Imagine being prince! Caleb arranged marriage spouse.
Imagine you were not meant to be part of his story. That was the truth you learned the day your engagement was announced. When the palace bells rang too loudly, when the court smiled too widely, and when Caleb looked at you with eyes already full of someone else.
Imagine the way he told you on the morning of your wedding, not cruelly. Not dramatically. Just… Honestly. "My heart already belongs to another." You remember how still you felt. How calm. How something in you settled, as if you had already known long before he said it out loud.
Imagine you loved him anyway. Loved him the moment you first saw him at that ball five years ago, crowned in gold and light, laughter easy on his lips, eyes sharp but kind. Had you known then that his heart was promised, that his soul was already entwined with his childhood sweetheart, you would have looked away.
but Imagine love does not ask permission. And regret does not undo what has already rooted itself inside you.
so Imagine you made a choice. That you would never reach for what was never yours. You stood where you were placed, at his side when the court watched, a step behind when they didn't. You smiled when required, spoke when necessary, and vanished quietly whenever he sought her. You learned the art of absence. Learned how to be present without being intrusive.
Imagine you told yourself you were the villain in their fairytale. The foreign noble who arrived too late. The political necessity. The obstacle no one asked for. And perhaps that was true. But you were also necessary.
because Imagine your marriage secured alliances, calmed borders, strengthened his claim to the throne. You were not loved, but you were needed. And Caleb, for all his honesty, could never deny that.
Imagine at first, he was cold. Not unkind. Just distant. Careful. He made sure you understood that nothing would ever change. That no vow, no title, no shared bed would ever make him look at you the way he looked at her. He said it plainly, as if repeating it often enough would make it kinder. And you accepted it.
because Imagine even then, in a way that hurt to admit, you were still his. Not his heart. Not his first choice. But his spouse. By law. By duty. By fate's cruel sense of timing.
Imagine the way something shifted. Not love. Not yet. Trust.
Imagine you had became the person he turned to when council meetings stretched too long, when letters from the capital soured his mood, when sleepless nights drove him back to his study. You listened. You advised. You fought beside him, politically, strategically, silently.
Imagine the way he stopped treating you like a stranger. He started treating you like an ally.
Imagine you rode with him once a month, horses thundering side by side through open fields where titles meant nothing. You sat through weekly councils, speaking only when your voice would matter. You shared late night conversations, candles burning low as the world slept outside his chambers.
Imagine he was still careful. Still guarded. But warmer. And that frightened you more than his coldness ever did.
Imagine then you met her, MC. She was everything the stories promised. Kind. Elegant. Beautiful in a way that did not demand attention but received it anyway. She smiled at you gently, spoke to you politely, and loved Caleb with a sincerity that was impossible to resent.
Imagine you understood him then. Truly. And you understood why the world saw you as the other woman, even when you had never once tried to be. But sometimes, you caught something in her eyes. A flicker. Resentment. Envy. You never understood it. Because she had his heart. Entirely. What more could she fear?
Imagine you never crossed the line. Even when she paired you together. Even when the court whispered. Even when your own feelings grew heavier with each passing day. You saw how she looked at him. And how he looked back. You understood then why the court whispered about you like you were something shameful. And if you had been in their place, you would have whispered too.
so Imagine you never crossed the line. Even when Caleb began to rely on you. Even when he started coming to you first, not to confess love, but to confess exhaustion. Doubt. Anger he couldn't voice anywhere else. You listened. You advised. You stayed up late with him in his study, pretending not to notice how comfortable he had become with you.
Imagine you knew he still loved her. That was the rule. And rules mattered to him. And you were afraid of misreading it. So you stood still. Not moving forward. Not stepping back. Just existing between what was allowed and what was impossible.
then Imagine, the rebellion came. Fire and steel and betrayal in the dead of night. Plans scattered. Screams echoing through stone corridors. You stood with his vassals, mapping strategies, relaying orders until the message arrived like a blade to the chest.
Imagine MC had been taken. A bargaining piece. A demand for his surrender. You went with him without hesitation. A fighter, a hunter, a necessity, just like always.
Imagine you don't notice the blood at first. You notice the heat in your forearms, the way your muscles are burning so hard it feels like something is tearing inside them. You notice how your fingers don't quite feel like they belong to you anymore, how the stone beneath your hands is slick in a way it wasn't seconds ago.
Imagine, MC's body is heavy. Heavier than you expect. Unconscious bodies always are. They don't help. They don't brace. They don't understand when you shift your grip and whisper under your breath, please, please, like the cliff might listen.
Imagine the way your chest aches. Each breath scrapes shallow and sharp, like your lungs can't quite expand all the way. Your arms are shaking now, not the kind of trembling you can fight, but the small, betraying kind that means your strength is already running out.
