#crownednight

ser criston cole had turned his blade on his own – slaying his allies before they could kill her. as the last knight fell to the ground, his blade had turned on her. as he caught his breath, he was unable to look to her quite yet. in his eyes, she was a traitor. in his heart, he believed she had abandoned him. a decade of love, secrecy, an oath broken over and over … she had left him for an unworthy queen. when he finally met her eyes, his were cold. shielding the pain she had caused him, masking years of love. 

[ . . . ]  ❝ let us be done with this and salvage what we can … or the next time i see you, you will be my enemy. and should my king call for it … i will take your head myself. ❞

No uninvited visitors had reached their island for almost a century, so it had been all the more surprising when Amaya seemingly appeared out of nowhere. Ever impatient, Cenred had wanted answers immediately: who was she? Where did she come from? How had she breached their defences?

It was only the calm, yet insistent words of his most trusted healer that kept him away for the first few days: she needed time to rest and recover. From what exactly, Cenred had not yet been informed. Sympathetic to the lost, strays, and refugees - which many of his people had once been - he had naturally provided her with rooms in his own palace. It was outside said room where he now stood, having promised his healer that he would be on his very best behaviour, as he knocked lightly on the door.

@crownednight, starter call. / the truth has finally come to light. all too suddenly it all makes sense now. a knight of the kingsguard found dead in the city, ser criston's recommendation that allowed for erron to now don the white cloak. he's already heard his friend's side of things. (it took heavy convincing his secret was safe to finally see the other get rest and switch with him for the morning.) but now that he steals a moment alone with the lady, he can't help but to grin. bearing in mind she must worry and yet he stands there with a hand upon the pommel of his sword with a shit-eating grin (a rare sight indeed) as he looks upon her.

new semester, fresh classes – and just his luck. he looks up from the seat he chose just in time to see her walking in. gaze follows where she goes and the moment she's taken a seat, he's standing and making his way to her side of the room, claiming he seat beside her. backpack and textbook are set down and he waits a beat before turning towards her in his seat. ❝ hey – we danced together, ❞ oof, he can already feel the flop. ❝ before break, i mean. i remember we … hey, i'm criston. ❞ a grin flashes, brows mildly furrowed as he attempts to salvage with a do-over. ❝ i'm out of me element here and thought i'd say hello. ❞ he's dated the same girl for two years and throughout that chaos, it would seem he's lost his charm.

death was always inevitable. even for one considered an immortal such as he. all it would take was a stake through the heart, direct sunlight, or the slow desiccation of one being deprived of blood. his case had been a rare one – magic had been his undoing. and perhaps that is the reason he's yet to passover from this other side limbo. not quite gone, not exactly alive. he simply exists in constant torment around the one he loves. sometimes, he wishes she could not see him in return. it would be easier if this had been a one-sided torment. he could watch her from this side and deal with the pain alone. but the moment he discovered that she could see him … see and not touch, this dark world grew dimmer.

he assumes he'd been killed because of their secret marriage. it's unnatural – a vampire and a witch. perhaps the spirits decided it an imbalance to the nature of things and had someone from the coven take care of the situation. perhaps he has it all wrong and there's an unknown party. he's mulled it over time and again and the answers have yet to be found. all he knows is that they were married, blissfully, so happily married for a few short months.

now he sits besides her on the couch, watching her flip through pages of a grimoire that's been flipped through dozens of times over. his hand raises and he attempts to place his palm against the back of her head … only to watch his non-corporeal hand swipe through as though he were simply air. defeat riddles his features and he sits up slightly, a sigh escaping him. ❝ i'm not coming back, love. i think it's time we accept this… ❞ he doesn't look at her. gaze falls to his lap, brows furrowing deeply as he continues. ❝ you deserve more than this … than to keep wasting your life trying to save mine. i'm already dead. live your life, amaya. live for me. ❞ live a better life than the one of loneliness and torment he'd known before finally having a hint of happiness found with her.