The Royal Masquerade inspired (One Shot, IDK) No spoilers really, this is all in my head. My MC Helena has left (probably to go stay at her betrothed's estate to be married?) The Crown Shield Salvatore (M!Kayden) is dealing with his feelings over that. Alessio = (M!Hunter)
This is my contribution to @emceesynonymroll Wacky Drabbles Prompt #17 There is a certain taste to it will appear in bold in the story.
Word count: 1003, WHOOHOO, closest to 1,000 I've ever been (I cut out a LOT)
A/N: Characters belong to Pixelberry
Warnings: Angst, Sadness, Nightmares, Regret
If you want to be tagged or removed just message me/add a comment
Salvatore stands at the back of the room when he hears a herald call out for everyone to take their places. As people move to find a seat, the commotion dies down to that of hushed whispers, the people waiting in anticipation. As Salvatore takes his seat the ornate doors at the back swing wide, there she stands.
Helena is a vision, dressed in snow white lace with a shimmering crown on her head. Slowly she begins her solemn walk to the front, to an altar. They are in a church. She looks heartbroken, not happy like a bride marrying the one she loves. When she smiles it betrays her, it is false and doesn’t meet her eyes. She reluctantly approaches the man waiting for her, Salvatore doesn’t recognize him, his vision is clouded around the man’s face. Helena takes her place in front of the stranger and the priest begins to speak. Salvatore only hears a buzzing in his ears, he is sweating and starting to tremble. The priest asks the audience gathered to witness the union if there is anyone in attendance who wishes to object. Salvatore leaps from his seat before the priest can finish the sentence, “I object!” He screams, but no one pays him any attention. “I OBJECT! SHE IS NOT HAPPY! SHE DOESN’T WANT THIS.” His lungs ache as he empties all the air from them, still no one seems to notice him. He wants to run to her, to sweep her up and carry her away from there but he cannot move, his feet are planted, held by some unseen force, he tries to tear away, to rescue her but his struggle fails him. Suddenly, he rips himself free, falling and crashing on the stone floor of his barracks, tangled in a sheet wet with sweat. Breathing erratically, his chest heaves. In the cool night air, he shivers from the dampness of his skin. He drags a trembling hand down his face and tries to steady his breath.
“It was her again?” He hears a voice call out from his door; he looks to see Teapot standing in the threshold a look of pity on his usually irritated face, he had heard his chief's screams.
“Yes.” Salvatore breathes out in a whisper.
Teapot nods and looks away. He knows nothing he can say will fix the predicament his friend and mentor has found himself in. “Try to get some sleep chief.” He says as he retreats to his quarters quietly latching the door behind him.
Salvatore pushes himself up to his feet, looking around his room lit only by the moon. It is as though he is trying to force himself to believe he is in the present reality and not in one of his nightmares. Nightmares that haunt him every time he closes his eyes. They are a poison mixed with pleasure and pain. Pleasure of seeing her again and the pain of watching her always leave with someone else.
He lets out a ragged breath and reaches into the trunk at the foot of his bed to retrieve a blanket, he shakes it open and drapes it around his body. He paces the floor for a moment, contemplating crawling back in bed so he can see her face just one more time. He thinks better of it and instead takes a seat at the small desk by the window. He reaches into the drawer and pulls out a match to light a candle. He then produces a leather-bound journal and a quill pen. He leans over the desk and starts to write. Writing letters to her that he would never send was becoming a new hobby of his.
Dearest Helena,
You visited me again in my dreams. You were getting married in a gilded cathedral. You were a sight to behold, the most breathtaking thing I have ever laid eyes on. How I wished for a moment that it was real, except the faceless man you met at the alter would be me and not someone only marrying you for position. Your demeanor in the dream troubles me almost as much as the fact that I will never have you to myself. You looked defeated, like all the joy, warmth and wildness of spirit had been stripped right out of you. I tried to take you away, but like in all the other dreams, whenever I try to step in and save you, I am unable to move. I scream, but no one hears my cries. I am filled with this terrible dread, it is palpable. I feel it all around me like a smothering lead blanket. There is a certain taste to it, like wormwood mixed with the taste of my own blood after a battle. Nothing eases it. It just melds with the tremendous regret I carry. I should have told you I loved you before you left with him, when you confessed your love for me. I thought that in doing the honorable thing in letting you go and putting Alessio’s position above my own, like I have sworn an oath to do, that I would at least be able to sleep at night. That I could move on and that time would heal my broken heart. Now I see, it was not just broken, it was torn out when you left, and I find that I may not live without it. I have never been afraid of anything, not even death. But I will tell you I am afraid now, afraid of never seeing you again, never being able to hold you and kiss you like I long to. By day I conspire about how I will get you back and by night I am haunted by the ghost of you. It is clear now that I will not rest until I have you by my side or I have paid with my life…
Salvatore awakens to sunlight spilling in through the window to realize he has fallen asleep writing. He hastily dresses and rushes out the door to find Alessio.
In my head, when I read lines like these, I automatically equate them to sexual situations/innuendo. Am I the only weirdo that does that? (In my head I'm like 13, I swear🤦🏻♀️)
