Vale

Helping other people find their soulmates was something you had never seen yourself doing, but you didn’t hate. You could use your knowledge of collecting and identifying fingerprints from your detective work. It was another way you could give back to the people in your kingdom. Most importantly, it made the royal family look even better to the kingdom’s citizens, which meant your parents wouldn’t stop you from doing it.

The ruling that instated required carrying of a fingerprint card by every citizen happened around a year ago. It was due to your uncle’s convincing of how efficient it would be to have a record of everyone’s fingerprints in case of a crime. It had been your idea originally but obviously they would have laughed at you if it had been you to present it. You had gotten to add on to your uncle’s proposal. Suggesting you work with the people to ensure they all get their cards properly, maybe even do some match making with the single citizens that wanted it. What a great way for you to build a relationship with your people, right?

A lot of married couples came in terrified their fingerprints wouldn’t match only to leave excited about how accurate their intuition had been about their choice of partner. You had individuals pass through that ended up getting put into contact with their soulmate if you found a fingerprint match in your records.

Of course, there were some unlucky ones that were the first unique set of finger prints in your repertoire of files. You always had them jot down their address, promising to write if their soulmate was found and wanted to be put into contact.

The couple in front of you were one of the many lucky ones. You smiled at the two as you presented two identical sheets of paper with fingerprints stamped on them.

“Congratulations, you both have found your match.” You said with a kind smile.

“Oh thank you so much your royal highness! You will be the first to receive an invitation to the wedding!” The woman cheered, kissing the other lady beside her on the cheek.

You gave them a warm smile and thanked them graciously. Promising to send flowers if you could not attend their wedding, You copied their fingerprints over into small thick stationary, watching them sign the cards to indicate who’s was who’s. Then, you signed each card to prove a member of the palace staff had been present during the making of the identification.

After handing both of the cards back, you showed them out of your office and through your uncle’s study to the main palace hall. Waving them goodbye politely before leading the next waiting couple back through the small maze of rooms that were tucked away on this end of the castle.

You entered your office with another couple, this time a middle aged woman and man.

“Does the palace detective really have to put dead bodies on that table and examine them?” The middle aged woman inquired quietly as if asking a scandalous question.

Her hand gestured to the room that sat on the left side of your office. You laughed lightly and smiled at her. You couldn’t say that your uncle actually didn’t like looking at dead bodies and you had been doing the examinations here as of recently due to the excitement you got from it. No, that wouldn’t be appropriate for the kingdom’s precious princess to say.

“Yes! It’s quite a tragic time when he has to do such examinations. But let’s not dwell on such sorrowful things! You two are coming to have your fingerprint cards made, I presume?” You diverted the conversation elsewhere.

The rugged looking man sitting to the lady’s right nodded with a small smile.

“We’re new to the area, just moved into the east most village.” He told you in a rough voice.

“We’d never heard of this fingerprint card ordeal before. That is, until we entered this region! The king and queen are smart to collect all their citizens' fingerprints, in case of crimes.” The lady yammered as you readied your supplies.

Instructing the two through dipping their fingers into the ink then fully pressing them to the paper for a certain amount of time. After they had done their sets of hands on the papers, you pulled the blank cards out so they could start on fingerprinting those. While filing away their papers, you noticed their sets of fingerprints did not match.

This had happened before, only a few times though. You hadn’t nailed down a clever and reassuring script for two people who were finding out their life partner wasn’t their soulmate.

“Alrondé! You have to hold your fingers down for longer!” The shrill voice of the lady chided her husband.

“I did honey, I did! I held them down for as long as her royal highness instructed.” He insisted

“Then why do our fingerprints look different?” The lady argued, her confidence wavering slightly.

You turned on your heel, walking to sit opposite to them at your desks

“This does occasionally happen but you two are not the first couple to experience this.” You started in a reassuring voice.

“So you aren’t my soulmate? Thirty-five years of marriage and you aren’t my soulmate!” The lady exclaimed to the man, helplessly flailing her arms.

You tried not to physically cringe at the sound of her raised voice. Instead, immediately going into full emotionally-stable calming mode. Assuring the couple that if they truly loved each other then there was no need to worry about not being soulmates. They continued to dispute your claim, insisting to see their fingerprint matches if you had them.

You went to the filing cabinet you had organized by type of finger print, pulling the sheets out to quickly filter through and check if you could spot any matches within their allotted time they had with you. In reality, you should have just sent them on their way. Insisting you would need time to properly assess all of the files and ensure you found their match without being rushed. Which, was mostly untrue considering your nature. Most people could never forget a name but you can never forget a fingerprint.

After escorting the still unhappy couple out, you came back to find your uncle standing from his desk with a file in hand.

“A case?” You asked hopefully

“Indeed, a brutal one from the information included by the town’s guards.” He informed you

“Are you going to check it out?” You asked

Considering it was mid afternoon, the farthest distance he would have to travel by carriage would take about an hour. Meaning he would be there before sundown and back before dark.

“I am,” he replied shortly

“Please, just let me come along for this one case!” You begged your uncle, following him out of the large study.

“You have a meeting with a suitor tonight, your mom would never allow it.” He replied, double checking his papers

“I can tell her I’ve fallen ill.” You quickly say

“I will go again in the morning to gather more evidence. Why must you go this evening?” He asked, raising a brow

“Because all of the good evidence will be gone! Plus, I like processing the fingerprints!” You insisted

“I appreciate your help.. You would make a marvelous detective in another life.” He told you with a warm smile, kindly patting your shoulder.

“I don’t have to get married! Not if you tell my mother and father that you can’t handle the detective work on your own! You’re getting old anyways, who’s going to take it over after you pass?” You spoke passionately, stepping in front of your uncle so he couldn’t continue out of the doorway that lead to one of the large foyers.

He laughed loudly, the sound echoing off of the tall palace ceilings.

“Bringing my age into this? Really?.” He teased lightly, “you know my word does not hold weight with your parents.”

“You could at least–”

“I tried asking if they would allow you to continue your work with me after you began to meet with marriage suitors.” He cut you off, his pointer finger raised in a ‘matter-of-fact’ motion.

“And?” You excitedly encouraged him to continue and elaborate on the results of such a conversation.

He gave a deep sigh, looking down at the ground for a moment. Two fingers squeezed the bridge of his nose in disappointment.Looking back up at you, there was a small bit of sadness in his eyes, and it made your stomach drop.

“I had to hire an apprentice to take your place.” He confessed somberly

You felt a burning in your chest. Was your uncle really letting you go? The only thing that had given your life meaning was detective work. Helping bring criminals to justice and closure to families was what kept you going. You were supposed to throw all your work away for what, a husband? That wasn’t just iditotic, it was unfair.

You thought that if you had been useful to your parents they would let you pursue your dreams. You helped improve their image by tenfold, why couldn’t they do the same with your life? Unlike you, your parents thought all of the soulmate rubbish was nonsense. After all, they weren’t soulmates and they ruled seamlessly as King and Queen, didn’t they?

This was where the argument always ended for you. It’s where you would storm out and cry in your pillow for hours on end about being forced into a future you didn’t want.

“You can still help in your free time….” Your uncle spoke weakly, “...of course, you’d need to be careful so his and her majesty do not spot you…”

The offer, messily, took you out of full panic and despair. Your uncle opened his arms slightly, opening himself up for a hug.

“This new apprentice will need someone to be with him around the palace, he’s new to the kingdom. And teach him the system you’ve developed.” He told you, his voice filled with mirth.

You gave a proud smile as you both pulled away from the embrace.

“Well, when do I get to meet this new apprentice?” You asked your uncle, hands on your hips.

“Her royal highness, eager to meet me?” An unfamiliar voice said from behind you.

“Oh, you’re just in time Lohen!” Your uncle beamed, walking past you to the apprentice.

When you turned around to meet the eyes of the person your uncle had chosen, you froze.

His eyes…they were unlike any gem you had laid eyes upon. He had a teal and deep wine red gradient going inward towards his pupil, what a unique color pattern.

Under normal circumstances this would have been swoon worthy to you, but these weren’t normal circumstances. It wasn’t his fault that he was replacing you, but he still was. Despite this fact, your hand still instinctively tugged at the hem of your sleeve. This man may have been attractive but he was your trainee, nothing more.

“I’m Lohen, the palace detective’s honored apprentice in training. It’s a pleasure to meet you, your royal highness.” He spoke to you, confidently striding closer before giving a deep bow.

He wore formal clothing with many metal accessories, the most notable one being the singular earring hanging from his left ear.

You tried to peel your eyes away from him, but you couldn’t.

What was going on with you? There were cases waiting to be taken care of! He needed to be trained to use your perfect system of organization for aiding your uncle. Whatever attraction was happening you dismissed as dissipating nervousness after meeting him.

“The pleasure is mine, Lohen. My uncle has told me you have great potential in his field.” You replied, politely, reaching your hand out to shake his.

He took your gloved hand, meeting your eyes as he politely gave a gentle kiss to your knuckles. His eyes never leaving yours made the moment feel like it lasted forever. You swore his lips were on your hand for a minute, minimum. In reality, the motion was quick and the usual formality given to you by all gentlemen.

You felt a small tap on your shoulder. Turning, you see one of your mother’s maids nervously wringing her hands.

“Your royal highness, her majesty wanted me to come and retrieve you. She insists you must start preparing now for your dinner tonight.” The maid spoke meekly, as if scared you’d blow up at any moment.

“Oh, Jesaphine….you must tell my mother I’ve fallen ill. I cannot possibly come tonight.” You told her, faking a weak cough.

Jesaphine gave you a knowing look before turning to your uncle.

“She’s the only one that can show the new apprentice how her system works.” Your uncle offered weakly, now on the side of you tagging along for the case.

The maid gave a deep sigh, then a warm smile to your uncle.

“I’ll be sure to tell her majesty that our palace detective is taking care of her ill daughter.” Jesaphine stated before turning on her heel, walking off briskly.

You gave your uncle an apologetic look, knowing he’d be in hot water with your mother for this.

“Feigning sickness so you can tag along to a murder scene. An unconventional hobby for a princess, no?” Lohen asked you bluntly as you both followed your uncle to the awaiting carriage.

“Do not assume one’s hobbies based on their societal rank and gender.” You insisted, turning your nose up at him.

“Ahaha, do you really take me for a brute with such narrow-minded beliefs?” He asked lightly

“Someone will have to show you the ropes, how we do things here. My dinner tonight can be rescheduled, this case can’t.” You explained flatly, ignoring his question.

“Couldn’t your uncle take care of that?” He questioned, crossing his arms over his chest.

“My uncle has not dealt with fingerprint records and blood samples since I was an adolescent.” You told Lohen

“Ahh, I see now. A princess with a double life as the palace detective's assistant, how riveting.” He spoke confidently, a playful lilt to his voice.

“You are correct in your observation. Do tell me about why you are here, training under my uncle?” You switched the conversational gears while straightening your shoulders, chin high.

“If it makes her majesty more comfortable, I can say I love paperwork.” He expressed admiration sarcastically.

You rolled your eyes, giving a deep sigh. Your uncle had to pick this guy out of everyone else to be his new apprentice.

“You are already aware of my comfortability level with things pertaining to forensic work. Don’t avoid my question.” You insisted harshly, keeping your chin held high.

“I have a passion for the brutally killed and tragically robbed.” He spoke easily, as if the words seamlessly rolled off of his tongue.

“Do you?” You asked, narrowing your eyes.

“Some may call me sick, your royal highness, but I find there is a lot to learn from the dead; especially about the living.” He told you with a cheery smile.

“Not afraid to get your hands dirty, that’s good.” You commented casually

“Weaponry is also a very interesting topic of discussion. Especially how each blade breaches the human skin differently depending on the holder’s intent.” He continued speaking, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

“It bodes well that you are passionate about these things.” You responded truthfully.

You watched as he moved to open the large door leading to outside the palace. Your uncle passed through, thanking him. You did the same as well, but felt your body move to walk by closer to his. This gave him the perfect opportunity to lean over to speak into your ear.

“Am I disturbing you, your royal highness?” He asked you

The feeling of his breath on your ear caused goosebumps to shoot through your body. You nearly stopped dead in your tracks, but forced your feet to keep moving forward. This was nonsense, he was nonsense.

“Not at all. There is little that disturbs me after what I have witnessed in my time.” You answered

“Hmm.” He replied simply, a content smile on his face.

What was he thinking? And why did you care what he was thinking? You didn’t! It was irrational to hate him for taking your place, it wasn’t his choice to boot you out of the position. Yet, you couldn’t help resentment from continuing to bubble up.

Sharing an hour long carriage ride with your uncle and this apprentice may almost be worse than the dinner you would have shared with a visiting prince. Key word—almost—because you’d take the company of your uncle and an annoyingly attractive apprentice over a prince set on marrying you any day.

—

The next day, the evening light filtered in through the office window. You lead Lohen to the examination room off to the side of the office. Your eye caught the golden sunlight catching on his muted teal hair. It looked smooth and soft to the touch, perfectly falling to frame his face. Noticing this made you aggravated, at yourself or at him, you couldn’t tell. Maybe it was a little bit of both.

“Before we take a look, did you read over the case file?” You asked him, forcing your eyes to focus on the covered body and not his face.

“Did you read over the case file, princess?” He asked in a matter-of-fact tone

Why did he have to switch from calling you ‘your royal highness’? You had just gotten used to the way the phrase rolled off of his tongue. Your heartbeat stayed at a consistent pace when he addressed you with the title. Now, he had taken fondly to calling you ‘princess’. Not an improper or rude way to address you, but surely an unconventional one.

“I’m not the one who’s in training.” You kindly reminded him with gritted teeth, “but yes, I did, I always do.”

“Alright….well consider me all read up on the file then!” He assured you with a confident smile

You sighed deeply, this was your replacement? You tried to shoo away the frustration your brain mustered around him taking your position. It was irrational to feel anger towards him but that didn’t stop your nails from digging into your palm out of annoyance.

Pulling the cover off of the nude body, you examined an older gentlemen with bruises on the sides and back of his head.

“Lohen, what do you think the cause of his death to be?” You questioned simply, stepping back and allowing him to observe the body.

He let his slender fingers hold the man’s bruised head. Parting his hair in a few places to better observe the damage. He continued to examine the rest of the body with its discolored skin and abnormally colored veins. You observed his fingers gently graze over a few patches of skin that had started to turn an unsettling shade. To avoid disgust, you imagined he was simply grazing his fingers across regular, healthy skin. This is where your brain betrayed you, and began to picture his fingers gently running over your skin.

This was obscured, you were a highly intelligent royal. Squinting your eyes shut quickly and opening them again, you forced yourself to glance over at the victim’s file sitting on a side table. You knew from reading it that there had been a highly lethal poison slipped into his glass of scotch at the local tavern. Although, the culprit obviously had a personal grudge considering the overkill of bruises from beating his head in. It didn’t matter that they had taken this guy out, clearly they still wanted to get a few punches in.

