𝕿𝖔𝖗𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖚𝖒

Always believing himself to be crooked and unaligned, Abdullah, with love's keen arms around him for safety, had torn himself apart and re-built his foundation from the ground up. In doing so, however, he'd come to realize that he liked himself best when his hands curated peace instead of war, when his words spoke to kindness instead of hatred, and when Cailean was by his side rather than away from it. For awhile, he'd tried to reconcile his authentic truth with the difficult reality that his lover was the opposite to him but rarely could it persuade him into believing that Cailean could still love him if they knew. Why would they? They had once bonded over a shared goal and now they had very different ones. Where Abby wanted to settle down, to live in monotony and leave writing history to historians and heroes, Cailean wanted to bring justice to an entire nation for the wrongs that the Stuarts could never truly make right — In other words, would Cailean get bored of him? Find himself a nicer person? One whose morals aligned with their's? One who was okay with being a pretty face on the pillow next to their's and a warm body to suit their needs. Someone less devoted. And he? Would Abdullah tire of the constant worry? Find himself pacing the floor in the witching hour in hopes that he'd said 'i love you' loud enough just in case they didn't return? Would loneliness drive him to make connections in the beds of others simply to scratch an itch that even idle hands couldn't scratch? Others who did not make his chest sting with every caught glimpse or put him at ease with mere breath. Someone less loveable. Their insistent knocking creates a ripple of vibration on his skin as if there was no door between them at all. He wishes to reach out, take their hand in his and kiss their knuckles to soothe the pain; but it wouldn't change anything, their reality would be the same regardless. He listens instead, opening his mouth to say something in response but closing it when he realizes that his tonsils had grown three times their normal size and he'd forgotten how sentences were supposed to be formed altogether.

If Cailean closed their eyes while resting their forehead against the damn thing separating them, the world fell quiet. The band playing and the people laughing and singing fell into oblivion. Even the foxes, huddled together in their burrows, had silenced their cries. The world stood still, holding its breath to see if the door between them would swing wide open or if the gate to their hearts would remain firmly shut. 

Then, like an old tune Cailean had memorised by heart, Abdullah began to speak in their native tongue. The old, familiar lilt of it always drew them into a sense of security, of belonging like an embrace from a loving mother. It reminded them of the songs their parents sang when sleep evaded them and the quiet words of comfort from Abby as they lay on his chest, falling asleep with the sound of his steady heartbeat in one ear and his Gaelic in the other. 

Now, they brought no comfort. They weren't a gentle caress of a loving hand. Instead, they stung like a thorn of a rotten rose. Cailean blinked feverishly, but the unshed tears kept blurring their vision. Abdullah may not believe his palace is beside them, but Cailean has always known he belonged at Abdullah's side. Even when he ran ahead of him, desperately chasing after things that would never be theirs, they did so knowing at the end of the day, they would go back to him and stay at his side until another adventure would spur them along.

They parted their lips to tell him the day they would no longer belong at each other's side would be when they had fully embraced the cold, unforgiven ground for the final time or whenever the world would go up in flame, whichever came first, but their words failed them. They should let this happen. He would have the chance of a normal everyday, happy life if they would let him go. Perhaps the world was ablaze, and they should accept that their place was no longer beside their love.

The lock clicked, and the hinges creaked, and there he was. He appeared as if he had just crawled from their dream. One where he promised all would be well as long as they had each other. But his question served as a cold water, filling their lungs until they were starved of oxygen. Things would never be okay again.

'I don't know what you want me to say.' Did they believe in the cause? They still hungered for a free and just Scotland, but they were hungry, and they weren't a fool. They knew they had gone too far. 

'I was created for this life. I would be nothing without it.' Their voice was low, too low, and for a moment, they feared Abby hadn't heard them. 

