#future snippets

Toffee went very still.

"...Good," he managed to respond at last; his recent adaption of careful civility felt especially stiff and awkward in the face of such intimate news.

"That's good."

There was an unmistakable sense of relief at the knowledge that months of nightly efforts woud finally be over now that the heir they needed had been confirmed to be growing inside her. This was what he had wanted; his legacy would be secured.

Yet the information did not spark any joy, merely resignation to what he knew was to be another layer to the facade of a happy marriage that he was required to maintain. There would be an addional set of duties and expectations he would have to fulfil, not just to keep up appearances, but to ensure she kept up her end of this implicit deal.

More so than ever, he needed their tentative truce to remain intact. The stakes were too high to fail now. He had too much to lose.

In his mind's eye, he kept seeing that blood-slicked floor.

"...How long have you known?"

“His condition has not worsened since your last check-in, Your Majesty. But we need to know the name of the poison if we are to work on an antidote. Without that, I’m afraid all we can do is try to keep him hydrated and ease his pain as best we can, and wait to see if his body heals itself.”

"The person responsible is being held." Moon responded once listening to the news of her deteriorated husband's condition. A cold collectedness had entered her at the need to keep a strict sense of order in the wake of the chaos. Now that the main culprit was apprehended, there were some answers that could alleviate a portion of their issues.

"Anthise." The queen spoke quietly, but firmly. "There was a confession that the drink contained it." Her face did not betray the growing sense of dread she felt at the discovery. No person survived encounters with the substance. A brief interaction with Glossaryk confirmed that no antidotes existed within the pages of the spell book. Whilst attempts to create a helpful spell crossed the queen's mind, the reality of such efforts could still leave days of trial and error. People who swallowed anthise did not have days worth of time.

Whilst the writhing septarian evoked no feelings of love in her, the ultimate need to keep him to maintain the balance of the kingdom was necessary. Toffee's death would not be freeing. It would cause the kingdom to crumble into anarchy until she chose yet another loveless monster to take his place. The thought of losing the creature she had grown to loathe so strongly was truly fearful. He had to survive. She needed him. Regardless of the ugly realisation of her dependency upon the monster, there came a peculiar sense of empathy at seeing him writhing in agony. Somehow, despite all he had done, the punishment felt too cruel.

“We’ve also had to sedate him, but he appears to need quite a high dosage, which he has been less than cooperative in taking… hopefully we’ve got it right now, and the effects should kick in shortly.”

A curt nod of acknowledgement was the queen's initial response as her gaze shifted past the nurse towards the terrified sounds of her husband.

"...Thank you." Moon's voice softened as a gloved hand extended in a genuine expression of gratitude to the nurse's wrist. "Thank you for all that you're doing."

Carefully, Moon approached the bed where the septarian lay limp, restrained and chirping some pitiful vocalisation. At the king's side stood Wargrin, whom held a somewhat pensive look upon his face as though listening to the chirps with some idle degree of focus. As Moon approached, the russet septarian turned amber eyes onto her instead.

"He's batshit."

"...What?"

"Honestly, you're lucky you weren't in here five minutes ago."

A silence stretched as Moon shifted closer, searching Toffee's glazed eyes for any hint of recognition. Gently, the queen extended a palm to rest over her husband's restrained hand as though the contact might offer some soothing essence, or in the very least a distraction from the infantile sounds that were leaving him.

"...It's hard to see him like this." She spoke beneath her breath in words only intended for Wargrin.

"Yes. He's always been bad at relaxing."

"Aren't you concerned?"

"What good will that do?"

Silence.

“I didn’t, until you gave it to me,”

A flicker of confusion touched upon thoroughly defensive features.

“You promoted me to general after I saved your life, you remember? And I knew what I needed to do, then. I knew what you were trying to say.”

Was that what Kalgor truly thought her promotion had meant? The certainty with which her words were twisted into the monster's delusion became almost impossible to argue. Each and every attempt to refute the claims- to assert her own perception- were moulded into something very different as soon as they hit him. A shaken breath left Moon's mouth at the realisation of just how little progress was being made. He was leading her in circles to the same conclusion; a conclusion she wanted no part in.