To anyone that didn’t read the file, one would assume he was beaten to death. Unless they had a trained eye for spotting the symptoms of a poisoned person.

“Poisoned by something…clearly whatever it didn’t have much of a taste considering he was able to drink it. His lips definitely indicate he consumed a sizable dosage. ” He rattled off confidently, pulling you from your thoughts.

You wanted to stay calm and simply give an impassive ‘reasonable observation’ to avoid inflating his ego. Yet, you found your brows raising in surprise at his extensive knowledge and observational abilities. It was strangely attractive to you that he was able to dissect the crime’s nature so seamlessly. You needed to squeeze whatever part of your brain kept swooning over him with a pair of tweezers.

“Something to add?” He prodded, his hands crossed over his chest.

“I honestly wasn’t expecting an apprentice to be so observant.” You answered honestly

“Making assumptions based on my status? I clearly remember you saying—“

“Oh shut it, just take the compliment.” You cut him off with a glare.

You watched his eyes find your’s, a playful shimmer in them. He was definitely enjoying this, of course he was! Could your uncle have picked a worse person to hire on? Was this some grand scheme orchestrated by your parents to drive you away from detective work? Well, you weren’t going to let him win, you weren’t going to let them win.

“He has severe bruising on all sides of his head and face. Why beat someone if you’ve already poisoned them?” He pondered aloud.

“Personal grudge.” You answered shortly

“Imagine how exhilarating that would be. To have someone punching your face in while struggling to force your weak body to fight…” He giddily imagined, as if he was daydreaming.

“If you keep it up, I may just beat your face in.” You mumble under your breath, turning to note down your combined observations in the file.

There was a beat of silence before you felt Lohen standing behind you. While he wasn’t tall or even extremely muscular, he sure had a presence. He wielded confidence seamlessly in the way he stood, taking up space. You felt his face hover just above your shoulder, looking over your notes.

“That’s the most exciting thing you’ve said all day, princess.” He stated with a sadistic kind of anticipation in his voice.

Ateempting to write the name of the man, you watched your elegant script waver into scribbles. The name that was supposed to be ‘Julian Sows’ was now unreadable. You wanted to curse this arrogant and ignorant, well, not totally ignorant apprentice. The sheer fact that he relished in your irrational grudge just made you feel crystal clear annoyance. A wonderful emotion for your growing attraction to hide behind.

A fervent knocking sound radiated through the office and into the examination room. Quickly moving away from Lohen, you moved to answer the door.

“Your royal highness, it is time for you to begin preparing for your rescheduled dinner.” Jesaphine, the same maid from before, promptly informed you.

“Of course, let me just see to my—“

“If duty is calling, I insist you answer.” Lohen cut you off, walking to stand beside you, “I can take care of reporting the state of our victim”

You didn’t like the way his eyes shined with something akin to wonder when talking about the corpse.

“No, I don’t want you meddling in the organizational system I have built.” You denied him, holding your hand up in a ‘stop’ gesture.

He moved his hand to make the same gesture before jovially hitting your’s, as if in a celebratory gesture.

“It’s a deal then! Leave me to reporting the gorgeously infected veins while you enjoy a nice dinner.” He cheerily stated, before turning on his heel to walk back to the examination room.

You grumbled under your breath, walking out of the office with Jesaphine.

“He’s certainly…..an eccentric.” She attempted to politely spark up a conversation.

“Yeah, an eccentric pain in the ass.” You snapped, rolling your eyes

—

Jesaphine was a diligent and determined worker, however she wasn’t much of a conversationalist. Of course your mother didn’t mind this, as she was one to always do all of the talking. It isn’t that you weren’t a talker, it’s just that you couldn’t talk to Jesaphine about most of your life. Your detective work was a no-go considering she was easily disgusted by even the idea of murder or any brutal crime. Besides work, the only other big part of your life was fighting your parents in their decision to have you marry. Of course, you could not speak ill of your mother in the presence of her own maid.

It felt like hours had passed before your brain was struck with an idea. Sitting in your vanity chair, you wore an elegant gown picked by your mother for the dinner. As Jesaphine prepared her cosmetics to apply to your face, you turned and asked her a question.

“Who is this prince my mother has me meeting?” You asked

“His name is Ellis and he is the heir to a kingdom west of our’s. We’ve been on neutral terms with their king for years. The King and Queen are hoping to move the relationship to a more friendly one if you are to marry the prince.” She informed you, her voice distracted as she finished her work preparing the cosmetics.

“Do you know anything about him….as a person?”You hesitantly questioned

The maids and other palace staff were the best to consult for truthful information on other royals. Jesaphine typically was not first on your to-query list, not even tenth, but she was all you had.

“I’ve heard he has won many horse races, the high ranking ladies in his kingdom seem to be fond of him. He hasn’t had any scandals that have crossed my ears.” She informed you as she applied the powders and cremes to your face.

You thanked her for the information, it was better than nothing after all.

The knock of a palace guard came sooner than you preferred. He had come to escort you to your dinner, which you had heard would be in the palace gardens.

Upon arrival to the extravagant space containing a myriad of greenery, plant, and herbs. The guard led you to a table set for two in the lower right corner of the space.

Prince Ellis stood by the table looking like any other prince. Dressed in a suit made of silk, satin, or velvet with glittering embroidery. He shook the hand of the guard standing next to you, then took your gloved hand and kissed your knuckles.

You immediately felt like you needed to wash your hands despite the lack of contact his lips had with your actual skin. He hadn’t bothered to say a single word to you yet, was he expecting to be greeted first? If so, he would be waiting quite a long time for a greeting.

The guard walked away to continue his patrol in the gardens as you both took seats at the table.

“The king tells me you are quite busy, what with having to reschedule this dinner.” He told you as he cut into the meat on his plate.

“Yes, helping my uncle takes up most of my days.” You answer

“I’ve always believed women like you to be so wonderful.” He complimented, his smile wide yet not reaching his eyes.

You didn’t like the way he phrased the compliment, it just felt wrong.

“Thank you, your royal highness.” You accepted the compliment, “but might I ask why?”

“You’re so nurturing helping your uncle in his older age. It means you’ll make a great mother.” He elaborated, his voice indicating it was the most obvious explanation ever.

You felt your stomach churn with nerves, and not the good kind. you fidgeted with your spoon, spinning it in your soap to distract your brain.

“Motherhood isn’t something I want. At least, not for a while, if at all.” You told him honestly, barely meeting his eyes.

He barked out a laugh before scoffing, looking across the table at you with a garish smile.

“I get it, you have hobbies. You can continue your needlework or whatever it is you do in your spare time even after you have children.” He attempted to reassure you, reaching across the table to gently lay his hand on yours.

You yanked your hand back more aggressively than intended.

“Easy there princess—“

“I think you mean your royal highness.” You corrected coldly, “and do not speak to me in that manner. I am not one of your horses that needs taming.”

He held your chilling gaze, his eyes blank. It was as if he was looking at himself in the reflection of your eyes, not bothering to acknowledge you

You both set in awkward silence for a period of time with the only sound coming from knives grating against plates and nighttime insects chirping.

“Are you always so…..difficult?” He questioned, chuckling a bit as if it was funny to call you difficult.

“I’m not difficult, I just know what I want, and I don’t want to be forced into anything.” You spoke firmly

“We’ve only just met and I think we’ve gotten off on the wrong foot.” He spoke sympathetically

You simply continued eating your food, hoping the silence would strangle him.

“But I know that once you marry, you’ll want children. It’s how all women are, it is in your nature.” He told you, speaking as if he was making an astute academic observation.

You hated feeling insane and that is exactly how Prince Ellis was making you feel. Nothing he was doing or saying was technically cruel. At least, not in the eyes of your mother and father it wouldn’t be.

“Assuming all women are the same. Which…is a foolish assumption to make.” You replied curtly, taking another bite of your food.

This was the first time you saw something akin to a glare cross his face. It was quickly replaced by a smirk.

“You do not have to play hard to get, you know? You are a princess after all.” He said

“And you don’t have to keep playing hard to want.” You quipped, immediately moving a hand to your mouth.

It was one thing to make backhanded compliments and call his ideas or things about him foolish. But to aim something so negative at him directly was a different level, and you knew it. Your manners teacher would have slapped your wrists with her wooden ruler so hard the rash would have stayed for weeks if she heard you say that.

“From all the stories of you aiding your people in matchmaking and taking care of your uncle, I assumed you’d be different.” He stated

“Hm—there you go again—assuming.” You noted, now throwing caution to the wind with your manners.

“You know, maybe if you weren’t such a frigid bitch all of the time you would have a husband by now.” He insulted, standing up angrily

“My nuptials are honestly, none of your business, Prince Ellis.” You answered back

He let out a bitter laugh, putting his fingers to his forehead.

“Your parents practically begged me to come here and give you a chance. Enjoy continuing to sorely disappoint them.” He spat out before storming away.

You had been called many things during your time as a princess. People loved to give you praise face-to-face but criticism and hate were often delivered in less direct matters. Nonetheless, this wasn’t the first time someone had spewed insults at your face, a handful of men had. You didn’t care about their opinions and you wouldn’t start now. But this prince had just unlocked a dangerous part of your brain.

Was I really just the family disappointment? Does everyone else also think I’m a frigid bitch? Is that why my parents are really sending me off? Does my uncle not want me anymore? Does he think I’m a disappointment?

You stormed out of the gardens, ignoring concerned glances from guards and greetings from maids passing by. Weaving effortlessly through the palace halls, you saw your vision growing blurry with tears. Hastily wiping them away you lectured yourself, you weren’t going to cry. All you needed was the familiar secluded space of your office. The plush chair and smell of fresh ink on paper lit by lamplight would calm you down. Being in your safe haven would help you rationalize the situation you just came out of and the lingering feelings that followed.

Opening the door to your uncle’s study, you quickly closed that same door behind you. Your tears were starting to successfully be pushed back despite the still gaping pit in your stomach.

Opening your office door, you stepped inside with your eyes laser focused on your desk chair. The room was dark from a lack of lit lanterns, but you knew exactly where your office chair was. Your lack of attention to everything else caused you to now have a pair of arms wrapped strongly around you, and a dagger to your neck.

“State your business in her royal highness’ office.” You heard Lohen command, his voice void of any humour or warmth.

“What the hell, Lohen! It’s me, her royal highness!” You exclaimed, feeling the before pushed back tears brimming in your eyes.

“How do I know you aren't just an imposter?” He questioned, pressing the knife closer to your throat.

You were so over this evening and all the emotions that it had conjured. In anger and exasperation, you kicked backwards into his groin, causing Lohen to double over and loosen his grip on you.

Moving to sit at your desk, you went about getting out parchment and a pen as if your life depended on it. Lighting a single lantern to illuminate the space.

“Alright, alright, I believe it’s you.” Lohen wheezed in pain, “only you could give me such a thrill.”

His words didn’t fully register in your brain, you were too focused putting pen to paper, trying to ignore how loud your brain was getting.

Tearing your overly elegant gloves off and tossing them to the side, you started to draw fingerprints to soothe your brain. Each fingerprint you drew was unique and arbitrary, nothing like you had seen before.

“Excuse me?” Lohen called, leaning across your desk and snapping his fingers in front of your head.

Your face had been down focused only on the paper, body hunched over the desk.

“I sincerely apologize for trying to attack her royal highness.” He spoke in an overly flat voice, clearly coated with sarcasm.

You continued drawing your fingerprints, not fully registering what he was saying. You pressed the pen harder into the paper, making the ink come out darker. You gripped the pen tightly, nails digging into the skin of your palm as you wrote.

Suddenly, you felt a hand hover atop yours. It made you remember Prince Ellis, it made your brain detonate.

You jumped back out of your office chair, letting out something between a curse and a yelp. Your vision blurred from tears brimming in your eyes.

You could see a familiar figure slowly approach you through your blurred vision, one that belonged to your least favorite apprentice.

“Your royal highness…..you are bleeding…” He spoke softly, “your hand…”

You finally let your eyes meet his blurred face and you felt the wet trickle of a tear run down your cheek.

“Lohen, what are you talking about?” You tried to sound lightly exasperated, it wasn’t working.

“Your palm, you’ve dug into it with your nails.” He told you simply.

You looked over to see your knuckles white around the pen. The writing utensil now damaged from how tightly you had been squeezing it and with how much force you had been forcing the tip to the parchment. You let it fall to your feet so you could examine your palm. Your vision starting to become less blurred.

“Let me bandage it up for you. As an apology for ambushing you.” Lohen offered

You allowed him to sit with you in the windowsill with a box of medical supplies. He poured a bit of alcohol over the cuts your nails had made. The liquid stung and it made you flinch slightly. You couldn’t help but catch the small smile on Lohen’s face at your reaction.

“For someone who is supposed to want justice for the innocent, you sure do pleasure in their suffering.” You insulted weakly

“Haha, I see her royal highness has very quickly regained her frigid bite.” He teased, his smile still soft.

“I’m not a frigid bitch!” You insisted, the words pouring out of your mouth before you could stop them.

Lohen dropped your hand for a moment, turning around to retrieve the bandages. When he faced you again, he looked at you with an unreadable expression.

He carefully wrapped the bandage around your ungloved hand. His slender fingers grazed your skin tentatively, which made goosebumps shoot through you. The heavy silence swallowed any further whimsical thoughts those goosebumps would have normally given way to. The lack of conversation felt like an uncomfortable weight that kept getting heavier and heavier. You were almost willing to spill every family secret you had just to get Lohen to start talking again.

“I may not understand you, your royal highness.” He began to say, his voice kind but serious

“No, you don’t.” You agreed bitterly

There was a noticeable pause before he spoke again, still not possessing his teasing lift.

“But I do understand that someone clearly wanted you to believe you were a ‘frigid bitch’.” He stated confidently

You thought for a moment at his words. You noticed how he was keeping a smile, but it wasn’t his usual smile. This one was gentle, not teasing, not crazed, but simply soft.

“It was my fault, I instigated him.” You sighed

“Your suitor?” Lohen inaurec

You nodded, meeting his eyes again.

“What made you instigate this prince?” He asked

“Nothing horrible.” You said with a downcast look.

Lohen finished wrapping the bandage around your hand, tying it off in a secure knot.

“Don’t hold out on me your royal highness. I’ll be the judge of that.” He insisted

You thought for a moment, giving him time to get up and walk away.

“He said I would make a wonderful mother.” You told Lohen

Lohen thought for comment before shrugging.

“That doesn’t sound so bad.”

You moved to get up, what a mistake it had been to confide in this apprentice.

You felt him place a gentle hand on your shoulder, easing you to stay sat in the windowsill with him.

“You didn’t let me finish.” He said, “That doesn’t sound so bad, which means the impacts of the words only made you feel worse.”

You blinked a few times, before finally opening up.