Once upon a time, Abdullah would fall asleep, his face tucked into the crook of his lover's neck, and like a newborn in the safe arms of their caregiver, sleep soundly until the sun rose or Cailean shifted in their sleep, whichever came first. Tonight, however, like many nights that had passed in quick succession, there was no safe body tangled in his sheets, no end to the thoughts swirling in his mind, and even looking out over the palace gardens from his window did little to pull the strings of sleep closer. Dressed down, his back resting against the small wooden headboard of his bed with his glasses secure on his nose, the ink of his quill dries too quickly for the speed at which his emotions flow from his mind and onto bound parchment, now only illuminated by light from the candle on the bedside table and the moon. How horrible would it look on him to skip the ball altogether? To hole himself up in this room and only leave it when he knew the leader of the rebellion was a safe distance away? Terrible, he supposed, but with one interaction alone, he knew that being near them again was walking a dangerous line. This time, unlike many times before, there was no hiding behind the mask of deep friendship or camaraderie, their love for one another was shared, mutual, once expressed openly when they were alone and quietly when they weren't. The difference now was that Abdullah understood what he was in competition with — it wasn't another person or their family or incompatibility — it was a goal, one drilled into their head since they were no bigger than a table was high. Much like him, they had been brainwashed by circumstance too. Though he'd be lying if he didn't wonder if the person he'd fallen in love with had been this person all along. A smile creeps up on his features; not a chance in Hell.

Their firm knock startles Abdullah out of his thoughts, his dark eyes flitting to the door and his hand stilling on the page. It creates a large blot of ink, seeping through onto the page below it, unnoticed to the way the advisor's heart hammers in his chest. He knew who it was by knock alone; Cailean's command resonated so strongly with his soul that he knew he could find them easily regardless of where they hid. For a moment so brief it could've been a dream, Abby hesitates before placing his journal and ink on the table before throwing his legs over the side of the bed and padding toward the door. His hand reaches out for the handle with the intention to open it but he stills completely where he stands, struck by memories that sting the open wound like saltwater on his heart.

Silence… No, there wasn't silence within Abdullah's quarters. Cailean heard the rustling of paper, and their heart soared. So he had been writing? They used to get impatient with Abby as they waited for their lover to join them in bed during nights when he had been entrapped by the pen. They had watched him, the glasses sliding down his nose as he used the pen to put his heart down on the parchment. Back then, Cailean had complained and whined, begging him to put down the pen before pulling him away with promises of better things than his parchment.

After he left, it had taken Cailean a long time before the scent of ink stopped paralysing them with guilt. Why had they been so impatient with him instead of relishing in his presence? They should have realised how privileged they had been to share the same space with him, even if he was engrossed in his writing. 

They rested their forehead against the cold surface of the door as they listened. Abby's footsteps were nearly silent. Only the soft creaking of the old wooden floorboard gave him away, a sound that would have been missed by anyone else. Did he not want them to hear him? 

'Abby…' Their voice was quiet, drowned by the laughter carried from the celebration across the French quarters. The realisation did not hit them all at once. It was slow like the sunrise at dawn, but once it hit them, panic surged, a living creature clawing at their throat. They had already lost him. Their knees threatened to buckle; only pure force of will kept them upright. Their knocking grew more urgent as if their life depended on the door opening. 

'Abdullah, my love, please open the door.' They could feel the young guard's eyes on them, and suddenly, a vision of Abdullah wearing matching chains beside them flashed before their eyes. They violently flinched, ceasing their knocking as they shook their head to banish the thought from their mind. How foolish. How selfish. Had they taken a moment to think of the danger they were bringing to him? 

But they loved him…

It didn't matter how much they loved him. Because of a decision made decades ago by a grieving child wishing to make their parents proud, they would never be able to offer Abby the life he deserved. They would never be able to live in peace with him or start a family. The rebellion would never let them go. It would continue to use them until there would be nothing left of them. How could they entrap Abby in their vicious web as well? They rested their forehead against the door once again; they knew the door was the only thing standing between them, and perhaps it was mercy in disguise. 