“Of course I will take you home. As soon as the kingdom is secure and you are free, we’ll go home together. And everything will be as it should be.”

An accumulation of cornered frustration built in her chest. In a tense, angry movement, Moon lifted her wand towards him. Would it be kinder to kill him before the kingdom got their hands on him? Despite everything, the short window that revealed Kalgor's change in character made it difficult to forget all that had preceded it. What if he was being controlled by someone else? Was he sick?

"My kingdom was secure before you did this." The reminder came with a bristle at his gentle tone.

"He would make a good jester. He has a lot of opinions.”

“The thought of him in bells in rather funny.” Moon agreed with a nod. Wargrin, no doubt would not share the sentiment. For one so accustomed to the notions of pride and honour, the concept of court jesters’ peculiar attire would certainly be a damper on an otherwise fitting profession.

“Perhaps one day I will tell him his job description has changed. That way I can have him jingling and pestering you all day rather than me.” Moon quipped with a sly smile as she went to fill her glass once more. It would be funny to see the look on Wargrin’s face as he juggled the temptation to make a further nuisance out of himself with the price of his dignity. Idly, Moon lost herself in a moment of considering how likely the septarian would be to accept. Perhaps for a quiet weekend he could be humoured into it.

“Sewing, I always had crooked stitches.”

“I take it the outfit I met you in wasn’t your own creation, then.” Moon retorted with a snicker. It still stirred some humour in her to present day, despite the negative associations time and memory brought with it.

“And I want to know, if you have ever cooked anything by yourself before. Without magic.”

A faint pause was Moon’s only answer as she attempted to pluck a suitable memory from her mind to oppose such a question and all it inferred.

“…Well…not entirely without help, no.” Moon admitted somewhat ruefully. Toffee and Wargrin were most likely experienced in such aspects of survival- something that only highlighted how comfortable her own upbringing had been as necessity did not dictate the need of such skills.

“I did try to make cakes in the kitchens as a child, but I always had kitchen staff helping me. I suppose I would be alright at by myself if I had a recipe to follow. It can’t be as unpredictable as magic.”

A ragged gasp shookfrom Moon’s lungs in the breaths that followed the blood-curdling scream that broughther back into consciousness. From beside her, a concerned tone attempted tosoothe the growing hysteria as pale eyes widened in horror at the sight of themonster, the bed, the sounds of the ocean. The room. She could not escape himeven in sleep.

Her breaths grewdeeper and faster until they became dizzying with the swell of nauseatingrealisation that she was right beside the man whom had plagued her dreams.

“Hands.” A choked sound caught in her throat at his proximity. As shallow,shuddering breaths continued to wrack her body, Moon began to scramble at thecovers as though they were the anchor in a raging sea before pulling them up toher shoulders. From such distance, she shied until her entire body hadhalf-vacated the warmth of the bed. A distinctly feral appearance had set intoher, as though the gentle coaxing voice were spitting venom.

“Hands—hands hands—there were hands everywhere,all over me—there were—”

”….I won’t be gone long. You just relax and rest, love. We’ll have some lunch when I get back.”

A slight inclination was the best effort Moon could make at a nod. The prospect of having his hideously gaunt frame away from her instead of incessantly looming and fussing would provide some relief, no matter how short.

“…Hmn…lunch,” She echoed after him airily. Her rejection of food had ended in the wake of her latest escape attempt. Pride was swallowed by the sheer necessity to keep her fading strength up, lest she remain within Kalgor’s clutches forever. Self-sabotage by means of stubbornly starving herself out of a want to not take anything that he offered would not assist in her survival.

“that sounds nice…” The click of the latch and following lock sounded to alert her of the brief moments in which she would be left to her own devices.

Unlike other occasions, Moon did not rise in an attempt to search the room as she had before. There was simply no way those efforts would be any use in such a state and with such a short window of time. Weariness and ache still settled deep within her muscles; making drowsiness her new companion after Kalgor left to receive his updates.