“I am just so tired of everyone thinking my life is set in stone. That I will get married to a royal and bear many children. That’s not what I want right now and to be honest I don’t see myself ever wanting it. But no one cares, because I’m a princess. I am a pawn in this political game of chess and my crushed dreams are simply just collateral damage.” You confessed, speaking honestly despite your still ever present grudge against the apprentice.

He gave a deep sigh, staring deep into your eyes as he placed your bandaged hand into your lap. He was so quiet, his face devoid of it’s usual constant charm. Even his eyes, in this moment, were still. They did not have the hungry glint for chaos that they normally possessed. Even in your emotional devastation you could notice this, great.

“Normally I would solve this problem by taking care of whoever was giving you trouble…” He joked, “but obviously I can’t drive a knife through his royal highness’s throat.”

You let out a small laugh at his attempt to cheer you up. It was unconventional how you liked his humor about murdering pretentious royalty, especially in your line of work.

“For the record, you seem to have a better handle on your life than everyone else in this castle.” He spoke kindly

“Thank you,” you stated, “and adding to the record I still find you insufferable.”

There was another pause, as if giving you a chance to bring up any last emotion or to take the comment back. It was considerate of him to give you the chance to choose whether you wanted to fall back into your usual dynamic, or stay in this conversation a moment longer, You let the silence hang.

“Do you hate everyone in your life this much, or am I just special?” He asked with a smirk.

“I hold a healthy amount of disdain for a few individuals. You are not special.” You state, holding your chin high

“I find it a thrilling way to live when everyone has just a bit of disdain for you, wouldn’t you agree?” Lohen asked with a giddy smile forming on his face.

You rolled your eyes and cross your arms.

“The concepts of peace, normality, non-combative life, do you have a clue as to what these are?” You questioned

You watched him stand from his position at the window, the small cape he wore fluttering from the movement. He swiftly pulled out his dagger, spinning it in his hands effortlessly.

“Not a single clue, princess.” He answered you

He punctuated his statement by effortlessly tossing his knife in the air and catching it on the blade's end. Turning on his heel, he walked out of the office.

You sat in the windowsill for a period of time, thinking of Lohen’s behavior just then. Your mouth turned up in a warm smile at the apprentice’s presence in your brain and you immediately reminded yourself of how insufferable he was.

Walking over to your desk, you decided to pull out a new pen and begin drawing fingerprints again. You were a bit drowsy, but you didn’t feel like walking through the winding halls to your chambers just yet.

You laid your head down on the paper, continuing to mindlessly draw as your eyes grew heavy. Eventually, your hand gently rested on the desk and your grip loosened, the pen sliding out of your hand as your eyes closed.

—

You woke to your uncle shaking your shoulders.

“We’ve got a body, just brought in.” He hurriedly told you

You shot up from your desk, wiping the sleep from your eyes. Giving yourself a moment to adjust to the morning sunlight filtering into the office. Then, you strode into the examination room, finding Lohen already near the covered corpse.

“Morning princess.” He greeted casually as he retrieved a blank file from the shelf on the far well.

“Did you check to see if the victim already had—“

“Yes sleeping beauty, I already looked through the files of living residence in the kingdom, he didn’t have one.” Lohen cut you off, assuring you he had followed the protocol you had taught him.

“Will you stop with your pet names?” You grumbled, gathering your instruments to properly examine the body.

You pulled back the covering and let out a small gasp. You knew this man, well not personally of course, but you remembered meeting him. This was the husband of that married couple, the ones that weren’t soulmates.

You rushed out of the room, quickly rummaging through papers piled on your desk. You must have shoved his file aside at the sudden presence of your uncle. Clearly you had forgotten to put it away.

Finding the folder labeled with his name, you came back into the examination room. Walking up to Lohen, you set the file in front of him.

“He just moved here and came in the other day to get a fingerprint card. Forgot to put his file away.” You told Lohen, trying to not sound too embarrassed at your mistake

He looked up at you with a smirk.

“Ahhh, so her royal highness isn’t as perfect as she likes to make herself out to be.” He baited you

“It was a mistake, one that won’t happen again.” You said flatly

You watched as his gloved hand slowly came up to touch your cheek. Your brain was split between pulling away and leaning into his hand. You couldn’t make a decision, so you just stood frozen. Feeling his finger rub against the skin, he gave a small smile.

“You had some ink on your cheek. Consequences of using your freshly drawn on papers as a pillow last night.” He told you simply

You blinked a few times, then realized he had already been in the examination room when you had stepped in. Meaning he had passed through your office while you were asleep.

He seemed to take your silence as an opportunity to taunt you.

“Did you know you snore in your sleep; princess?” He asked you in a quiet voice,

You stormed away from him back over to the examination table.

“We have a case to attend to.” You stated, your voice laced with annoyance.

Both of you stood around the table, examining the body thoroughly. The two of you made your own notes in silence, the only sound in the room being the scratch of pen against paper.

“So, we know he was a farmer.” You spoke, breaking the silence.

“It also says he was in the business of buying and seeking horses.” Lohen added

“Considering the markings on his neck, it’s obvious the cause of death was strangulation.” You stated

“It appears because of the intense redness all around his neck there was resistance too.” Lohen observed

“Considering the thickness of the markings, he had to have been strangled with something thicker, maybe rope?” You proposed

“You said he had horses?” Lohen questioned

“It’s in the file.” You stated with a smidgen of exasperation

“Maybe if her majesty would have put the file in its proper place, I would have had the time to thoroughly read over it this morning.” He countered

“Oh please, you wouldn’t have read over it regardless.” You scoffed, crossing your arms

“I don’t need to, not when I have you to tell me what’s in it.” He said sweetly, an overly endearing smile playing on his lips

“You won’t always have me.” You reminded him coldly, “your an apprentice, remember? Your goal is to replace me.”

As soon as you said it, you felt a lump well in your throat. It was one thing to think all of those things in your mind and dwell on them. But saying it aloud made it feel so painfully real.

“I couldn’t possibly replace you, your royal highness.” Lohen laughed

He looked down at his notes and then looked up at you.

“If he was in the business of horses, it’s possible he could have been strangled with a whip.” He suggested

You forced your mind back into investigation mode, moving to look at the man’s neck again.

“That very well may have been it.” You agree, trying to hide the impressed tone in your voice.

You two write up a draft report for your uncle, leaving the papers on his desk. Covering the body back up and blowing out the lanterns in the examination room, you both shut and locked the door.

“I will see you tomorrow.” You bid him farewell, noting the clock on the wall indicating it was mid afternoon.

“Wait! Where are you going?” He asked, excited curiosity scribbled on his face

He followed you out into the palace hallway. You were hoping if you just didn’t answer him, or even look at him, he would go away. Oh how wrong you were.

“Are you enjoying ignoring me?” He asked in an accusatory voice

You couldn’t stifle the small laugh that came out. It was less than favorable to admit you took pleasure in the apprentice following you around like a lost dog, vying for your attention. You only felt a little bit of guilt, considering all the teasing he had done to you.

Arriving at your desired destination, you stepped through the open glass doors into the palace gardens. Having been itching to take a stroll in them since your horrendous dinner.

“Do you really want to join me in a peaceful garden stroll? Don’t you have something more….chaotic you wish to engage in?” You question Lohen, finally addressing him

He chuckled quietly, looking out at the palace gardens before back at you.

“Believe it or not, I actually enjoy surveying the outdoors. It’s the best way to discover new ingredients for toxins.” He confesses with a devilish grin.

You lightly swat his shoulder with your gloved hand.

“You cannot start mixing toxins on the palace grounds. You’d become the number one suspect in every poisoning we come across.” You lecture him in a hushed tone.

He laughs at you, his smile fully reaching his eyes.

“I’m not an idiot princess. I keep my experiments in my own home.” He assured you

You glared up at him, why even bother dabbling in that line of work? Of course, admittedly you had read many books on toxins, poisons, and venomous animals out of curiosity. Even admittedly testing a few concoctions of your own creation on yourself out of boredom. But that phase of your life ended quickly when your mother found out about it. Besides, while it was beneficial for you to have knowledge on such matters, it was not appropriate for you to dabble in them.

“You? Not an idiot? I didn’t take you for a liar, Lohen.” You jested, drawing out his name when you spoke

Of course you knew he was highly intelligent and observant. That detail about him had not left your mind once. But his self-preservation and common sense seemed to be lacking. Which you hated to admit, you also found intriguing.

“And I didn’t take you for—“

Lohen was cut off as a familiar figure approached. Prince Ellis stepping up to the two of you in his ritzy regalia.

“What a nice surprise! Running into the princess and her…..escort.” He greeted the two of you with a shining smile

“Gentleman, I do not believe we have met. What is your name? And how did you acquire the task of escorting this lovely lady?” The prince asked Lohen, holding out his hand for a handshake.

Lohen took it, a polite smile on his face as he spoke.

“I’m Lohen, apprentice of the palace detective.” He introduced himself, “The princess has been assisting in my training.”

Prince Ellis gave an overly joyful laugh at Lohen’s explanation of how he knew you.

“You expect me to believe the princess is training you on detective work?” He asked

Lohen shrugged and gave a simple nod, you felt his body gravitating towards yours.

“However did her royal highness even begin to come near such work?” He asked, but his body was turned toward Lohen and so was his question.

“Maybe you could ask her for yourself.” He politely stated, gesturing to you at his side

Prince Ellis seemed to think for a moment, his face pensive. Then, a pitting smile came across his face as he turned his attention to you.

“It’s quite admirable that you choose to spend your time with the palace servants, your royal highness.” He complimented you, but the backhanded nature was clear in his voice

“Well, it is my job to ensure this apprentice is trained properly so he can take my place in helping the palace detective, my uncle.” You state proudly

Prince Ellis’ smile froze as he realized what you helping your uncle actually entailed. Thinking back to his words at dinner, it had made it seem your parents had told him your were taking care of your uncle. He was probably imagining you caring for the elderly, not helping solve crimes.

“So…that’s what the King and Queen meant when they said you aided him daily.” He stated, his voice growing chilly

“Whatever else did you think it meant?” You inquired sweetly

“I just….I assumed you were taking on a more….nurturing and less mentally taxing task.” He replied

“Well you know what they say about assumptions!” Lohen chimed in

“I’m afraid I don’t make a habit of taking wisdom from palace servants.” Prince Ellis spar the words, giving a small glare to Lohen

You wanted this conversation to end, preferably with Prince Ellis leaving you and Lohen to continue your stroll. Fidgeting with your sleeve, you thought about how best to de-escalate the situation.

“Haha, you’ll have to excuse the apprentice, he has an unconventional way of speaking.” You politely explained, your smile tense

“It seems you know him well.” Prince Ellis stated coldly, crossing his arms over his chest

“I have only known Lohen for a short while—“ You begin to say, wanting to counter whatever assumptions the prince was beginning to make.

“But we have spent a lot of time together, what with her majesty’s extensive knowledge in investigation and forensic work. She’s been quite thorough in showing me the ropes” Lohen finished your statement, his voice containing the confident lilt as usual

Prince Ellis glared at Lohen again before turning to you.

“You shouldn’t spend so much time with this servant. He has poor manners, unbefitting a lady’s company.” He instructed you

“It is for my work, your royal highness.” You stared simply

But you knew that it wasn’t just for your work. You were beginning to enjoy spending time with Lohen and even wanted to continue your garden stroll. It was absurd, but you found yourself wanting to be in his presence.

“Yes; of course.” Prince Ellis replied with a tight smile, “When the king finalizes our marriage, I’ll have to remind him to relieve you of your duties as a….worker…”

You felt one of your hands instinctively ball into a fist at his words. He couldn’t even manage to call you a detective, or a forensic scientist. The idea of you having a career seemed to disgust him by the tone of his words. Most disturbingly though, he spoke as if your marriage was already agreed upon.

“I had no idea the princess agreed to a proposal.” Lohen pondered aloud, his tone purposefully lught and clueless.

“Not that it is any of your concern, but she will. It will just take a bit of….convincing.” Prince Ellis told Lohen, his eyes sliding over to you.

You were growing tired of this conversation, and was close to grabbing Lohen’s hand and simply running off. Manners and reputation be damned, you needed to get out of this prince’s presence.

“Prince Ellis, I have come to retrieve you for your afternoon tea appointment.” A palace guard said as he approached you three

“Oh, it is that time already!” He responded to the guard cheerily, “Good day, your royal highness!”

He walked away with the gaurd, purposefully not bidding Lohen a goodbye.

“He seems pleasant.” Lohen snorted, turning to you

“Did you have fun with trying to piss him off?” You questioned, glaring at Lohen, “why would you mention that we spend a lot of time together?”

Lohen chuckled, looking over at the bush of colorful flowers before looking back at you.

“We have spent a lot of time together these past few days. I was simply telling the truth.” He stated honestly.

“Yes, but now he may try and push harder to marry me. Now that he thinks I’m growing close with you.” You explain worriedly

Lohen considers you for a moment before leaning in close, his face becoming only inches from yours. You instantly felt your face heat up at the close proximity.

“We could certainly always become closer, your royal highness.” He proposed in a low voice, his eyes moving downward to look at your lips.

You pushed him back before putting your hands on your hips, your face still feeling hot. You hated how your heartbeat exponentially increased at his close proximity.

“I cannot stand you!” You exclaimed, throwing your hands down

“I’m sure I can retrieve you a chair.” Lohen jested, a smirk on his face

“You think the prince will still want to marry me if I were to strangle you?” You question in a threatening voice, mimicking strangling with your hands

“Don’t threaten me with a good time, princess.” Lohen responds with a twinkle in his eyes

He sees your face contorted in annoyance, then he says more seriously.

“I think he’d try and marry you even if you were to turn into a bee and sting him reputedly.” Lohen joked

“He’d insist bees only sting when they are fond of someone.” You joke, a smile breaking across your face.

Lohen gave a little laugh, beginning to walk slowly to encourage you into continuing your stroll through the gardens. You followed him without hesitation, feeling the cracks in the stone path through your satin slippers.

“For the record, bees can actually only sting one time.” You break the silence to ensure he is aware of the tidbit of knowledge

“I’d gladly use my only stinger on that prince if I were you.” Lohen told you

You two fell into easy conversation about insects. Lohen began to speak of his hobbies before coming to the palace as an apprentice. He told you of how he trapped a handful of insects in jars in the past. Waiting for them to pass before extracting their venom to make antidotes with.

You told him about how your life had been before you had been allowed to spend most of your days on detective work. How you used to be forced into boring manners courses and dance lessons.

You noticed how natural the conversation between the both of you became, and you kind of hated how comfortable you felt. Of course, he was still…..him, but you found yourself becoming used to his antics.

—

It was late at night and the moon was high in the sky. The office was lit by a few lanterns, giving you the proper light you needed to write up the murder report for you uncle.

Lohen sat in the windowsill lazily tossing his dagger. Occasionally you’d hear him give something between a wince and a pleasured gasp when he caught the knife on its sharp end. You tried not to let the sounds he made get to you but they had already implanted themselves in your brain.