As a boy, he would sit on the stoop of their home and watch as the snowflakes danced across the horizon, not wishing for more than a simple, monotonous life. Halil believed that he would always tend the goats in the pasture, nurture a small garden, and spend his days in the forest in preparation for winter. Perhaps, he'd marry Sihana, the neighbour's daughter, have children of his own, and then die a peaceful death with those he loved surrounding him. Such an existence no longer excited him as it once did. Now, sitting on his throne, holding the image of an illegitimate king, he worried for anyone whose love he was granted and for any children born of their union; Halil had won the battle against his younger brother for the title he held — planned or not, fairly — but he was not a fool despite what he heard being whispered in the kitchens, or what the stares of the groundskeepers as he walked the gardens would tell anyone. He knew that somewhere in the corners of their empire, perhaps hiding in plain sight, there were people who wanted his head and the heads of anyone close to him. What a sad existence for a woman to live at the expense of her husband; what a lonely existence for children to live in a full home under the rule of their paranoid parents. He understood why his brother wished to leave it behind and why the person standing in front of him wished to abolish their systems altogether; nothing good could come from it for their kin. Genuine amusement is laced in the fond chuckle that escapes him. "Unless you possess the power to unleash fireballs from your finger tips, Cailean, I doubt that you would do much damage. However, placing you and our mutual friend in the same village, with his affinity for clumsiness and your harness of the elements, perhaps it is best if you two do not meet." The sultan grins. "If my knights threw everyone who'd stolen me away for an afternoon into the dungeons, our prisons would look more like markets, my friend - if I may advise you, I'd refrain from saying the word 'kidnapped' too loudly — we are among sharks, after-all."

Cailean smiled at his words. It was more of a twitch, a reflexive spasm even, rather than a genuine smile. If Halil knew of all the things they had done, of this stranger who had crawled into their skin, making it their new home, he would understand that Cailean did not need to harness the elements to be the harbinger of destruction. Each thing they touched wilted into dust; the rebellion, their friendships, even their love. No, they refused to bring that to Rostam. It would be best for him if they stayed as far away as possible; it would be preferable if they kept an ocean between them. Yet when Halil mentioned their friend’s clumsiness, they laughed a genuine laugh that came as a surprise even to them. 

‘I am surprised he hasn’t already burned the village down to the ground by accident.’ They could feel the weights that held down their heart begin to lose their grip, and for the first time that night, they found themself feeling lighter than before. With ease, Cailean looped their arm through his, steering him away from the theatre. They had no destination in mind. All they wanted was to get as far away from the nobility as they could, even for a mere moment. 

‘Aye, we are surrounded by sharks, and I’m afraid they will circle us sooner rather than later since the stench of blood still clings to us.’ They captured their lower lip between their teeth. Why couldn’t they let go of the bitterness? Could they not even spend a single evening like a normal person? ‘Well, you did come willingly, so technically, you kidnapped yourself. I’m sure that’s the conclusion everyone would land on.’ 

They walked down the cobbled street lit only by lanterns hanging above them. All around them, people were gathering, singing and dancing. They weren’t nobility; their hands were rough from work, and their body exhausted, but Cailean could see their souls were on fire, and they felt at home. 

‘I fear the play was only the beginning.’ They say at last. ‘They’re going to do all they can to undermine us. Perhaps I, too, will need to find a quiet village after this.’ They tried to keep their tone light, but the weight behind their words was impossible to mask.

Cailean leaned over the fence to get a better look at her steel, the flower crown slightly slipping from its place on their head as the wooden fence dug into their stomach. They had never seen anything like it, and suddenly, their cheeks flushed scarlet. Was this swordplay something every noble was meant to recognise? Had they unintentionally proven that they were nothing but a fraud? A wolf in sheep's clothing? A commoner masquerading as nobility? A voice whispered in their ear, pleading for them to lie. To make her believe they, too, had nobility running through their veins. It was their father's voice; he had always been concerned about how others perceived their family. Cailean was sure he would roll in his grave if he knew the things people had said about the Fergussons since their parents' deaths. No, they wouldn't lie. There was no use in hiding who they were. Not now when everyone knew of the traitorous things they had done. 

'They must have completely gone over my head. I have never seen anything like it before.' They sputtered. It wasn't surprising that they still hadn't witnessed one, even after their years of service to the crown. Before the rebellion, they spent most of their days out in the field where brute force was all that mattered. Whenever they found themself in the royal court, they were expected to be working and, therefore, didn't have time to watch the entertainment. After the rebellion, things were different. People were still trying to piece their lives back together, and few had the luxury of celebrating and having fun. That's precisely what they needed. 

