps in time with yours. You heard her muffled giggles.
“My King,” you called softly, hoping not to startle Kit.
Sat behind a grand oaken desk, Kit looked impossibly kingly. Stacks of missives and correspondences, each bearing differently colored wax seals, each from different people and different parts of the kingdom, nearly drowned the monarch as he pored over another in his hands. He had been the King for nearly six years, upon the death of his father, but even before that, had been helping with matters of the kingdom. He was an exceptional ruler since the start of his regency, always listening to the people’s pleas and keeping them in the forefront of all laws he authored and passed. The people loved and adored him, were never afraid of him, and in every celebration of his coronation as King, everyone gathered and exalted his reign.
His new role had aged him, however. His hair was now cropped shorter and he sported a full beard, forgoing shaving it off, saying that he would rather use his time looking over the people’s problems than to use it for his vanity. His new look made him appear more kingly, which you admitted to him with a laugh. A full beard or a clean-shaven face, to you, Kit was still as handsome as he had been on the day you met twenty years after you both had erroneously signed that marriage contract.
Kit looked up and smiled when he saw you. “My queen.”
You smiled warmly at your title. He always loved to call you by your title but to the both of you, you were only Kit and Y/N.
You heard your daughter’s soft chuckles behind you and swallowed a laugh of your own. You cleared your throat, taking on a serious mien, before addressing your husband. “I hope you are not too busy. There is someone quite adamant to see you.”
A kingly brow rose at that. “If it is Louis, tell him I am otherwise occupied—”
“Papa!” cried your daughter as she jumped from behind you to run to her father.
You chuckled as Kit’s face morphed from that of an exhausted monarch to that of a loving—and surprised—father.
“Amelia!” he exclaimed. “Aren’t you supposed to be asleep? Earlier, you bid me good night!”
He caught her before she could jump on his lap and hugged her gently to his chest. Kit was careful around her, always taking care of his actions whenever he was with her. Named in honor of her late grandmother, Amelia had been a squirmy little thing when she was born a month early. She had sent her father in a frenzy at the moment of her birth but you heard no objections from Kit. He catered to her every cry, cradled her when your own arms were tired from doing so, and even had her sleep in your bed so he would not be away from her. He had done the same with your firstborn Henry when he was younger.
Kit was no traditional king when it came to his family. He refused the idea of you sleeping in a separate room; always wanting to keep you close to him whenever possible. He also shunned the other nobles’ practices of raising their children: of leaving them to the nursemaid or of not seeing them unless it was absolutely necessary. Kit wanted to be present for every breath, sigh, and cry. When Henry was born eight years ago, the midwife had proclaimed to him that he had an heir. Kit had only shaken his head in disagreement with the woman.
“No,” Kit had whispered when he had taken his son in his arms and had cradled him against his chest. “I have a son.”
He never thought of them as his heirs. They were always his children.
Peals of laughter rang throughout the office as Amelia’s little hands found their way to her father’s beard. You smiled at the picture they presented, even though it was one you saw every day, and made your way to them. Kit deposited his daughter on one arm while his other pulled you to him. You laughed as you stood beside your husband, his arm around your waist, looking at you lovingly.
“My love,” he said and turned his head up to receive your kiss.
You bent down and kissed him softly, lingering for a second longer before pulling away. A decade of being married to each other and Kit still had the same lovestruck expression on his face. “My Kit.”
“You did not tell me a story,” Amelia said petulantly, immediately taking her father’s attentions away from you.
You broke free from him, hands moving to the many papers that were scattered atop his desk. He had been called away immediately after dinner, missed having tea with his cousin and you to see matters regarding the eastern border of the kingdom. Despite being his queen for as long as he had been king, you had only recently started helping him with kingdom matters. In the first years of your marriage, you had asked to be taught all there was to know of your territory. You were tutored by the very same teachers Kit had in his childhood and were diligent in your studies, devouring law books and history books to learn more of the kingdom you were now queen of. You found you excelled in international relations, using your prior knowledge to help expand the trade routes and garner more alliances with other territories.
You sat on the arm of Kit’s seat, taking the latest missive he had been looking at and read over it. It was a business proposal to export the gemstones from your kingdom. As the new queen, you were now it’s owner.
“You and Mama always tell me a good night story,” Amelia continued and you looked over at her with a smile.
“I’m sorry, my darling dove. Papa had urgent matters to attend to and Mama was having tea with your parrain.” he told her. “Does Henry require a good night story as well?”
She shook her head, waves moving here and there. “He does not need a story because he is big.”
“And you are small?”
She nodded, jutting her lip as she implored at him. Like you—and any other people who beheld her—Kit could not resist her deep, wide-eyed sapphire gaze.
“Very well. Let us tell you a story then.”
“Was this the urgent matter with Lord Blois?” you asked, holding the missive in your hands.
Kit looked over and shook his head. “No. That is for you. I opened it by mistake.” he said. “I’ve sent a missive to Lord Blois and had Captain Thibault gather troops to oversee the issue with the eastern border.”
“Is it something we should be worried of?”