“Are you going to help me with this report at all?” You questioned, glaring over at him

“I did help you, I told you what to write.” He said plainly, continuing his game of catch with his weapon.

You groaned, rolling your eyes at him.

“I cannot write ‘thank goodness someone came to their senses and murdered that asshole of a prince’ Lohen.” You lectured him with a bored expression

“Then write ‘Whatever hero killed this insufferable prince has palace apprentice Lohen’s admiration for their flawless crime’.” He suggested with a chuckle.

“You’re lucky no one else is in here right now or you’d be thrown in the dungeons for such words.” You informed him with a raised chin

You watched his eyes sparkle with mischief was he paused his game of catch to look at you.

“And what do I have to say for you to throw me in the dungeons yourself, your royal highness?” He teasingly asked, raising an eyebrow

“Keep talking and you’ll get there.” You replied sarcastically

He looked off into the distance with a delighted smile as if he were daydreaming.

“Someday I’ll get you to follow through on your word.” He stared, a longing in his voice.

You ignored him and tried to dismiss his words. You were almost done writing the embarrassingly short forensic investigation report on Prince Ellis’ murder. His throat was slit in his sleep last night and there was no evidence left on the scene. It was as if a phantom had done it.

You noticed Lohen walking over to the teapot in the corner of the room. He poured himself another cup of the peppermint tea you had brewed when beginning to work.

“I see you like my tea.” You pointed out with a small smile, finishing the last details on the report.

“I do. It reminds me of my mother’s blend.” He replied honestly

You were slightly taken aback, this was the first time Lohen had brought up his family.

“What are they like? Your parents, I mean.” You inquire gently, turning to face him as he took his seat back on the windowsill.

“Annoyingly pious, they lead quite mundane lives.” He told you, the answer leaving much to be desired

“What do they do for a living?” You asked

You got up, walking over to the windowsill seat. Lohen folded his before stretched legs to his chest, allowing you to sit across from him.

“They make bows for hunting.” He answered promptly

You hummed in response, settling yourself against the wall and folding your legs as you were taught in your many manners lessons. This close to Lohen, you could admire the silver earring you wore in his ear and the way it glistened.

“Why did you decide to become a detective?” You questioned, not noticing the way you were slowly leaning forward in anticipation.

“I’ve already told you, your royal highness.” He spoke simply, seeming more reserved than usual

You stopped for a moment, noticing his change in behavior. Did he not like talking about his past?

“Why did you decide to become a detective?” He turned the question back on you.

“To help others.” You gave the intensely shortened version of the real answer.

He gave you a small smile, staring into your eyes. Then, his smile turned into a smirk and your heart skipped a beat.

“I see I’m not the only one holding back information.” He stated simply

His smirk grew wider as his eyes lit up, as if he had been struck with an ingenious thought.

“Princess, would you like to play a game?” He asked you, his voice giddy

You thought for a moment on the proposal. This was Lohen and you knew him to be insane—for lack of a better word. What could this game possibly entail?

“What is the game?” You replied simply

You watched him extract a single vial from his coat. It contained a uniquely colored liquid unlike anything you had seen before.

“Made this toxin awhile back ago, it’s a fairly mild brew. It is only supposed to cause fatigue and muscle weakness.” He began to explain, holding the vial up for you to better observe it.

“And how does this relate to your proposed game?” You encourage him to continue.

“We take turns asking each other questions. If one does not wish to answer, they must take a drink from the vial.” He explains simply

Your first instinct was to down right refuse him. To laugh in his face at such a purposeless risk of a game. But a small part of your brain wondered what it would be like to indulge in his antics. You tried to push away that quiet little voice, however it seemed the harder you pushed, the louder it got.

“Would you like to go first?” You politely propose

“I think I’ll let you start us off, princess.” he says with a mischievous smile, dragging out the pet name as if to savor it.

Your mind seemed to immediately file away the sound of the affectionate nickname leaving his mouth. Nestling it next to all the other memories of him that made your insides tingle.

“Why did you really become a detective?” You inquire, deciding to push on the matter

He paused for a moment, rolling the vial around in his fingers.

“I witnessed a series of murders happen in my village growing up. It made me feel so…powerless. As a kid I couldn’t do anything to help. So, I started studying every possible way the human body could be killed. Over the years I gathered a lot of knowledge then decided the best way to use it would be to become a detective.” He confesses to you

Handing you the vial, your fingers brush against his for a brief moment. It sends sparks through your hand that came and went as quickly as the contact did.

“What do you think of me?” He asked you with a smirk

It felt as though a million thoughts were fighting to come to the forefront of your mind. You opened your mouth to say something, then you chose to close it. Taking a moment to sort through all of your many thoughts about Lohen, you formed an answer.

“I think you will make a great detective.” You told him sincerely

His eyes studied your face intently before leaning back against the wall.

“You’re holding something back. Tell the whole truth or drink.” He stated without hesitance

You hated that he was right. You knew you couldn’t elaborate on your thoughts of the apprentice. So, you uncorked the vial and took a swig of the substance. It had a berry like taste, the liquid thick but smooth, You placed the cork back into the vial before passing it back to Lohen.

“Why do you keep calling me ‘princess’? Why not simply call me only by my name or title?” You ask him

You watched him take the cork off of the bottle and take a swig of the liquid. Placing the cork back into the vial, he passed it to you.

“Why don’t the king and queen spend more effort trying to find your soulmate? Isn’t their whole thing supporting their kingdom’s citizens in finding each of theirs?” He questioned, his expression unreadable

You pondered the question for a moment while casting your eyes upwards. Absentmindedly you swished the liquid in the vial as you considered how to best and most truthfully answer.

“They care about the kingdom’s overall safety and prosperity. Ensuring I marry someone with power, wealth, or both will aid in that goal.” You answer simply

He nodded in response as you passed the vial back to him.

“What’s your favorite time of day?” He queried with a smile

“Anytime I’m not having to deal with your antics.” You answered with a snort

He laughed, his face in a state of joy was a sight you enjoyed. He passed the vial back to you.

“Do you want to marry someday?” He questioned

You took the cork off of the bottle, downing a healthy sum of the liquid. Passing it back to him, you began to feel the impacts of the toxin set in, letting out a tired yawn.

“What is your favorite food?” You inquired

“Chilli peppers or really anything with a kick.” He responded

Passing the vial back to you, you noticed it had nearly one sip left in it.

“If you were to marry, who would your dream partner be?” He thoughtfully queried

You were really feeling the impacts of the toxin now, your brain growing foggy. With slowed thoughts and a lack of forming a clever response, you decided to simply finish off the liquid in the vial. Corking it, you it back to Lohen.

Truth be told, you didn’t have an ideal partner tucked away in your mind. You knew if you were to ever be with someone you’d want them to be supportive of your work. Preferably a person that either worked in your field themselves or didn’t mind listening to your rambles about all of it. You found the qualities of intelligence, observation, and quick wit highly attractive so someone with those qualities would more than suffice. Then of course, someone who saw past your title and respected you as a person. Hm, come to think of it…the apprentice fit overwhelmingly well into your standards.

Upon that realization, you decided to halt all thoughts on that topic. Aggressively erasing it from the forefront of your mind.

“I’d say I won this one.” You joked with a proud smile

“I’m not sure about that one, you downed three fourths of the vial.” He teased you

“And I also got more information on you. Which, isn’t that the goal of the game?” You proposed to him with raised brows.

“Clever as always.” He complimented you

You let out another yawn and felt your eyes struggle to open after blinking. Taking this as a sign you needed to retire to your chambers, you began to rise from your spot on the windowsill seat. Immediately your knees grew weak under you and you lost your balance.

You felt two hands steady you, fingers splayed across your back.

“Easy there princess. Looks like the muscle weakening aspect of the toxin is working.” Lohen steadied you with a small chuckle

“I’m so happy your toxin worked as intended. Now, how am I supposed to get back to my chambers?” You grumbled to yourself with a downcast look

“If you’ll allow me, I think I can be of some assistance.” Lohen offered, his hands still holding you, keeping you balanced.

You look at him through drowsy eyes, your brain barely functioning. You had heard stories from other ladies and maids of the consequences that came from allowing a man to lead you to your chambers. Not to mention without anyone else passing through the palace halls that could interfere if something happened.

“If you try anything…” You began to threaten “

“Unlike the princes that attempt to court you, I have manners, your royal highness.” Lohen joked

You felt him move to stand beside you with one arm moving to wrap around your waist.

“You may want to wrap an arm around me to steady yourself.” He offered

Obliging, you slowly placed an arm around Lohen’s neck. Both of you hobbling through the palace halls at an unforgivable hour of the night. The path to your chambers felt like a never ending one. The moonlight filtered in through the tall windows. A few lanterns hung on the walls to provide extra light and illuminate the grand portraits that decorated the space. Finally, you both stopped at the door to your chambers. Upon arrival Lohen was hesitant to step into the room with you.

“I have to get to my bed, you can’t just leave me to fall here.” You drowsily accuse him as you both stood in the doorway

“I just didn’t want to intrude on her highness’s private space.” He told you

“You aren’t intruding, you’re helping me.” Your voice drawled from exhaustion, speech becoming much less formal.

Lohen walked with you over towards your large four poster bed. He laid you down gently, his arm snaking out from under your waist. For a brief moment in your delirious state, you enjoyed the sight of the apprentice hovering over you.

“Thank you.” You told him with a drowsy smile as your eyes closed

“Anything for my favorite detective.” He replied

—

You hated having to waste away so much valuable time preparing for another meal. One would think after Prince Ellis’ death his parents would want nothing to do with this kingdom. However, they remained negotiating with your mother and father, proposing an engagement to Prince Ellis’ brother. Fate must have really been bitter the day she decided this portion of your fate.

You sat in a gown that most certainly did not fit an outside lunch in the middle of summer. It’s long sleeves and high neck made you feel as though you were suffocating, not to mention every inch of the fabric was solid. Not a hint of mesh or a fashionable slit allowing for movement. It was what the maid assisting you had insisted you wear. This maid made you wish you had appreciated Jesaphine more.

“I think Prince Quinston will be a wonderful match for you! Have you seen any portraits of him? He is quite dashing.” She blabbers on while applying cosmetic crème to your face

“I’m happy you think so.” You stare plainly,

You let her yammer on about the first time she met her own husband. Halfway listening to her tips and tricks for a happy marriage. You tried to remember if you had heard anything about Jesaphine and why she wasn’t present today. Coming up blank, you decided to ask the maid in front of you.

“Why is Miss Jesaphine not tending to me today?” You inquired

The maid pulls back, a bit of crème still on her finger. She looks down for a moment before clearing her throat.

“She….she was relieved of her position.” She said

You paused for a moment…that was impossible. Jesaphine had been with your mother since you were a little girl, she was basically family. She may have been the weird aunt you didn’t enjoy chatting with kind of family, but to you she was still close with the royals.

“Oh…however did that….come to be?” You questioned

The maid took a moment to gather her thoughts. You watched her place one container down and pick up another, this one holding powder. She grabbed a soft brush to apply it with.

“Miss Jesaphine went to the King and Queen with concerns regarding Prince Ellis. Reporting he had….forced himself upon her. The King and Queen saw it best she left the palace if she felt the need to speak ill of the prince.” The maid explained

Your stomach dropped in despair at her explanation. You didn’t doubt for a moment that the prince had done as Jesaphine said. Of course, a royal’s word, especially a man’s, was everything against hers. Honestly, a man’s word in general held tenfold the value of a woman’s, even a royal one.

Still, you felt put-off by the recent knowledge. Your mother had known Jesaphine for years and trusted her. How could she so easily believe the word of another royal she had met roughly a week ago over a woman she had known her whole life? It scared you senseless to think of who else she would turn on if their word was up against that of a prince’s.

You hoped Jesaphine was safe and you promised yourself that if you and your mother ever could have a civil conversation you would confront her about this. The maid deserved justice but you were scared that fighting for it would get you into hot water as well.

You absentmindedly watched the maid finish your makeup, still stunned at what had transpired without your knowledge. Even as the guard came to fetch you, your mind was still occupied by thoughts of anger at the injustice.

Walking along the palace halls, you spotted regalia similar to that of Lohen’s. Your brain’s first thought was to approach the person you thought to be the apprentice. To strike up a conversation and fall into enjoyable banter. You shook your head, letting out a sigh. It was an irrational thought and you knew it. Lohen was supposed to be off today, meaning he would not be wandering around the place.

Entering the palace gardens with the gaurd, you instantly felt overheated. The maid had put many layers of makeup on your face, insisting it needed to look as natural as possible. You were already in a bit of a sour mood so you hoped this lunch would be brief and that the prince would have little interest in you.

Approaching the same table you sat at with Prince Ellis some nights ago, you spotted his brother. He stood tall with his shoulders back in perfect posture. You found his clothing to be rather annoyingly regal and also appropriate for the hot weather. Unlike your gown which you felt yourself sweating in.

The guard that escorted you bowed and turned to exit, leaving you facing the prince.

“Prince Quinston, what an honor it is to meet you.” You stated politely, holding out your hand

He took your hand in his and brought it to his lips. Your mind began to replace his face with Lohen’s to avoid the feeling of disgust at his lips on your gloved hand. You didn’t like how imagining the apprentice performing the gesture made your heart flutter. Choosing to push whatever was happening in your brain aside, you took your seat across from the prince.

“We have been graced with lovely weather.” He beams at you

You picked up your spoon to dip it into the food in front of you.

“I believe it would be even lovelier if the temperature weren’t so scorching.” You replied

He gave a tight smile in response, taking a large bite of his food.

“I’m glad you chose to dress as a royal lady should despite the temperature.” He said proudly

You had to stop your face from contorting in disgust at the statement. Maybe he had phrased his words awkwardly because of nerves, you hoped.

“Admittedly I would have not worn this if it were not for my maid’s insistence. I prefer to wear what I will be most comfortable in.” You told him, taking a bite of your food

He gave a hum of what sounded like disapproval.

“Sometimes in marriage we must make sacrifices.” He simply stated

You let the statement linger for a period of time before deciding to speak.

“And what sacrifices do you see yourself making, Prince Quinton?” You inquire with a raised brow

He thought for a moment, but not as if he was trying to come up with something. He was attempting to appear pensive, as if he couldn’t choose what sacrifice to start speaking on first.

“I would spend a substantial amount of time around you and the matters of a kingdom, meaning my time tending to horses would dwindle.” He confessed with a sigh

You considered his answer, it honestly wasn’t an unreasonable one.

“Do you enjoy participating in horse races as your brother did?” You asked tentatively, realizing the topic of his brother may be sensitive.

You saw his eyes flash with something akin to grief, a faraway look of longing. Then he gave you a small smile.

“They say not to speak ill of the dead, but I find it amusing my brother told you he participated in horse races.” He chuckled to himself

You paused, technically Jesaphine had told you such information…however you had made a remark to Prince Ellis about his horses and he hadn’t corrected you.