Amber eyes scan the room over the top of Cailean's head; he focuses on the emperor of China, flits his gaze to the princess of Scotland, and finally his own court — France, where the monarches and their government alike were far more focused on the lesson at hand than who was dancing with who. In a more youthful part of their mind, Abdullah doesn't believe there is anything to fear nor any danger lurking in the shadows of this room but he's no longer young and wild, yelling their name as loudly as he could through fits of breathless laughter; he knows better. Beneath his palm now, although the same heart that raced as they ran through trees and mulberry bushes as children, wasn't a heart that beat for him any longer but a heart that grew warm for The Rebellion. Like an out-of-body experience, the advisor can no longer feel their warm hands tangled in his shirt though he knows they're there, doesn't recognize their face though they are so close now that he could see every sun-kissed freckle that speckled their nose, darkening with help from the Spanish sun, and despite hoping for them to agree, Cailean doesn't. "—Okay." Abdullah breathes out less of an agreement to their statement but an understanding of their boundaries instead. While he'd known which Cailean would choose if given the choice, hearing his rejection in the tone of his voice, like he'd expected, makes a tremor start in his hands and causes a lump to form in his throat. The back of his tongue stings, his eyes blink quickly but when he speaks again, there is no hint of disappointment nor upset in his tone. "However, you, more than anyone know that it may never be safe again, Cailean. I suppose that is simply a truth we will never be able to out run, though we have tried..." Slowly fading out, the end of their time together was imminent as the instructor asks them to swap partners. He thinks about pressing a kiss to their cheek as a farewell, a quirk of early mornings when Abdullah was running late and Cailean, still bleary-eyed, stood above a cook pot — he doesn't. It was cruel, he thought, to have once been accepted so openly in public only to now, even quietly, be rejected in the same fashion. Perhaps, unlike the once commander had promised him, they really were simply, to one another, just boring, unimportant people meant to keep each others beds warm when one of them was bored. Abby knew he should be angry with them, should corner them and scream until his stomach had settled and his mind was clear but he couldn't; for even catching glimpse of the tremble of Cailean's lip would have his walls crumbling and his arms around them in apology far faster than either could draw a sword. They no longer had such luxuries in the world they lived. Still, Abdullah cared too much about them, especially now. "If you change your mind then, you know where to find me." The advisor whispers, tapping the flag on his collar. "My offer stands, now or whenever you need it." "Take care of yourself, alright?"

The flickering lights from the French quarters spilled through the window, casting shadows into the night, and like a moth, Cailean couldn’t keep their eyes off it. They could almost imagine seeing Abby in his bedroom if they stared hard enough. Perhaps he was already fast asleep, half-covered by his sheets. Maybe he was reading his book with the slight crease between his brows that Cailean loved. Or had he found someone willing to help him forget their encounter and to forget them? 

The fear and creeping doubt had nearly forced them to turn back. It would have been easier if they had let the walls around their heart grow taller until barely any emotions or weaknesses remained. Until they were barely even human. However, when they saw Abdullah again, his light somehow managed to pierce through the crack in their wall. It reminded them of what life had been like when they had each other. They missed his light, his warmth. They couldn’t turn their back on him, not again. 

Their heartbeat thudded too loud in the stillness of the night. They could hear drunken songs and music playing somewhere from within the building. Every nerve within their body urged them to leave. It would be safer for both of them if Cailean returned to their own quarters and acted as if Abdullah meant nothing to them. That’s what they had been doing all along, hadn’t they? This shouldn’t be so different. They bit their cheek, tasting iron and their own fear. They would have left a year ago, but now they would not let anything stand between them and even a mere second with Abby. 

They entered the French quarters, expecting guards to be waiting for trouble, but all seemed too drunk to care. Cold sweat prickled at their temple as they marched down the corridor. Leaning against the wall was a guard, red in the face from drink, who could barely have been old enough to be there. ‘Where’s the advisor?’ They asked in their broken French. They expected resistance, but he pointed with shaky fingers toward a closed door instead. In the end, they wouldn’t have needed his guidance. They were certain their soul would have guided them to Abby even if they would have to travel the world to find him. 

Standing before the closed door, their mind swam with millions of what-ifs. What if Abdullah had already moved on? What if he had found someone else? What if he didn’t want to see them? What if it was too late? It was too late, wasn’t it? They lost him. 

They knocked on the door, their other palm resting on the wooden surface as they waited. 

Please let it not be too late…

"You've made it abundantly clear. We are not friends." He says, voice low and seemingly unperturbed. If they wanted to play a game of stony faces, then Elias would play. Like in bed; wasn't it always about who blinked first? "No," he snorts, in agreement. "You do not hide behind a crown. You hide behind a cause. The ends justifying the means, and all that." So instead, he poses a different question.