Imaginr if you let go, even for a heartbeat, you'll both fall. So you press your fingers harder into the rock. Your skin gives way. You feel it split, feel warmth smear beneath your palms, but pain barely registers anymore. Pain is distant. Secondary. Keeping her from slipping isn't.
Imagine the way hou hear the battle behind you, steel striking steel, men shouting, someone screaming a name that doesn't matter. None of it feels real. The only real thing is the edge digging into your ribs and the weight dragging you forward, inch by inch.
then Imagine came the footsteps. Fast. Uneven. Caleb.
Imagine the way he drops beside you so hard the ground shifts beneath his knees. For one small, shameful moment, relief floods your body so violently your grip almost fails right then. He looks ruined, cheeks smeared with blood and dirt, hair stuck to his face with sweat, one eye swelling shut. His clothes are torn like he barely survived getting here at all.
"You- Don't move." He says, breathless. His voice cracks. "I've got you." You shake your head. Not because you're brave. Because you know your limits. "She's slipping." You say, and your voice comes out wrong, too calm, too steady, like it belongs to someone already resigned. "Take her first."
Imagine the way his eyes flick from your face to MC's limp body. He hesitates. It was barely a second. But your body feels everything. The weight shifts. MC's body pulls harder. Your fingers slide just a fraction, skin screaming as the rock grinds deeper into raw flesh. Your arms spasm violently now, a sharp jolt of pain tearing through your shoulders.
Imagine your vision blurs at the edges. You don't have much time left. "Please." You whisper. Its not a plea to be saved. It's an admission. He swears and lunges for her, hauling with everything he has. MC's body scrapes against the cliff, fabric tearing, her head lolling uselessly. For a terrible second you think she'll slip back down, that this will all be for nothing, then the weight leaves your arm.
and Imagine so suddenly your body jolts forward, chest slamming into the edge as your grip almost gives out entirely. Black spots burst across your vision. She's up. She's breathing. That relief is so intense it makes you dizzy. And that's when your fingers finally fail.
Imagine it was not dramatic. They don't just open. They slide. Slow, horrifying inches as blood and sweat betray you, as skin meets smooth stone and finds nothing to hold onto. Your heart stutters painfully in your chest.
and Imagine Caleb turns back immediately. He doesn't think. Doesn't hesitate. He just reaches. His hand closes around your wrist, warm, solid, familiar in a way that makes your throat tighten painfully. His grip is strong, desperate, anchoring.
"I've got you." He says again, louder now. Panicked. Fractured. Like he's trying to convince himself as much as you. For a moment, you’re suspended. Not falling. Not safe.
Imagine you were just hanging there, your entire body screaming, your arms numb and burning all at once. Your wrist throbs where he holds you, pain and comfort tangled together so tightly you can't tell them apart.
Imagine the way your body reacts before your mind can stop it. You relax. Just a little. Because it's him. Because you've trusted him for years. Because your body remembers safety in his hands, even when your heart knows better.
and Imagine in that tiny, fatal release, you understand something with terrible clarity. If he pulls you up, nothing will ever be the same. You will live. And keep standing between him and the life he thinks he owes someone else. You will keep loving him quietly, painfully, invisibly.
Imagine you look up at him. Really look. His face is twisted with fear, eyes wide and raw in a way you've never seen before, like something precious is slipping away and he's only just realized what it was worth.
and Imagine instead of panic, something inside you goes still. Calm settles over you, heavy and final. You smile. Not bravely. Not reassuringly. Content. Like someone finally laying down a weight they’ve been carrying for far too long. Like someone who has already made peace with the ending.
Imagine you don't want him to remember you begging. You don't want him to remember you terrified. You want him to remember this. That you were okay. That you chose this. That you let him go. "It's okay." You tell him softly, your voice barely audible over the wind. "You don't have to choose."
then Imagine there was a sudden, sharp sound, wet and wrong. His arm jerks violently. You feel it immediately, the way his grip spasms, the way his fingers lose strength without his permission. You see his face change, pain flashing through it, horror following close behind.
Imagine his hand slips. And then there is nothing beneath you. The air rushes up to meet you, cold and violent, tearing the breath from your lungs as your stomach drops. The cliff pulls away above you, shrinking rapidly.
Imagine the way time stretches. You see everything. The way his eyes widen impossibly. The way his mouth opens around your name. The way shock, fear, regret, and realization crash over his face all at once.
and Imagine, you keep smiling. Because this is the last thing you can give him. Because if he remembers you like this, calm, accepting, already letting him go. Then maybe he won't chase you into the dark.
so Imagine as the wind roars past your ears. The water rises fast. And then nothing at all.
:I miss PH, but I do enjoy TH :((((( I'm so sad and suffering nowadays so I shall share my pain with you guys, sorry. I have a morning shift tom.
: this started with me daydreaming the cliff scene otw to OJT at 4am in the morning and this has been on my mind the whole day :/// PS. Sleepy as fuck so apologies if it's quite messed up.