“Well…I just assumed since many said he won quite a few horse races that meant he was…..participating in them….” You explained, for once your voice not fully assured

Prince Quinston let out a boisterous laugh at your words, it made you feel so ignorant.

“My brother bought horses and paid the best riders and trainers in the kingdom to participate in his name. So I wouldn’t say he was the one winning the races.” Prince Quinston explained

You let the explanation sink into your brain, not surprising you in the least to be honest.

“Well….do you ride in horse races your royal highness?" You attempt to steer the conversation away from his late brother

He took a sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving yours. Placing the cup back down on its saucer, he smiled at you with a hint of condescension present.

“I unlike most do not seek glory in a race well won. My joy comes from acting as a medic to the injured horses.” He proudly stated

Hm….that was…partially admirable if you were being honest. Taking care of animals took some level of basic empathy, meaning this prince couldn’t be all terrible, right?

“Well that’s quite a lovely way to spend your time!” You praise him politely, a small smile on your face.

He sinks in your praise like a feline sinking in sunlight. Leaning back in his chair, he folds his arms across his chest.

“And how does her majesty spend her free time?” He questions, his eyes boring into your’s

You de ode to tell a half truth, seeing as you did spend scraps of your free time doing this.

“I quite enjoy reading about anatomy and the human body.” You confess honestly, a genuine smile on your face at the topic

The prince’s eyebrows raise in surprise at your topic. Then, he dawns a roguish grin.

“What an odd thing for a lady to study.” He commented

Of course he would say this, you had almost forgotten his intense need to place all women into one arbitrary category.

“Hm, I don’t believe so. It is quite interesting to learn about how the body reacts to unexpected stimuli.” You explain in a clinical fashion, fascinated by the impacts of poisons and blades.

You watch his smile grow even wider and it very much unsettled you. Attempting to calm yourself, you run your thumb on the ornate engravings on your spoon.

“How intriguing…” He began to ponder

“If I chose to marry you, I expect you to put such knowledge to use.” He informed you flirtatiously

If he chose to marry you? Oh, so this is the kind of man you were dealing with. Arguably even worse than his brother considering his shamelessness in holding such beliefs.

“I do not believe we would make a good match then, considering I admire my autonomy. Also, I fail to see how my knowledge in anatomy would assist you.” You replied, holding your chin high

He scoffed at your words and rolled his eyes.

“I promise, autonomy will become a low priority to you once you realize how desirable someone like me is.” He claimed boldly

You wanted to take the cup of tea that rested above your plate and splash it on his face. Instead, you settled for a small chuckle at his bold assumption.

“If one must speak on their own desirability, then I do not believe them to be at all desirable.” You stated

“Hm, do you always have a seemingly clever response for everything?” He asked looking slightly annoyed

You watched him slowly rise from his seat and you slowly rose as well.

“Do you not find my way of speaking favorable to your fragile ears?” You question with a seemingly innocent look on your face.

He slowly steps aside from his seat, standing beside the table.

“I find your way of speaking to be challenging, your royal highness.” He admitted

You watched him take another step, this time towards you. You stepped back twice, wanting to distance yourself from him. You felt a chill run down your spine as your back hit the hot stone wall partially surrounding the enclosure.

“But…” Prince Quinston began to speak, stepping up to you pinning you against the wall with his body

“I like a challenge.” He finished speaking, his face inches from yours.

You attempted to squirm aside, but his body caged you against the wall. You looked up into his dull, emotionless eyes.

“Prince Quinston, I am not interested in participating in—“ You began to tell him your lack of want to participate in his intimate affairs.

He cut you off with a rough kiss, causing your eyes to go wide. You hated the feeling of his lips against your’s, it made everything feel wrong. Each layer of your makeup felt too heavy. The gown’s neck was now not just restrictive, it was suffocating.

Your eyes darted around the garden, searching for a stray gaurd or idle servant. You needed someone, anyone, to notice your distress. It wasn’t that you weren’t capable of stomping into the prince’s foot or elbowing his ribs. Normally you would have done so without hesitation or a second thought. But you felt so overwhelmingly helpless right now. He had stolen away your autonomy in this moment, and it made your skin crawl.

He moved away slightly, moving to slowly pull the high collar of your gown down. You felt his lips hover over your neck for a brief moment. You flinched away at the contact but he found his way back to the same position. This caused your eyes to wander around the garden again desperately, before stopping.

You noticed the familiar pair of wine red irises, you could pick them out in a crowd of thousands. You wanted to cry of out joy when his eyes caught onto yours. A small gasp of relief leaving your mouth at the sight of the apprentice. You heard the prince chuckle into your neck, assuming your reaction was directed at him.

That’s when Lohen turned to walk briskly towards the both of you.

He made it a point to run into the clearing, ramming into the table on flawlessly faking the accident.

Prince Quinston jumped off of you and whipped himself around to face Lohen.

“What is the meaning of this? Who are you to interrupt a private lunch between—“ Prince Quinston began to furiously lecture before Lohen cut him off.

“Her royal highness is needed immediately, her uncle has fallen ill.” Lohen pretends to pant as if he ran here, his eyes filled with panic.

Prince Quinston physically deflates, glaring daggers at Lohen. You meanwhile, felt your heart drop into your stomach. Was he lying to gets you out of this? Had your uncle really fallen ill? If anything happened to the old man….no, you couldn’t think about it.

“Prince Quinton….you must excuse me…I….I must ensure my uncle is taken care of.” You told him, your eyes filled with pleading and concern

The Prince gives a small chuckle before looking at you with an innocent smile.

“Of course, go tend to your family.” He insisted

You felt his gaze hang on you and before you could turn away from him he added to his previous statement.

“We’ll be spending a great deal of time together in the future anyways. Won’t we, princess?” He asked lightly, trying the pet name on his tongue

His usage of the term of endearment made your blood run ice cold. It felt nothing like the warm and playful way Lohen used it. Instead feeling terribly possessive, just like everything else about him.

His question felt overly insincere too. He clearly wasn’t asking your opinion but rather reminding you he had already decided your fate for you. This only propelled your want to exit the encounter even stronger.

Turning on your heel, you began to walk briskly out of the gardens. You heard footsteps of a person running to catch up to you, the apprentice slowing as he approached your side.

“My uncle? Is he truly ill? What has happened?” You question as you led him into the palace

“Your uncle is fine, he is out surveying nature with a few old friends.” Lohen assured you with a small smile

“So you lied to someone far above your status?” You asked the rhetorical question, not in an accusatory tone but simply so he would confirm

“Yes, I did.” He stated without hesitation

“You know if he finds out you lied he could have you kicked out of your position?” You question, wanting to ensure he knew the consequences his actions could cause

“I am fully aware of the risks, your royal highness.” He told you, a serious expression on his face

You didn’t know how to respond to him. He was risking his position in the palace, his chance at his dreams. All to save you from the situation you had landed yourself into. Lohen was willing to lose a lot just to ensure you were saved from harm. Such a realization made any lingering reservations about him disperse into nothingness. Sure, you would still be annoyed by his insufferable teasing but no longer did you envision yourself truly disposing him.

Your feet took you to the location of your office. Lohen did not cease in following you and joined you in the familiar space. You watched him shut the door gently as you sat down in the chair behind your desk. For once, you didn’t immediately reach for a pen to write with or a file to examine. You simply sat in complete stillness, the emotions from today seeping into your brain.

You examined the wood that made up your old desk. The small bright lines and darker contours they possessed made you appreciate the beauty of it. Your eye caught on a minute scratch near the right hand corner of the surface. You had never noticed it before but considering how many years this piece of furniture had existed, it was a miracle that the scratch was one of a kind on the desk.

A bead of sweat dripped down your forehead and made its way to the bridge of your nose. This pulled you out of the trance you had let yourself lull into. Wiping at your nose, your hand moved to the neck of your dress. Even in the usually chilly office you felt overheated in the thick garment.

“I hate this dress.” You spoke, breaking the thick silence that had overcome you both.

Lohen turned his head from staring out of the window. His body still standing, facing the glass.

“Then take it off.” He replied

“Excuse me?” You blurted out, your eyes widening

Lohen continued to stare out the window, his gaze distracted as he spoke.

“Take off the dress if it is making you uncomfortable.” He stared plainly

You blinked a few times, your face contorted in confused surprise at his blunt suggestion.

“You want me to take my dress off? In my office?” You asked him, trying to get him to realize the absurdity in his statement

“Yes.” He replied, his gaze still lost in the partially clouded sky outside.

You continued your line of clarifying questions.

“While you are present?” You asked

“Yes.” He replied again, continuing to remain distracted

You opened your mouth to speak, then closed it. How distracted must one be to fail at seeing the implications of such a statement. You were determined to break him from his trance and decided to outright question the implications of his phrasing.

“You want me to undress myself with you in the room?” You question

You watched his eyes widen slightly as he turned his body away from the window towards you. A small blush creeped onto his cheeks and his hand came up to rest on the back of his neck in embaressment.

“Your royal highness, I did not mean—“ He began to clarify, his voice filled with shame

This was the first time you had seen Lohen thrown off of his balance. It almost made you laugh. In fact, it did make you laugh.

Lohen gave an annoyed sigh at your laughter, crossing his arms.

“You’re enjoying this?” He questioned this

“Absolutely.” You confirmed with a lighthearted smile

Lohen looked downward as his face changed from embarrassed to pensive. He turned back to stare out at the sky through the window’s glass. You refocused your gaze on the scratch against the desk’s surface. Silence hung taut between the two of you.

“…are you alright?” He awkwardly inquired

“Of course!” You insisted while forcibly holding your smile

Both Lohen and you avoided each other’s gazes, the humor from moments before now completely gone. You had responded insensitively with your pre-programmed people pleasing answer. But the silence in the room allowed for you to consider the truthfulness of it—or lack thereof.

An overwhelming need to explain your situation washed over you. To ensure Lohen knew that you had not initiated the contact of your own will. You needed him to know he hadn't lied to save you from something you got yourself into. You wanted him to feel as if his saving you was not pointless.

“At lunch…” You began, intending to launch into a clever and detailed explanation.

However, every detailed description and thought-out observation died in your throat. The only thing your brain managed to conjure was the intense feelings of lost agency and violation the prince had caused you. As much as you tried to shove these aside, to write them off as nothing, you simply could not.

“I saw enough to understand the situation.” Lohen informed you, his voice even.

He relieved you of an explanation for some reason you felt you owed him. Although, you didn’t feel as if he understood the situation fully. You needed him to be entirely aware of your predicament.

“He thinks…” You began to say, “he thinks I belong to him.”

Lohen walked over to sit in one of the chairs on the opposing side of your desk. Meeting your eyes with an even stare.

“…I see.” He hesitantly replied

You let his reply hang in the air, not a single clever quip desiring to leave your lips.

“Did he hurt you?” Lohen asked, his voice strained

“No.” You answered quickly

Of course the prince had not hurt you. He did not draw blood with a knife or attempt to poison your tea. Not a single physical wound was inflicted upon you by his hand. Your body was in a perfectly healthy state—unlike your mind.

“Not physically.” You added honestly, feeling foolish seconds after the words left your mouth.

You watched his hand resting upon the desk tense. He compacted it into a fist before releasing his fingers back out. His gaze was intently focused on the surface of the piece of furniture.

“I should have intervened sooner.” He stated

Lohen spoke as if this was a fact that had been scientifically proven. Not a way to extract pity from you in your already emotionally distressed state but rather as a critique of himself. As if to say he should read files more closely or have neater handwriting on case reports.

“You couldn’t have known.” You told him, a sympathetic gaze falling on your features

“I could have observed faster.” He insisted, the words leaving his mouth at near the speed of light

When your eyes met his, you couldn’t tell what his expression conveyed. It was not sadness, neither was it anger.

“You intervened Lohen, you got me out.” You assured him, leaning forward in your chair

“But you’re still hurt.” He spoke, his words were heavy

“I’m fine.” You insisted weakly

Lohen paused for a moment, looking down at his hand resting on the edge of the desk.

“No.” He remarks, “you are not.”

You opened your mouth to correct him, to insist you were truly okay. But that would have been a lie, and he didn’t seem to be in the mood for taking a lie.

“You don’t have to dismiss it in an attempt to make it smaller.” He instructed you

You stopped dead in your train of thought. He had hit the nail on the head and you didn’t know what to say.

“It’s over now.” You replied simply

It was over now, that was a simple truth and the only words you could manage.

“But it’s effects are not.” Lohen ruminates softly

You let his words hang in the air. The office was silent as you both set across from each other. Your bodies were frozen in an action-less state.

You ruminated on the previous conversation. Lohen had became a detective because he felt powerless in the face of danger. This situation had seemed to leave him pretty shaken up but you failed to comprehend exactly why. He wasn’t the one who was left powerless, no that had been you. If anything, shouldn’t he feel amazing that he saved you? All smiles and cheers that you had been freed from such a situation.

Sure, there was no garbage that such a thing would not happen again. Especially if Prince Quinston told your parents he wanted to marry you. But that wasn’t Lohen’s problem, if anything it would give him job security.

It was not lost on your that the two of you had grown closer from working together. However, you had never pondered your relationship to Lohen past writing him off as annoying. You had always assumed that he saw you as nothing more than a person to cure his boredom. But when you looked back on the small moments of tenderness he had shown you, maybe you were something more to him.

Of course, you had helped him adjust to working in the palace’s case processing system. It made sense that he would be kind to you. However, kindness to someone for training them in a job did not typically manifest in the way of feeling helpless at someone else’s expense.

“I feel a cup of tea would enhance my mood.” You suggest simply, hoping he’d agree to share a cup with you

He looks at you, his eyes now shimmering with their easy-going sparkle.

“Does her royal highness wish for someone to share the tea with her?” He asked, an eyebrow raised

“If I say yes, are you going to act insufferable?” You question

He laughed lightly, standing out of his chair.

“I do not believe myself to be insufferable.” He insisted playfully

“That is exactly what someone who is insufferable would say.” You replied with a small smile.

You rose from your chair to begin the task of preparing tea. Walking over to a small cabinet, you crouched down and opened it’s doors. Feeling inside, your hand met the familiar feeling of the box that held your teabags. Much to your dismay, the box was empty.

“I am out of tea.” You stated

“That’s an easily solvable problem.” Lohen told you

You withdrew your hand from the cabinet and closed it’s wooden doors, standing, you turned to face Lohen.

“Your uncle keeps many things in the storage closet just down the hall. I’m sure there is more tea in there.” He suggested

“You’ve been in my uncle’s storage closet? I don’t recall taking you there.” You said with a slight bit of surprise

“I have been in many rooms in this palace.” He said with a smile.

He stepped closer to you, his smile forming into a smirk. His face grew close to yours as he spoke.