"Did it?" Elias asks, bold and curious, perhaps looking for comfort. He's an ambitious, son of a bitch too. Maybe if Cailean could have it ring true, that their egregious actions were worth the fight, he would let it go. Alas...

"My sweet wife is just that. A companion to warm my bed, break my fast with." Not that Elias was much for that life himself. But it's said as a barbed point, directly at Cailean's heart. "I suspect in your rise, that aspect of your life has fallen. Fast."

They weren’t friends, not after everything that transpired between them. Cailean couldn’t blame him. How could anyone remain their friend after everything they had done to him? They had used Elias’ title to win favour, his body to gain leverage, and their friendship for cover. They had used him without flinching to bring the Stuarts to their knees, yet they wondered, despite it all, if Elias grieved their friendship as they had? It was a lonely trade ripping the power from the clenched fists of the royals. They may be surrounded by counsellors and people with agendas, trying to whisper in their ear, but friends? They were few and far between. They had once been able to rely on Elias, but that, too, had been ripped from them, all for the sake of a rebellion that had cost them everything.

‘Perhaps it was for the best,’ they sank a bit deeper into the bath as if trying to drown away their thoughts, which they had not intended to voice out loud, but it was too late. ‘We were never meant to be friends. Were we? No matter how hard we would try not to screw each other over, it would never work. You would either have ended up throwing me in a cell or even the damn gallows, or I would have betrayed you. It was only a matter of time.’ They shrugged their shoulders as if they hadn’t wished with all their might that they could have preserved their friendship. 

When Elias asked about their own broken relationship, their body acted without counselling from their mind. Their feet and heart itched to run away from Elias and any questions or stabs from him regarding Abby. Though they knew they deserved it. They had started this game after all. They stood up from the bath, stepping out of it, water dripping from their body. ‘Yes,’ they spoke at last. Their voice held a slight quivering before they stilled their racing mind. ‘Well, what can I say. It was convenient to have a warm body waiting for me every night, but it grew tiresome.’ Each word felt like a shard of glass on their tongue. Liar. They caught Elias’ eyes, trying to decipher if they could see right through them. Could he tell that it destroyed them in a way nothing else had? ‘This is much better. I can now focus on my work.’ They said at last, as they wrapped their towel around their waist, their voice much lower than they had intended.

An oddity it was for Cailean to feel the buzz of a hive just under their skin while Abdullah merely felt the sting. Though he'd never given them the chance to choose him or the rebellion, from the first of a million 'I love you's' he'd known nothing good would come of it despite his consistent, unwavering hope. Wrongly, at least for a little while, he'd assumed that he could persuade them to walk away if he loved them hard enough; in the end, the advisor had chosen self-inflicted pain over watching them march to their death without an ounce of power in his hands to protect them this time. Did they know how difficult sleep had been without them? How the scent of rain from an open window in the spring and chimney smoke consoled him even in the French palace? Could they see it in his eyes? The hunger for the same warmth that being so close to them twisted in his stomach? And if none of that, could they feel how difficult it was to cage it? Abdullah hadn't meant for his leaving to upset them, he only believed that giving them that ultimatum — him or the rebellion — would have hurt them more. Dark eyes scan the hardened, furrowed lines of their face where once only happiness and laughter had lingered, and Abdullah no longer feels armed against them. From what he'd heard of Scotland, it now resembled purgatory more so than heaven, he hardly believed that Cailean, even in his opposition, didn't grieve for it as they all did. It was the worst thing about rebellions; from an outsider looking in, everything looked under control but somewhere, lurking in a dark corner, there was something uncontrolled — whether a person or an idea — and it was only a matter of time before it leapt forth and dismantled every bit of organization once held. In other words, one could not truly predict the outcome of one, not really. He expected that the rebellion Cailean experienced was truly far from what they'd set out for it to be; a simple dismantling of their monarchs, a push for change, well-intentioned pressure. Not murder. Not their country in flames and innocent lives deemed guilty. At least, that hadn't been the rebellion they'd lived their entire lives for; they were rebelling against the monarchy, not the people of their country. Cailean's words, spoken low, take more out of him than he wished. Abdullah lets his grip on the leader's hand fall to their chest instead, palm flat against their heart; his face, un-guarded. "I was teasin', lamb..." He coos, quietly, curling his fingers around the buttons of Cailean's shirt as his heart droops into his knees.