“No, no. We’re in no immediate danger, my love.” he assured you with a smile. “He thinks it a matter I should be aware of but it is nothing. We are safe.”
You nodded.
“There is also a letter from Prince Frederick. He wishes to thank us for our gift to his new son. He also means to invite us next month for a celebration.”
You beamed at the prospect of a ball. “Shall we go? It would be wonderful to see old friends again.”
The king’s smile was tender when he looked at you. “Anything you wish, my love.”
You flushed and replaced the missive with the other papers. “Now, on to the matter at hand. Little Princess Amelia wishes we tell her a good night story so she may sleep and then she may get her puppet from her parrain.”
“Puppet?”
“His gift from Zaragoza.”
“Of course,” Kit said and stood from his desk, carrying Amelia with him. “Did Mama receive a scolding as well, or was it only I?”
“She had to make it known even to Louis and Chelina that I did not tell her a story.” You snuffed the candles on his desk and followed after them as they exited the office.
“Were you polite about it, Amelia?”
Amelia looked innocently at her father. Kit gave her a stern look before kissing her temple. He could not go on getting angry with his children, not even for a while.
“You must be polite all the time, little princess, even when it is not your fault.”
She bobbed her head. “But, Papa—”
“What have I told you before?”
“A prince or princess must always be polite.” Amelia dutifully said.
“Very good.” He kissed her temple once more before he turned to you. “And how was tea with Louis, my love? I apologize I wasn’t able to come.”
“Nothing out of the ordinary,” you replied, slipping your arm around Kit’s and walked beside him silently.
“What’s on your mind, my Queen?” you husband asked as you all ascended the stairs. “You are rarely quiet and when you are, I fear I have to think of what it is I’ve done.” he teased.
You chuckled. “I was thinking of names, my love.” you told him coyly.
“Names? What for?”
Once you arrived on the second-floor landing did you bring his hand to your abdomen. “I believe this little one will require a name in a few months’ time.”
Kit paused in the hallway, a stunned look about his face. “My love? Are you—?” His eyes dropped to the indiscernible bump on your abdomen.
You nodded, smiling softly. “Yes, my love. I’ve known for a week now.”
“Is Mama what, Papa?” Amelia demanded.
Kit turned to his daughter, a brilliant smile about his face. “You, my darling Amelia, will become a big sister.”
She only frowned. “But there is only Henry and I and I am younger and smaller.”
He chuckled, having used to her logic. “You shall be a big sister soon, my darling. Not now. We must wait because your Mama will still grow your younger sibling.”
“Grow?”
You resumed walking now, with Kit’s hand holding yours firmly. “Yes, my dove. The baby needs to grow before we can meet him or her.”
“I want a baby sister.” she declared. Both you and Kit chuckled.
“We can’t choose the baby we will have, Amelia, but let us hope that whatever we will have will be born healthy.” You told her, smiling gently.
You pushed the door to her chambers open. Amelia’s room had been decorated with motifs of the sea and traveling, with paintings of different landscapes from different parts of the kingdom adorning her blue walls. You saw in her the eagerness to travel when she was younger and you and Kit had no doubt she would wish to traverse the kingdom as well like you had.
The fire was low and dying and you made your way to it, adding enough kindling to illuminate the room until she fell asleep. Kit took Amelia to her bed and tucked her beneath the covers, smiling softly as he laid a kiss on her forehead. You neared her shelf of books, heading towards a tome of children’s stories by the Brothers Grimm before her sweet voice called out.
“I want my favorite story, Mama. The one about the traveler and the prince!” she said excitedly.
You cast a look at Kit, smiling when he smiled back at you. You knew the story by heart, no book would ever account for the wonders of that tale.
You sat on the other side of her bed, softly caressing your daughter’s face, mesmerized that this was now your life. It was amazing, to have survived all the challenges and be blessed with the life you never thought of having. Before, you traversed the seas, belonging nowhere and everywhere at once. You had no reason to remain long in one place, had nothing to care for and live for. But fate intervened and brought you back to your kingdom, brought you to the place where you never once thought of settling down. Fate brought you home.
You looked at Kit, at the love that shone in his eyes, wanting nothing more in your life. You were blessed to be married to him, a man who had been willing to renounce his title and power just so he could love you. You were gifted children whom you adored and adored you in return. Once, you had wanted to be an emissary of the kingdom but fate gave you more and made you Queen of it. No, there was nothing more you could ask for. You had everything you ever hoped for—and more—right here, right now.
“Are you ready, my dove?” you asked Amelia as you pushed the soft hair away from her face.
“Yes, Mama.”
You linked your hand with Kit’s, holding and never wanting to let go, as you started the story.
“Once upon a time, there was a girl who accidentally married the prince…”
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 | Series 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.
can everyone please reblog this and tell me (1) what song you’re obsessed with right now (2) what food is your favorite lately and (3) something else you’ve been obsessed with lately. i need new life recs.
turnnoffyourmind
areudirty
izzy806
jbbartram-illu
andulkaphoto
snowghoul
2087