“Even yours, princess.” He teased

He pulled back as you went to shove him out of annoyance. Your face heating up slightly at the close proximity which with he had spoken to you, but also his words. Obviously you knew the only reason he had been in your room was to help you reach your bed after you drank that horrid concoction of his. But the way he said it, with that smirk of his, made it sound like he had been there for a far more scandalous reason.

“Don’t use such phrasing, it leaves much up to interpretation.” You lectured him, walking out of the office

He followed behind you, closing the door to your uncle’s study as you both entered the hallway.

“Why do you sound so annoyed? I was simply stating a fact.” He defended himself with an innocent tone

“Because you, with your stupid voice, made such a fact sound highly suggestive.” You insisted

You both began to walk when he gave a short laugh.

“Did I?” He taunted, “or did you just interpret it that way?”

You felt your footsteps slow as you scoffed.

“I interpreted it in the exact way you made it sound.” You informed him

“And how did I make it sound?” He asked innocently

“You know how you made it sound.” You scold with an even voice

“Hm.” He pondered, “I find it funny her royal highness’s first thought upon hearing my words was about me in her chambers for an improper reason.”

You stopped walking, and he halted alongside you. Turning your body to face him, you crossed your arms.

“This conversation is over.” You told him, leaning closer to him in a threatening way.

His lips formed a wicked smile, his teeth white as ever.

“Before we dismiss the topic, I would just like to clarify.” He began

You were close to storming away, but you wanted to let him finish. Maybe he was going to clarify that he had realized he was being overly annoying and drove you into a state of insanity. Which is what caused you to make such a bold interpretation of his words, and he was sorry for being the cause of that.

“You’re always permitted to request my presence in your chambers for purposes other than conversation.” He finished his statement, his smile wide

You turned on your heel and stormed off towards the closet. Your face was scorching hot and you chalked it up to anger. How could he be so brazen with his comments? What a fool to make such an offer! As if you would ever call upon him at all, much less to participate in such unsavory activities.

The closet door was small, much like the space itself. As you opened it and pulled the string to activate the hanging lantern inside of the cramped storage room, you felt Lohen’s presence behind you. Ignoring him, you moved to the middle of the space to properly pinpoint the location of the teabags Your head rose as you spotted them on a high shelf, a really high shelf.

Moving to press yourself against the shelf, you stood on your toes to reach the box of teabags. However your fingers couldn’t manage to even graze the box.

“Need some help, princess?” Lohen offered

You knew if you didn’t accept his help you would probably make a fool of yourself trying to reach your object of desire. However, your pride in this moment won over you.

“I need no such assistance.” You replied, giving a small jump to try and reach the tea box.

That did not help either, in fact it only made matters worse. Your fingers managed to graze the box of tea, yet it pushed it an inch too far back out of your grasp.

“Allow me.” Lohen confidently stated, stepping behind you to reach for the box. His sleeve drawn taut against his fully outstretched arm. He was also struggling to reach the box considering his less than impressive height.

You felt his body press into your back as he strained to reach the tea. You could feel his chest against you and it caused your face to heat up again, this time definitely not from anger.

His hand secured itself around the box and he pulled it down. You turned to face him as he offered you the box to carry. Your faces were the closest they had ever been.

You noticed a birthmark on his right cheek just below his eye.

“You’re staring.” Lohen commented, his voice conversational

You blinked few times, straightening your posture but making no move to back away.

“I am not.” You said

“You are.” He countered

“I was simply inspecting a labeled parcel behind you.” You proudly corrected

“Princess, my back is facing the door.” He stated, a smirk playing on his lips

He was right and you hadn’t bothered to take that detail into account in the fraction of a second you formed your rebuttal. His eyes stayed trained on yours and you both stayed frozen. Your bodies still so close, you could smell the familiar scent of spearmint on him.

You watched his eyes move down slowly, their gaze stopping on your lips for a beat before coming back up to meet yours.

“Would you like to move, Lohen?” You inquired, your voice quiet

“I was waiting for you to.” He replied

You went to step aside, but a box kidding out of a ground level shelf caught your foot causing you to trip slightly. Your hands flew out to steady yourself on something, anything. Unfortunately that something ended up being the apprentice’s chest. Your faces now only inches apart.

You felt your eyes widen at the proximity, you could feel his breathing quicken. This close, you could see a faint bit of teal in his primarily wine red eyes. A detail you had failed to notice all this time. His breath fanned against your own lips, and this made goosebumps shoot up your arms.

You quickly removed your hands from his chest and stepped back, giving an awkward cough.

“We should take the tea back.” Lohen simply suggested, turning to move towards the door

You followed him, the both of you making the walk back to your office in silence.

—

That night, you laid in your bed watching your clock tick mercilessly. It was already an ungodly hour of night, or more like morning. But you couldn’t seem to fall asleep.

All you could think about was Lohen. His face so close to your’s in the storage closet, his breath against your lips. Occasionally your brain would remind you of how the kiss between Prince Quinston felt, twisting away from your thoughts of Lohen. Even then though, you found comfort in remembering how he had saved you. His clever plan of lying to the prince about your uncle working like a charm.

You turned your head, remembering the sight of the apprentice standing beside your bed as he helped you lay down some nights ago. You found your mind imagining him standing there right now, a stupid smirk on his face.

“You’re staring again, princess.” He’d taunt you in that voice of his

Then you’d get up and march to him in fury, your face inches from his.

“I am not!” You’d insist

Your brain did a dangerous thing next. It did not finish the imagined scenario with a simple chuckle from Lohen or an aggravated sigh from you. He didn’t back away from you while taunting you further. It didn’t even process into your uncle storming in demanding you were both needed for a case this instant.

No, this little fantasy of yours ended in Lohen closing the minute distance between the two of you. His lips pressing fervently into yours. One of his annoying chuckles vibrating against your lips as he kissed you.

You physically shook your head, forcing your brain to cleanse itself of such ideas. But just as an avalanche cannot simply pause mid collapse, your brain could not stop its thoughts.

—

You feel your shoulders being violently shook. You feel your brain shoving aside the contact as that of a dream. However, it continues despite your unconscious mind attempting to will it into a stop.

Realizing this is not a part of some arbitrary dream, you peel your eyes open. They land on the familiar face of your uncle, and he is panicked. You had never seen his face so contorted in fear. But also, a hint of something else lingered. It appeared to be immense dread.

“You are needed in the presence of the King and Queen, immediately.” He informed you in a panicked voice

You groggily sat up, looking over at your clock. It wasn’t even lunch time yet. You had intended to sleep in today after the chaotic month you had experienced. You simply wanted a day to savor rest and a day in bed.

“I had no appointments today uncle, I was hoping to sleep in and—“ He cut you off

“I found your fingerprints on the dagger that was used to kill Prince Quinston last night.” He confessed, his face pained

Your heart dropped into your stomach. A wave of horrified nausea washed over you. That was impossible, you had been asleep all night. You would have remembered murdering someone. You shot up, moving out of bed quickly. This news acted as a cold bucket of water being dumped on your face.

Your uncle left the room as your hurriedly changed into a daytime gown. Hurriedly making yourself appear presentable. The room felt impossibly large in your panic. Everything felt off, like nothing was where it was supposed to be. Every action you usually took to prepare your appearance felt like it took far too long. Even the brief motion of tying your hair back felt like it took an eternity. This only caused your anxiety to rise exponentially.

You soon stepped outside your door, a guard awaiting to escort you.

The walk meeting your parents was one that you will never forget. Your stomach was churning with nerves and terrible thoughts of what could happen to you. They could very well shun you from the royal family, exile you even.

As you approached the large doors to the meeting room, and the set of guards pulled them open, your stomach dropped.

Your parents sat atop their thrones with faces so neutral they made your stomach twist. Sat beside them were an unfamiliar couple but you recognized them to be royalty. Both the foreign king and queen were dressed in mourning blacks. These must be Prince Ellis and Prince Quinston’s parents.

The king had his hands wrapped tightly around the arms of his throne. The queen sat beside him looking like she hadn’t slept a wink. You noticed tear stains on her cheeks. Upon further observation, you noticed the same ones on the king’s rugged cheeks as well.

The doors shut behind you and the sound echoes in the large room. It felt like an auditory indication of your fate being sealed.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Your father asked in an icu cold voice

You honestly would have preferred him shout it at you. The frigid yet calm tone made your skin crawl.

“I…I didn’t do it.” You stated

“Then who did? Your soulmate?” Your father questioned mockingly

“If I recall correctly, you have yet to find your soulmate.” Your mother interjects

She knew what she was doing with the bitter taunt. You attempted to muster a reasonable explanation.

“I…..” You start weakly

There was no logical way to finish the statement. Your soulmate had yet to be located. Meaning this murder, it was all on you.

“My sons are dead! I will not sit idly by and listen to this chatter!” The other king angrily yelled

“I assure you, she will be punished.” Your father told the king

You felt your knees start to wobble. You wanted to sink into the floor and cry. No, you wanted to scream that you weren’t a murderer. That wasn’t it either, you wanted…you…you didn’t know what you wanted. Other than this feeling of despair to end.

“You will take on the role of a kitchen servant.” Your mother explained, her voice shaking with anger

A faint sob came from the other queen, her sons’ deaths clearly taking a toll on her.

Your mothers voice shook, but not with uncertainty, with anger.

“I will personally inform all of the guards you are not allowed to leave the palace under any circumstances. We will tell the public you fell ill, and eventually say you passed.” She finished her statement

You felt so helpless, just as helpless as you had with Prince Quinston. Your future of doom flashed before your eyes in gloomy and depressing sights. It made tears prick at your eyes.

There was no one to turn to for help. Not a single reasonable explanation that could save you in this moment. The lack of even a sliver of hope made your throat tighten in fear.

It was at that moment you heard the large doors open and two pairs of footsteps enter behind you.

“Brother, what is the meaning of this interruption?” Your father interrogates, his face contorted in impatience

“Your majesty, my apprentice has gathered a great deal of evidence over the past month that would prove quite useful to this case. I humbly beg you to give him a chance to speak.” Your uncle gently requested

Your ears perk up at your uncle’s voice. Then you hear him mention the person with him is his apprentice, Lohen. Your heartbeat begins to quicken. You don’t trust yourself to look back at them both. You knew if you saw Lohen right now, your emotions would go haywire.

“I am not a patient man, if your detectives have something valuable I expect them to spit it out.” The other king insists

“How…how does this have anything to do with our sons..?” The other queen asked, clearly trying to hold back a sob

You felt Lohen walk past you, the small half-cape he wore creating a small swish of wind. He stepped in front of you, his shoulders held back.

“Your highness, it’s an honor to be in your presence, truly.” He greeted, his voice charming as ever

“Skip the formalities young man. What have you got to add to my daughter’s crime case?” The queen commanded

Lohen waited a beat, his head surveying to examine the pairs of royals.

“As I’m sure none of you are aware, two murders were investigated at the beginning of this month. Both men, and both working fairly menial jobs.” Lohen began his explanation

“Alrondé Jesp moved with his wife here to continue his farming business. He also heard that horse racing was quite popular here. Anyone who knew the man knew he took pride in taking care of the horses he raised. Often selling them to nobles and royals.” Lohen sat the exposition

“I’m growing tired already, apprentice.” The Queen warned

“Of course, your majesty, you must exude my lengthy explanation. For I want to ensure you all have every bit of information you need to fully understand this situation.” Lohen politely replied, his words sounded like they were coated in honey

“Proceed.” The foreign king commanded

“Well, the other case we investigated was a man by the name of Julian Sows. He was a medic, specializing in caring for animals, especially horses. Much like your late son. You have my grievances, of course.” He addressed the second set of royals

“Well, it may come as a surprise to you all that Prince Ellis and Prince Quinston knew both of these men. In fact, they knew them fairly well. Prince Elllis bought horses from Alrondé quite often. With the moving of Mr. Jesp to this kingdom, Prince Ellis had to begin traveling here frequently.”

At the mention of her sons travels, the mourning queen piped up.

“He always said he loved traveling here.” She reminisced on her don’t memory

“As a fellow newcomer to this kingdom, I must say I see the appeal.” Lohen responded to her, “but we’re not here to talk about this kingdom’s appeal to travelers.”

You watched as Lohen adjusted the few papers he held in his hand.

“As I was saying, Prince Ellis knew Alrondé well from buying his horses. Prince Quinston, worked with Mr. Julian Sows in caring for horses. Of course, they bonded over their shared love for the animals even through their immense separation in status.” Lohen continued his explanation

“So they all knew each other. How does this relate to our princess being a murderer?” The king questioned

Lohen waited for a moment, as if to determine the best way to continue.

“I should probably tell you all that Alrondé was killed by strangulation from a whip. At least, this was the conclusion I and her royal highness came to without any order weapon left on the scene.”

“Well, you can imagine my surprise when I hear a maid’s panicked expression from finding a whip tucked away in Prince Ellis’s clothing trunks.”

“YOU DARE accuse MY SON of MURDER?” The king clad in mourning robes roars

“Your majesty, I assure you when I learned this information, I merely assumed your son had the whip due to his hobby related to horses.” Lohen quickly replied

“Although, your son wrote a long letter to his brother indicating a strong aggravation with Mr. Jesp. Apparently the farmer had quite the pretty horse that he wouldn’t sell to Prince Ellis.”

“So you think he killed him?” You mourning queen asked

Her voice notably was unsure and unstable. As if she was starting to think this could be a real possibility.

“I would have written this all off as an odd coincidence. If Prince Ellis’s letter had not gone on to say....” Lohen began, pulling a piece to read of paper from the collection in his hand

“Brother, if I could get away with it, I’d ensure the man was disposed of. Then persuade his wife to give me the horse for half the price he’d usually sell it for. Unfortunately, you know I cannot carry out such matters. Even if I do desire most nights to wring his neck with my own whip.” Lohen read the words aloud

You heard your mother gasp and Prince Ellis’s father’s face go white.

“So my son committed a crime. That does not change the fact my other dearest and most innocent young man was brutally killed by the hands of this kingdom’s wretched princess.” The foreign king angrily insisted

“Ah, yes, Prince Quinston. He was certainly a case.” Lohen chuckled to himself

“You see, as I mentioned before, Prince Quinston worked closely with Julian Sows in tending to horses. You should all know Mr. Sows died of poisoning, clearly his murderer had great knowledge on medicine and toxins.”

“But do not believe that I thought your dear son a murderer. No, he was the last person that came to mind.” Lohen assured them

“Even after I heard a maid crying to another servant about how he had drugged her. That she had woken in a various state of undress with no memory of making her way to Prince Quinston’s chambers.”

Both of the queens gasped at this.

“I know, truly a terrible usage of sedatives if you ask me. And it seems Julian felt the same. Prince Quinston spoke in length to his brother in his letter about the medic badgering him for constantly stealing from the horses medical supplies.”