'Cailean tangled their fingers in the delicate fabric of Abdullah's shirt. They were glad to have this thin barrier between them; without it, they might have lost all their senses. Their rhythm slowed until they were left gently swaying as one. Still, Cailean clung to him as if he was the one thing that could anchor them down, and without him, they would be adrift. The vultures of the court no longer mattered. The only thing that did was Abby and how their heart raced beneath his palm. Could he feel their heart beating? Did he know it was beating for him? 

They knew they should hate him. Their anger for him should engulf them until nothing but their hate for him was left. They should despise him for leaving them to pick up the pieces of their heart, but how could they hate him? It was their fault Abby left at all. 

I was teasin’ lamb… 

Like a lamb being let out for the first time, Cailean had run wild in their youth. Their curls were always a bit too long and unruly, dark as ember, appearing like a spark of fire as they ran down their road with Abdullah right behind them, the sun turning their hair into halo. Even back then, Cailean could feel Abby's eyes on them, dark and warm and all-knowing, as if he had seen the darkest corners of their mind, yet he did not shy away. Why couldn't that be enough for Cailean? Why had they desperately craved the adoration of people who did not know them when they had Abby's all along?

It was too late. They could drop to their knees and beg until they turned blue in the face for a chance to walk away with Abby, but it was too late. They had chosen the rebellion, accepted their call, and now were forced to rise and fall with it. 

Nevertheless, they were still only human, and Abby was all they wanted. He overwhelmed their senses with his touch, rough, soothing voice, only theirs to hear, and the scent they still longed for after all this time. They tried to force their feet to obey and step away from him to help them gather their senses, but it seemed they had gone rogue along with their heart. 

'We shouldn't…' There was no venom in their voice; instead, it spoke of their desperate longing, and if he listened carefully, he could hear the silent pleading: Please, don't be near me. I will only hurt you again. But Cailean had always been selfish and oh so greedy. They could never get enough of Abby. They would always hunger for more. 

‘Do I know nothing of your family?’ Had the prince forgotten already? How Cailean had spent a decade living among the Stuarts? They had watched Blair grow into the man he was today, even if he was merely a few years younger than them, but life beyond the castle walls ages you in a way a prince could never imagine.

They may have been the military commander, but they had been so much more than that in the end. They had cared for them in a way they couldn’t quite understand. Perhaps it was the orphan in them desperately searching for a family in every person they met.

‘I know you and your family, and I know that you may not be capable of cruelty, but you must know what the Crown is capable of.’ The mask had slipped for a moment, and at that moment, they had not been the infamous rebel leader but a soldier pleading to their prince, but the moment was over as quickly as it appeared. ‘If you think I’m cruel for wanting justice and freedom for Scotland, then just you wait. I’m only getting started and will not stop until all of Scotland is free of Stuart rule.’ Was it their words or their father’s and mother’s?

Whose side was she on? It was a question no one had bothered to ask, a question she hadn't even thought to ask herself.

Perhaps she didn't need to decide. Monarch vs rebellion mattered little to her. What mattered was finding a way to survive a husband who could stab her in the back at any moment and a court which would always be loyal to him above her. Cailean could be an important piece of that.

"You do not put on a display like this one simply to ridicule. It has taken a lot of work and planning. They have done it because they are scared. The rebellion has lost a lot of good people, but their fear is a sign of the ground that has been gained."

There was a freedom in it, being able to speak to someone in this way, as if their words would not be considered treasonous by half the kingdoms here. "Surely you don't really believe that Cailean? Think of all the momentum you have built. This does not end with simply a scrap of power."

It was concerning, the speed with which this was all moving. Even without the day's events no one would be able to remain neutral for long. Things were coming to a head, and Antonia could not risk standing alone once they did. "We all need allies. People will have to pick sides eventually. There is no worse feeling than not knowing who you can trust."

Power tasted bitter on Cailean’s tongue. They knew what power did to those in charge but also what the insatiable hunger for power did to those who had none. They wanted to bring power to them, to the people who never had anything and were stuck being pawns at the whims of their royals. They had clawed and snarled at the system, ripping power from the hands of those withholding it, but at some point, they had unknowingly turned into someone they despised with more power than they ever had any right to wield. 