Moon did not stand as Toffee cradled Star’s sleeping form within his arms. Attentive eyes did not miss the softening of his features and the care that came with his careful movements that sought to preserve the infant’s rest. Her body remained tender as it worked to heal the damage that bringing the child into the world had done. Her movements remained slow- something that made her grateful for the shift in dynamic between her and her husband. She could not imagine having to defend herself both physically and mentally from his brutish behaviour in such a state.

But such woes remained in the past. Now, Toffee’s attentions were more focused and amenable. Adoration was showered upon the child he had known little more than a week and a quiet sort of respect remained for the queen that had granted him such a miraculous gift.

"It’s possible,”

Toffee’s words gave credit to the theory she had been working on. What poor luck it would be to have a child who was sensitive to the cold in the thick of winter. Of course, whilst Star was so small and vulnerable, it made little difference. The vast amount of the child’s time was spent within the warm hold of her mother’s arms. But Moon had already grown familiar enough with the baby to notice a faint difference in temperature between them in some moments.

“She seems to like this spot well enough… has she been fussing?”

“Not too much, no…” Moon’s maternal gaze remained fixed on the bundle within Toffee’s arms. From within his arms Star continued to sleep, drawing slow irregular breaths as she lay utterly unaware of the change of arms that had taken place.

“She went down like a dream for her nap this morning. She was a little fussy an hour or so ago, but she soon settled once I moved to sit by the fire.”

It was peculiar how naturally Toffee took to holding the child- how well he adapted his stance to support the life he aided in bringing into the world. Moon had not considered him to be much of the nurturing type given past behaviours, but she had been proven quite blessedly wrong. Little Star brought the smallest glints of light into his eyes.

“Eating and sleeping is just about all the little one can manage…she’s sleeping a frightful amount, but the nurses seem to think she’s in good health.”

As if on cue a faint gurgling sound came from the swathed child. From amidst her blankets, Star coiled in clumsy, ill-adapted movements as consciousness seeped back into her drowsy body. Bleary eyes stared up at the markedly different face that held her in an attempt to recognise Toffee through sleep’s lingering clutches. A soft, infantile mixture of both mewman and septarian sound built from within the blankets. Distress did not quite seep into the tiny princess’ newly formed voice, but a niggling uncertainty was evident.

“It’s alright.” Moon’s words were just as much intended for Star as they were for Toffee. The mere sound would be enough to remind the child that her mother was still present, even if she was no longer within her arms.

Wide eyes greeted Toffee as he made his approach and sat at a respectful distance. The unknown nature as to what he would make of her in such a state caused Moon’s shoulders to hitch a little higher in anticipation of whatever angle had drawn her husband to sniff her out. It felt wrong to be joined in such a moment of solitary pain and regret. She had been left under strict instructions to rest: something that did not stop her wandering throughout the rooms of the castle’s left wing in an attempt to distract herself from the horrors that were forever carved into her mind.

What a terrible thing she had done.

Toffee had not been angry, but there had been something in his eyes. Something she had not recognised. Something she did not trust.

Moon had not abandoned the possibility that his anger was merely delayed- waiting for the day upon which she was more satisfying to kick down with it.

Warily, Moon reached for the handkerchief, curling her fingers around it as though hoping to find some comfort from within its folds.

He had expressed a wish for her to have communicated her situation with him. Perhaps with distance, Toffee realised just how impossible he had made such a simple action. When cruelty and manipulation were the only games he played, honesty and vulnerability were far from what she wished to approach him with in a moment of crisis. When one could hardly hold a conversation over breakfast, discussing womanly matters such as suspected pregnancy felt utterly insurmountable. It was possible, Moon surmised, that this was Toffee’s attempt of remedying the lack of communication that had created such a situation. Nevertheless, she did not trust it.

Cautiously, as if half-expecting the gesture of the handkerchief to be some veiled act of furthering her humiliation, Moon raised it to catch her stray tears.