“So this was…..a repeated affair?” The Queen gasped, sending a disapproving look over towards the pair of royals dressed in black

“Now, now, I have no evidence to prove that. However, I do have Prince Quinston’s letter in my hands that still holds another piece to this complicated puzzle.” Lohen interjects, stopping before the royals get a chance to respond to the Queen

“Ellis, I don’t understand why he must be such a stick in the mud. He knows I’m a prince! Yet he has the audacity to deter me away from using the sedatives for…well you know what they are used for. He threatened to report me but I simply laughed in his face. What is he going to do to me? He’s a mere commoner!” Lohen read

“Now here’s the part that seals the deal. Prince Quinston writes ‘I know I should not be worked over this simple man. I must confess I have envisioned spiking one of his drinks many times to dispose of him so I would not have to hear his nagging. I’ve perfected the ideal poison too. I often think of the plan in detail when I need to calm myself’.”

He moves to hand the letters to the king with what you can only assume are written reports.detailing the murder cases and their connections to the princes.

“Even if my sons committed unsavory acts in their lifetimes! It does not take away from the fact your princess is a killer!” The king dressed in black yelled

“Do not dare dismiss you son’s crimes as simple unsavory acts. You’d do yourselves good to leave my palace immediately and never return. Lest you want word of Ellis’s murder and the myriad of Quinston’s crimes to spread across multiple kingdoms.” The king told him, his voice dangerous

You watched as the set of royals rose angrily from their thrones. They shot glares at everyone in the room as the made quick strides to the door. You swore they must have commanded the servants to slam the door with how loud it shut.

“Father…I…” You spoke up, your voice returning

“You are not punished. You also are not forgiven by your mother and I.” He began

“I do not see it fit to coop you up and treat you as a servant. We will report the prince’s deaths as sudden illness. For if any word of murder ok this palace got out, we would be ruined.”

You gave a shaky courtesy to your father before turning and beginning to walk out of the courtroom.

Your mind was numb from the overload of information. The two princes that you had nearly married were murderers. Not to mention Prince Quinston probably committed other more unsavory crimes. To think, your parents almost married you off to either of those men mace you sick.

You were still in shock at how Lohen had managed to so seamlessly convey all of the evidence. Evidence he had gathered from investigation. His actions made you, for once, openly admire him.

Your feet took you to a small gazebo in the palace garden. You let yourself sink onto the bench and a long sigh leave your mouth. Leaning against the backrest, you felt the tension in your body dissipate. Your bones felt like jello after being tense for so long and now relaxed.

There was still one thing nagging at your brain though…who had truly killed Prince Quinston?

You wanted to know, because you wanted to know your soulmate. Even if they were a murderer, you wanted to speak with them. You needed to understand why they killed the prince.

It was so quiet in the gazebo, there wasn’t even the sound of wind rusting the nearby plants. Your hands stayed folded in your lap, still shaking slightly from the events that had just occurred.

“You chose the most inconvenient place to hide.” A familiar voice commented, stepping into the gazebo

You continued staring at your hands despite the way they slowed their shaking at the sound of his voice.

“I wasn’t aware I required permission to seek refuge in a gazebo.” You quipped weakly

“You don’t.” He replied simply, “but you are usually not this hard to find.”

You felt a small smile slip onto your face. It quickly died in the heavy silence that filled with post-murder reveal air.

“You seemed rather pleased with yourself back there.” You commented, your voice shaking slightly

You were trying to set the usual quick witted banter you two share back on track. It wasn’t working, and the silence after your comment made it obvious. You didn’t attempt to mend the conversation, just letting your statement hang awkwardly.

You couldn’t escape the nagging question in your brain of who had truly killed with prince? Who really was your soulmate?

“Do you have any idea who killed him?” You asked, slowly raising your head to face him

He paused, not answering quickly as usual. His face made it appear as if he was searching for something. A way to phrase his findings, possibly.

“I do.” He told you

“And?” You promoted him to continue

“And the person who murdered him did it out of self defense. After hearing about another case with a woman being drugged by the prince, the murderer couldn’t take it anymore.” Lohen said

You considered his words…the way he phrased them.

“And so they killed him out of rage?” You asked

“They went to confront the prince, to insist he must stop. Quinston turned violent and the person nearly lost their life. They had no choice but to use their dagger.” He spoke, his voice quiet and heavier than the most dense blocks of gold

You froze, your body completely still. The way he spoke about the murderer. How well he knew their inner motivations and situation.

“You killed him.” You said

Lohen held your gaze, his eyes boring into yours.

“I understand if you think I am a monster.” He began to say

“I think you are someone that did what they had to in order to survive.” You spoke simply, believing every word

His eyes widened slightly in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected your response. What had he expected? You to blow up at him for defending his life?

Then, the realization hit you. If your fingerprints had been found on the dagger…and Lohen had killed him with said dagger…that meant…

“You’re my soulmate.” You spoke in shocked realization

“Guilty as charged.” Lohen joked, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes,

It was all too much. Lohen, the annoying, arrogant, insufferable apprentice who had to kill a prince to keep his life. He…was your soulmate.

You weren’t immediately overwhelmed with joy like you imagined you would have been when you eventually found your match. Your first instinct was confusion. How could he be your soulmate? Then it shifted into resistance or at least it tried to. Why were you so resistant to the idea of the apprentice being your soulmate?

It wasn’t because he had killed Quinston, you did not blame him for that. It wasn't because of status or your parents opinions, you could care less about that. So what was it about? When you couldn’t find an answer, that’s when you remembered all the feelings that you had pent up for Lohen. It was as if your brain was trying to shove those away from you. To not allow you to pull them out and examine them. But you shooed that part of your brain, and drudged up all your feelings for the apprentice.

You remembered the way your face warmed when he got close and whispered in your ear. The electric shock you felt when your hand brushed against his. The swelling of your heart at his usage of his skills as a detective. Looking back, you were surprised you didn’t swoon at his mention of studying toxins. Your stubbornness and emotional avoidance really did completely throw you off you at times.

“How do you feel…..about….you know. Being soulmates with me?” You asked, your voice thick with emotion

He paused for a long moment and each second the silence extended, the more your heart lowered out of fear into your stomach.

“I think fate has annoyingly great taste.” He says sincerely, not a hint of sarcasm or taunting in his voice

You laugh lightly at his words and the sheer joy that they caused to wash over you.

“You know, my parents would kill me if I even entertained the idea of attempting to be with you.” You told him

“I’m fully aware.” He chuckled, “but I trust you have an idea on how to fix this?”

You feel your insides warm at his acknowledgement of your own ideas. How he assumed you would have an ingenious way out of this solution.

“I think my parents would be hard pressed to deny their daughter an opportunity to try being with you. If the whole kingdom found out their dear princess had found her soulmate.” You explain with a small smile

“That would make me a suspect of murder in their eyes.” He stated

He didn’t sound worried about it. You didn’t blame him, you can’t imagine he cared much for your parents opinions after all he had witnessed.

“Mentioning the murder of Prince Quinston to anyone would do them much more social harm than their daughter being with a detectives apprentice.” You said matter-of-factly

You felt Lohen sit down next to you on the bench. He took in your words, his head tilting thoughtfully.

You felt yourself gravitate towards him on the small bench, your knees briefly touching. The contact caused him to turn his face to stare at you.

“Do I have something on my face?” You laugh lightly

“Not quite.” He stated, his tone returning to it’s playful lilt.

You watched him lean in close. You were reminded of being in the storage closet. He was that close to you again.

“What schemes are you plotting?” You question, giving him a glare that lacked any real bitterness

“Schemes that involve…” He trailed off, his face inching closer

His lips were now a hairs breath away from yours.

“Tell me to pull away, and I will.” He spoke softly

You didn’t want him to pull away. That was the last thing on earth you wanted.

“I…I am more than content.” You confessed softly

You watch his eyes sparkle, similar to how they did when he was being mischievous, yet this time a bit more sincere.

“You must tell me if you want me to kiss you, princess.” He teased, his lips forming into a smirk

You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t pull away. You were exactly where you wanted to be.

“Honestly, I think I’d like to strangle you instead.” You confessed with a small laugh

You watched his mouth form into a full blown smile. His whole face became giddy.

“We can do both.” He quickly told you

You laughed softly, before leaning in to close the distance between you two. Finally kissing the apprentice.

It was very different from how you had imagined in your room that night. Definitely better though, so much better.

When you pulled away, you noticed a smirk on Lohen’s lips.

“Your royal highness, you’ve failed to uphold your end of the bargain.” He complained sweetly

“And that is?” You question, eyebrows raised

He breathes a laugh, his gaze staying steady.

“To wrap those pretty hands of yours around my neck.” He replied softly

You pulled away, swatting him on the shoulder.

“Will you ever stop with your antics?” You question him, sighing in disbelief

“Never, you’d be disappointed if I did.” He assured you with a sweet smile

Maybe it had been because of your unusual demeanour. For a fifteen year old, you were particularly headstrong. Though you'd been young and orphaned, pathetic and emotional when you'd enrolled, many had mistaken you for naive as well—a weighted mistake, indeed. To call you naive, in your mind, was like them begging directly for death; hands clasped tightly together, kneeling at your feet beneath your brutal, murderous stare as if you're the Reaper who could grant them their demise, because—even if you were only fifteen—how dare they assume you clueless?

Every belittling comment infuriated you, and your anger was best taken out on the first of many battlefields.

You, thankfully, were a natural. You possessed an innate affinity for conflict; one which proved, despite your age, amazingly useful in the Fatui's missions. Your fellow subordinates grew to rely on your wit alone; awaited your orders patiently because you always knew exactly where to lay that snare, which paths to avoid, when to rally the troops, and when to discharge them.

In the span of five months, you'd gone from answering to your superior without unnecessary complaint, to working alongside them with equal brutality and will—perhaps, scarily, even more. The subordinates who had once taunted and prodded at you for your age, would now polish the dirt from your boots, silent with regret. Of course, you grew to adore it; adapted over the years to suit the description of the Fatui's ideal soldier; allowed your youthful innocence to be stripped bare and fed to the wolves, whom you so delighted in pleasing.

Yes, you'd been somewhat of a child prodigy in the Fatui, which now, seven years later, saw you dispatched on countless of grim missions that, really, you thrived in—like this one.

It was a simple heist: infiltrate one of Nod-Krai's illegal underground auctions and rob them of their token sale of the night (and their pride in the meantime, as an added bonus). Your target was a Fontainian slaughter machine, said to eliminate foes with beastly precision and leave no trace of mercy in its wake—Archons knew what the Second Harbinger wanted with that.

(On second thought, you could hazard a guess.)

It hadn't been until you arrived and caught wind of the identities of the attendees and hosts who were so infamous in the underground scene, even you had heard of them before, that you realised your mission wasn't simple at all. These were criminals at the top of the food chain you were dealing with! Perhaps, when your leading Officer had explained your task, he meant it as easy for you, and you alone.

This only worked to frustrate you more, with your assignment hijacked, limbs restrained and eyesight stolen because, fuck, if it weren't for whoever this loser is who'd kidnapped you, it would've actually been a breeze!

You don't hear much. A black fabric, itchy and thick, is tied in a skilful knot behind your skull, concealing your whereabouts from view and forcing you to rely on your secondary senses instead. Your head spins like you've been tossed side to side vigorously, most likely a lingering effect of whatever your kidnapper had drugged you with, but at least the darkness offers some semblance of mercy in allowing you to balance yourself and control the urge to vomit.

So far, you've kicked and punched, squirmed and tugged at whatever your hands and feet could find purchase on, sadly to no avail. There's little to do in this position—a position you aren't so accustomed to at all. You'd always been the one standing at the foot of the chair, wielding a bloodied knife as whoever your unlucky victim is squirms like a fish in exactly the way you are doing so now. (The image makes you cringe and you immediately stop moving.)

Frankly, you're worried your boredom alone might send you into psychosis, though on the bright side, it does make you realise first-hand how effective of a tactic it would be to leave your future victims like this just to get them to talk.

Huh. Very useful.

In the silence that wraps its claws around your throat, all you can do is think, though you're not sure if that actually worsens the situation. How in Teyvat had someone managed to catch you off guard? They must be highly trained—perhaps an assassin of sorts, though if that were so, why were you still living with your flesh unharmed and heart intact?

Maybe one of the auction's guards? No, no way would one of their lackeys ever get the better of you. You'd studied their mannerisms prior to invasion on their base and knew every little detail; from the training they'd followed for years up until now, to where their armour and weaponry had been originally sourced. Besides, kidnapping and drugs? That wasn't their style—they much preferred brute force if they were to ever catch an intruder.

Irked, you rack your thoughts and mind for any minute hint available. Before it'd happened, you'd first laid eyes on your target; approached the contained box with expert stealth, until a rough toss and tumble by the unexpected perpetrator had the consciousness then robbed from your system, sooty ashes clouding the depths of your vision until you'd awoken somewhere cold and lonely.

So... someone else more cunning? Is it a challenge from your leading Officer? Or another heist which had interrupted yours on accident? A total, embarrassing shut-down by the Curatorium of Secrets? Nod-Krai's police force? A Knight?

For a long, annoying while, you're stuck, with  ideas buzzing round your mind like a bothersome gnat too fast to squish—until finally, finally, you hear movement. A lock is switched open, clicking deafeningly through the quiet of the room. In trods a pair of footsteps, slow and methodical, like whoever it is is assessing the space before anything else. Hm, so you're dealing with someone sentient. How annoying. They're likely to remain quiet and give little away to your strained ears.

Then, it's like your assumptions are dismissed with a simple flick of the hand, clearing the foggy smoke of your thoughts as the individual begins to hum. The melody is cheerful and delicate, one you'd mistake for a ballad you'd hear in childhood—mistake because there's something uncanny about it. A chord progression in minor key. Something uncomfortable, that collars you with a chain and tugs until you're hooked at the edge of your seat even as anticipation grows and you feel danger near. It keeps you rooted in place, vulnerable to stop it closing in until you're crushed between Death's jaws.

Either that, or your kidnapper was incredibly horrible at maintaining the correct notes. You hope for your sake the latter is truer.

You hear shuffling; piled papers, the uncontrolled rolling of metallic objects across wood, the clinking of crystal glass, the tell-tale unsheathing of a blade. You don't flinch, no matter how loud your body screams at you to. You were trained for this; it's fine.

You won't die.

Maybe only bleed.

Somehow (in your mild panic), the darkness seems to expand, like an oil cloud over your senses. You think if it grows any thicker, your trachea will be breached, ghostly gloom would swell inside, and you'd choke. Maybe it's a warning from some divine intervention, to be a little more wary of this man since he'd already proven himself different to the rest? Funny—it feels more akin to a taunt, because what in Teyvat could you possibly do now?

Then, just as you believe the darkness may swallow you whole, there's an effulgent light, like an angel offering you their hand of mercy.

If said angel had fallen and bore the title Lucifer, who would grip your hand tight as they drag you to the rotten pits of Hell with them.