Did they even want it? 

What did they want? 

It didn’t matter what they wanted. After all, they were barely even a person; they were merely the image of the Scottish rebellion. When the people of Scotland, whom they had sacrificed their entire life for, looked at them, all they saw was the violence and destruction of the rebellion.

‘Aye, they are frightened.’ It was difficult to imagine the people in the theatre frightened as they laughed and enjoyed their show. Yet, they were afraid, but so was Cailean. The fear had not settled in their chest until the white flag had been raised and the land grew still after all the fighting, and they were left thinking: what now? Only then did their fear morph into a beast hanging over their shoulder, whispering in their ear.

‘Aye, I ken you’re right. You’re right about it all. The monarchs are frightened of everything we have gained already, but they have a lot of allies here.’ They were silent, there was so much Cailean wanted to tell Antonia. They wished they could say to her that perhaps they had gone too far and weren’t sure how long they could hold onto the power they had ripped from the Stuarts, but those were things not even meant to be whispered in the dead of night.

‘We all need allies during these turbulent times, you included.’ They drew in their breath. It was not time to falter, not when all eyes were turned to the rebellion, waiting to find a weakness. ‘I met Elias earlier,’ They watched her, trying to discern any change in her expression. If there was one thing they pitied when it came to the royals, it would be how blatantly they played with love. The king and Queen of Germany were no exception. ‘He made his position clear, but what about you? Where do you stand?’

Palm up, the sultan averts his gaze as the other bows to him, almost-offence written in the lines of his face, motioning for them to stand straight once again. "You do not have to bow to me, Cailean. Perhaps lesser men would believe you to be of lower authority, I, on the other hand, believe that you have earned your position. Rebel or not." For many, it would be a hard pill to swallow; a sultan siding with a rebel and their respective monarchs - the same sultan who had a sibling currently facing the consequences of their actions in the same regard. However, Halil believed that while all actions had consequences, labelling those actions was up to the individual. Despite the horrors of the Scottish empire at its current time, Cailean had a good heart albeit twisted by nurture. "The interesting thing about wild animals, my friend, is that they act simply from a place of not knowing any other form of life. In that way, they are predictable, aren't they?" Halil's breath is sharp, his light eyes glance around them to ensure, much like Cailean had done moments prior, that there was no-one around to overhear him when he answers. The sultan nods, "Where I was born, there is a small village, it has everything a common man and his husband would need. Perhaps one day, I will show you."

Halil’s reassurance was enough to unlodge a dread nestled between their ribs. Rostam was safe; he was happy living a quiet, married life with the man of his dreams in an unnamed village where no one knew who he was or what his title had once been. Cailean could feel the tightness in their chest ease.

When they were young and still fueled by the fire of the rebellion, they would have considered that kind of life nothing short of torture. Each morning was the same, waking up by the side of the same person and resting their tired bones beside them after a long day, knowing that after a long life together, your place would still be beside them, even after an eternity had passed and everyone who once knew them was gone.

Now that they had tasted the bitter fruit of the rebellion, they knew that life was what dreams were made of. Yet it could never be theirs. The rebellion- no, they tainted everything they touched. 

‘Nae,’ they looked up to meet Halil’s eyes, a smile curling at the corner of their lips. ‘I wouldn’t want to bring this hell to them. Not when he has found peace at last. Besides, I would probably accidentally burn the village to the ground.’ They hadn’t intended to say that; startled by their words, they laughed to cover their surprise. 

‘Would your guards throw me in a dungeon and lose the key if I kidnapped you for a couple of hours?’

A million 'I love you's' in the hushed tones of their voice had soothed a weary, hopeless, misshapen heart into softness. Too many times he had trudged through their front door, his boots tracking mud through the cabin, and declared that his life was over only for Cailean to break his spirits with a laugh. Somehow, even in his irritation, he'd find himself laughing too, eventually forgetting what his father said that had angered him that day altogether. Like finding shelter in heavy rains, Cailean, from the time they were small, became a reprieve from a storm neither of them should've been caught in. Scotland was a mess, it always had been, it was ignorant of them both to believe they could do much to change it. Yet, without his stubborn, passionate determination, Cailean wouldn't be Cailean; in turn, they wouldn't be the person that, even now, took his breath from him like a strong punch in the gut. This moment stirred a thought, one that he'd kept secret, a mere desire burning holes in his stomach in hopes to find fulfillment one day when they were both ready. Marry me. He'd hoped to whisper one evening, just as they'd crawled into bed, their stomachs full and the sweet sound of a cat's purr echoing from somewhere among the pillows. Marry me. He thought in the same pub, the first time that an 'I love you' was preceded by the right action. That night, being open to the world, not caring if a Stuart loyalist watched or what the consequences might be if Cailean was outed as a rebel, the child who had always been chasing them finally caught up. Abdullah understood their reasons, had promised that it didn't matter if their love was only ever known between them but he'd be lying if he said that it hadn't led him into a false sense of security. They hadn't chosen him in the end and once again, he'd fallen behind. It's the brutality of their tone, clear with pout and pettiness, that has him grinning fondly as they move together. "You might've forgotten my name and face by now, lammy, but none of our countrymen have - they know we're acquainted."

Abdullah’s warm breath against their ear, calloused hand in theirs, and the rough touch of his stubble were enough to leave their body buzzing, like a hive of bees deep within their soul. They felt like the seams containing their heart were straining, pulling them closer to him, greedy for any scrap of warmth Abby could give.

Did he know they were entirely at his mercy? 

For a fleeting moment, the world and its horrors of the past loosened their crushing grip on Cailean's heart, and they were just themselves again. They were not a rebel, not a traitor, just a person swaying in rhythm with the man who once made the world seem a better place. If they closed their eyes, they could almost imagine the rain pounding on their kitchen window and the warmth of the fire reddening their cheeks as they held each other to escape the crushing expectations of their world.

They hadn’t felt this since he left. They sparked back to life at his touch, like kindling catching fire, but it couldn’t last. Even the smallest kindling could grow into a forest fire, burning everything in its wake, including them. They let Abby lead; their bodies gliding across the dancefloor like nothing had happened, as though his words had not left his soul reeling.

‘Is that what you think of me?’ Their voice was low, trembling slightly. Let the others stare, but this was theirs. ‘Do you think I’m heartless, able to forget you the moment you are gone?’ They were cold, but they knew they were not heartless. How could they be heartless when every thought of their love made their heart bleed?

Everything they did was in preparation for their arrest. Though they longed for the world to know how they loved Abdullah, how their life had lost its flavour without him, their love could never escape the confinement of the tiny home they had built. If the Stuarts knew how he consumed their heart they would have saved him a spot on the gallows beside them, these bastards took everything precious from the world.

Perhaps in their dying breath, they would confess their love for him. 

‘Is it everything I expected?’ To scorch the Stuarts, they had lit a flame beneath Scotland. They watched the land they loved and swore to protect burn, and everything they held dear with it. 

He sees nothing but a shell, and their eyes betray what their cool response does not.

"Rare is a place where all people are equal." He points out, as a bead of sweat rolls down his forehead. "Even rarer where anyone is truly disarmed." Cailean proved that themselves. Each vulnerable conversation, each mark of friendship... All tools in the rebel leader's toolkit. "Ha!" A boisterous laugh, as Elias sinks further into the hot water. "Shall we list each one of our sins?" It's his turn to play the offensive, to execute a blow. Leveled eyes against Caliean's deep blues; "I guarantee your list is longer than mine."

How many kings and queens, long gone, have sat where they now did? Steam rising around them, blurring their surroundings as alliances and treaties were forged and broken, all within these stone walls? With a smile faint enough to barely register on their face, Cailean rested their head on the brink of the bath, the curls at the nape of their neck caught in the water. They could feel Elias’ eyes on them, and a wave of shame prickled down their spine. Elias had seen them in a way few had, not since- 

No, they couldn’t think of Abby or the night with Elias. Cailean raised their head to meet his eyes. No matter how deeply it stung, they would not let the regret of using their friend show. ‘That is the difference between us, old friend.’ The mask of indifference fell back into place. To survive this they needed to think straight and not let their emotions cloud their judgment. ‘I am well aware of my sins, but I refuse to hide them behind the crown, no matter how bloody they are.’ Perhaps they were being too cruel, but it seemed the role of this vicious, rebellious beast fit them too well. ‘Now tell me, what has been happening in your life since we last saw each other? That sweet wife of yours still hasn’t gotten sick and tired of you?’