The man is careless in the way he removes your blindfold. He begins slow, a sharp tip akin to a needle pressed to the space between your eyebrows. You would've winced as the moonlight's lustre seeps into your vision and has you wanting to cringe away to adjust, had your breath not threatened to remain wedged in your throat due to worries of higher concern. You're eye to eye with his sterling blade, a mere millimetre away from piercing the irises you most certainly need.

The weapon's curved tip hooks to the fabric; roughly peels the blindfold from your eyes to hang loosely around your neck like a bandana (or a noose), and you want to complain that he could've nicked your skin with that daft thing, though you're not sure he appeared the type to care.

You don't recognise the man; not even when the flat edge of the knife is tapped lightly against the supple flesh of your cheek twice—solely for your attention—and he pulls back into the ardent beams of the moon, allowing for a clearer image of his face.

Well, you'd been right about one thing. Without a doubt in your mind, this man has to be a Knight of sorts. If you were to guess, you would bet on Favonius. He's all royal indigos and oceanic teals; with leather boots adorned in burnished gems and a crisp ivory dress shirt tucked into the hem of his trousers. He's less groomed compared to what you've heard about the Knights of Favonius—younger, too, with mint, windswept bangs that frame the face of unusually delicate porcelain.

You're aware Mondstadt's factions had stationed themselves in the chilly lands of Nod-Krai for almost a year now, marshalled boldly by the fierce Grandmaster you'd only ever heard tales about. It came as no surprise that they must've also caught wind of the illegal auction under the very roots they patrolled, and sent some of their best knights to disband it.

That much made sense, of course. What leaves you a little more perplexed is that you'd worked so hard to conceal your true identity; it was a top priority in every mission you undertook, to remain obscure in the shadows and never let slip what organisation commanded you like a puppet. There is absolutely no way your kidnapper has a clue who you are.

It begs the question—what did he want with you?

You're dragged away from your thoughts as he spins the weapon between deft fingers and grins, wide and maniacal, with a derisive chuckle.

"Oh! You're actually conscious! Impressive." His stare is brutally analytical—up, then down, then up again, criticising your whole body. It gives you the impression he'd fancy drugging you further to investigate just how much more you can take.

You're not a fan of the idea.

He doesn't regard you directly for long, already distracted by several of the trinkets scattered across the dented oak workbench stained in all sorts of matter your stomach churns to think about. You can't place what room you're in, despite having studied the auction's layout prior. With the space's minimal light, you don't have much to work off of either.

You think it may be a storage room. Along the slate walls lavished in cracks and peeling paint, there are lines of shelves, piled high with chests and boxes and technological compartments you don't even recognise. Tables are dotted sporadically around the room, an assortment of trash and discarded tidbits sprawled across them in a manner of chaos. There's only one door ahead of where your captor stands; a single escape route. Oh well. You suppose a little challenge never thwarted your fun before.

He's probably noticed your critical evaluation of the room, because he makes a show of drawing your attention away from your formulating escape plan to the pistol now clutched between his fingertips. With a flick of the wrist, the gun is twirled around his index finger, eyes locked onto yours with frightening intensity—before his shoulders vibrate with the force of his child-like giggle, and his form is lost to the shadows of the deeper part of the room where moonlight dare not touch.

Your eyes squint, only slightly unnerved because you won't allow yourself to feel any more than that.

Which is odd because, when he speaks again, you flinch like prey backed into a corner.

"The dosage I gave you is a combination of Sombus Resin, Chloroform and grounded Sumerian Padisarah. Mixing their contents produces a desired sedative effect strong enough to knock out, hell, a Saurian!" Even with his back turned and concealed by the darkness, you know he's smiling sickly. "Pretty sweet, right? My own design—though somehow, it doesn't apply to you."

He pauses, and you know there are eyes on you. Perceptive, calculating; a glance over his shoulder to study your form, like you're a butterfly pinned to his board, scrutinised beneath a glass prison.

He hums once, and you despise how the first thing you note within the dimness of the space is the wicked grin he fixes you—fascinated, but cold like Snezhnayan ice. "Guess you're one tough cookie to crack, huh? I don't mind. It's a lot more satisfying this way."

"Who are you?" Beneath the restraints, your limbs twitch, aching for freedom. Your words taste slightly sour on your tongue, as if you already knew they'd be pointless, and he tuts sympathetically.

The magazine on his gun suddenly releases across the table, sending ammunition scattering loudly across the surface. You recognise the glint of one of the bullets he grabs, tossed carelessly in the air, before it's caught and housed cosily back into the pistol's magazine, a familiar click! as it's closed into place.

A click representing your most likely fate, even if there is only one bullet. You swallow as he laughs.

"Oh, no, no, sweet thing! That isn't how this is gonna go. Surely you're clever enough to know the reason you're here, right, lovely?" His footsteps are heavy as he stalks the room, but his voice is light and airy before he sighs. "Well, if not—as adorable as it is when you act all naive—I suppose I'll indulge you. You're here to answer me. The little auction you're guarding is my duty to shut down, and if I'm to make it back before sunrise, I'll need a fewww little boosters to get me going."

Outside, a crow screams and takes flight as if someone has aimed a bullet its way. So you are likely on the East border of the facility, adjacent to the forested area of Dreadshade Mire. It doesn't help much in putting your whereabouts entirely into perspective, especially when your mind is more focused on relating to the bird, the only difference being you are tethered to the branch.

"So, I ask and you talk, capiche? Unless you want your pretty brains splattered all across this room." You think he might've laughed after that, though it comes out more akin to a pleased hum. It's probable the sick bastard is taking perverse pleasure in the image (you ignore how well you're accustomed to the feeling too, when you aren't the victim in the firing line).

There's a bitter taste on the tip of your tongue; it lingers like spoiled milk, clings to your taste buds like the leaves in Erinnyes Forest to a branch during a merciless Winter storm. It's something you can't quite place your thoughts on, like you'd met this boy before, though that is impossible.

Ah. Of course.

You knew of a man like this already. Battle-hungry, deadly, an insatiable lust for fresh blood splatter, to rip the flesh right from their opponent's neck themselves and bathe in the crimson streams it produced.

Yes, this man was much alike to your notorious Eleventh Fatui Harbinger.

Notorious in such ways for developing a reputation that warned others to maintain a clear distance, lest they want to lose their lives.

Huh. It was likely the same could be said for the individual who currently had you tied to a chair and a gun twirling around a lithe finger as if it were nothing more than a toy. Perhaps you are more screwed than you initially thought.

You swallow, throat dry.

Then finally, his form prowls towards you. You don't understand how, but his eyes appear to glow, even when concealed by the shadows. They're irises of iridescent crimson, that remind you of the Devil that creeps among the citizens of Teyvat and drags its claws along vulnerable napes like your own right now. The man is so uncanny in this view, so alien, you briefly wonder if he's human at all.

"I suppose the only question now is—" Moonlight seeps across his face again as he steps into view, brandishing a rusted, traditional stopwatch in his left hand, and the pistol, loaded with a single bullet, in his right. "—are you going to cooperate?"

What is he playing at?

When you furrow your eyebrows, his finger slips, starting the timer that only leaks dread like a vapour into your lungs. For him, it is probably a countdown of how long you have left to breathe. For you, it is a countdown of how long you have left to escape.

You most certainly won't go down without a fight.

You huff as he tosses the stopwatch to the table, unflinching now that magenta eyes, glued to your body like a magnet to steel, had your hackles raised and shields braced. Your laughter that follows is amused, but your expression is one of fatal deadpan.

"Sorry to disappoint, but I'm not the guard you're looking for." The man only cocks his head, eyes narrowed in an effort to search you for a crack in the truth.

"Hmm? No?"

"No. I'm here to infiltrate, much like you!" Your tone is unnaturally jolly compared to the horrific tension of the situation, akin to somebody who'd tell a joke at a funeral. "Until somebody drugged me unconscious and dragged me away from my mission. Oh well! Mistakes happen, don't they? I'd be willing to forgive and forget if you could loosen the restraints and let me get on with it."

To emphasise your discomfort, you tug against the rope ensnaring your wrist to the chair, beaming with so much faux enthusiasm, you think it may drain your energy to uphold it for any longer. The man snickers like a petulant child, and your smile almost does drop.

"How do I know you aren't lying to me, huh?" You expect his cadence to be suspicious and concerned because, wow, how you must've sent his plans spiralling! Instead, he is frustratingly, and confusingly, calm, with a simple smile on his pale, scarred lips. You almost wonder if smacking him would be enough to rid him of the expression, or if it'll remain afterwards to taunt you.

"Isn't it obvious?" You bite back, with a little less of the feigned eagerness you had previously. "You tackled me as I was approaching my own target. I was doing anything but guarding."

"Funny. It looked like you were patrolling to me." The simple smile has morphed into a shit-eating grin, that tells you everything you need to know—he's lying, and using it to mock you. Bastard knight.

You're about to spit a curse when he takes a step towards you, reminding you of the weapon still gripped carelessly in his fingers and forcing you to hold your tongue for a moment. The second he realises it's caught your attention again, his index finger curls around the trigger in silent warning.

Did he want you to yield? For what reason? It still made no sense to you why he'd want to hold you captive; if he was clever, he would've released you the moment you informed him of his fault, in order to give himself as much time as possible to find somebody else to interrogate. You despise how cryptic he is more than anything.

You're talented when it comes to reading others, but you were truly struggling with this one, and you hate it.

So, you propose a deal, because bargaining is your next best asset.

"You're a Knight of Favonius, aren't you? You want the auction disbanded and the big sale of the night impounded." He raises an eyebrow, as if amused you're still trying.

"Clever girl. What gave it away?" Truthfully, if it hadn't been for the uniform, you wouldn't have a clue who this man works for. It's strange and unnerving, and if you think about it for a little too long, your skin would start to prickle and your thoughts would spiral into panic.

For a Knight, he's incredibly utilitarian. He hadn't sugarcoated your situation; instead, he appears fond of unorthodox means to obtain necessary information, at the expense of traumatising the citizens you know that silly Favonius oath had him promising to protect.

You'd never been fond of the Knights and their snobbish chivalry, even if this one has the chivalry of a whore house regular. It's especially obvious in the way he stalks you now; each passing second of your silence an opportunity for him to close in on you with calculated footsteps.

Yes, if not for the uniform, you wouldn't pin him to be a Knight at all. He's more of a Harbinger, if anything. You could make that comparison well.

"Intuition." You lie, avoiding his eyes. He grins. "With my help, you can clear the facility in half the time. There's details I know which will speed things along for you massively. Let me go and arrest as many guards as your heart desires, and I'll deal with the cargo."

There—the bait had been casted. There's no reason for him to refuse when your offer reaps more benefits than drawbacks; you'd even gone to the effort of presenting it to him on a polished silver platter, served alongside treats and delicacies of whatever the fuck he wanted. All there is to do now is wait for him to bite.

"Are you striking a deal with me?" The way he tilts his head reminds you of a puppy, but the expression of sheer sympathy as he regards you from above feels much more similar to a starved wolf.

You're hyperaware of how close your captor draws. Every centimetre; every step; every breath taken is noted, until he stands within an arms-length of distance from you. This close, your eyes can trace each scar drawn across the expanse of his wrists not concealed by his gloves; how they dip and dive between mauve veins and pattern all the way up to his neck, peeking from behind the smooth, leather choker.

You're also painfully aware of how the pistol is raised above his hip, aimed at your skull, and how your heart pounds beneath your ribcage like a beast demanding freedom.

"Yes." The word is short, but it feels like it's lasted a lifetime before the man utters a response.

"Cute, but no, thank you. I have my own plans for the selling device." Something sinister shifts in both the way he looks at you, and the tone he speaks in. "And you."

As if to clarify his point, the barrel of the gun is pushed firmly to your temple. The metal is cool, though you still feel like it may scald you with its promise; a permanent brand fixing your fate in place, and all of a sudden, your situation feels far too real.

Your ankles twitch against the rope restricting them; your body's instinctive plea to run, but, of course, you can't. Poker face, [name]. It would be disastrous to let slip he is succeeding in worming his way beneath your skin.

"Besides, it seems I've hit the jackpot!" He exclaims with eyes that twinkle like the embers of a forest fire. Eyes that delight in the carnage, and bore through your skull because he wants to see you on fire next. "By the sounds of it, you know far more than any of the regular guards of the auction. You're a lot more prepared than me in that respect. It makes me wonder who you answer to."

There's a frigid breeze from the open window, which bites at your cheeks and nestles beneath your hair. You find it as comforting as it is jarring, since the cold is far more welcoming than where you are sat now. Your captor cocks his head above you, ever so keen on analysing you. His mien is fox-like and devilish, like he's discovered a missing puzzle piece that fits what once was foggy and ambiguous together flawlessly.

Like he already knows the answer to his query.

"My father is a merchant—"

"Don't lie to me." You're silent instantly—stunned by his speed and tone, void of his previous humour. For the first time in your life, you tremble, electricity weaving up your spine like a python. It settles at your nape, curls itself around your throat and constricts your airway until you're paralysed enough for it to strike.

How could he tell you weren't telling the truth? It isn't possible—you'd mastered the art of deception; knew of every little trick that had never failed you until now. Something was undeniably, horrifically wrong.

"Well? If I wanted you silent, I'd gag you." That monstrous gleam in his eye tells you he still plans on it eventually, anyway, but you'd sooner bite off each of his fingers before you allow him the opportunity. He sighs and presses the metal a little more harshly to your head. "No? Nothing? Don't tell me I've broken your pretty mind already."

He whines obnoxiously, shoulders slumping in an effort to exaggerate the pathetic pout on his lips. You think you may develop whiplash at how fast he seems to switch attitudes—from sullen, aggravating child to demented, terrifying murderer, and then back again. Perhaps it's a tactic, because it certainly makes your head spin with nausea, and distracts you momentarily from his figure slipping past you.

He circles your chair like a predator; a wolf enclosing a lamb. The gun remains lodged to your temple, until he's positioned directly behind you, and only then does he tauntingly drag the barrel through the strands of your hair, aim orbiting your skull like a thorned crown.

"Hm. Well, I guess I'll start off by crossing out the obvious. You're no Knight, are you?" He trails the metal mouth behind your ear, its coolness kissing your lobe with contrasting gentleness. "You have the insightfulness of an assassin, but your aim is the machine for sale tonight rather than a human target. A treasure hoarder, maybe?"

You flinch with the addition of pressure to your shoulder; slender fingers clawing their way into your flesh like a vice. He taps your collarbone once, before he snorts rudely. "Nah, you aren't sloppy enough. You've put a lot of thought into this, haven't you, dovey? You're clever."

Your chest tightens with each boastful murmur, and you're worried that it may reduce the space for your lungs to expand adequately. Each syllable penetrates your skin like a gunshot already, there's no need for the very real pistol to be used as well.

As if you'd spoken your thoughts aloud, the barrel is pulled away to prod at your thin scarf; worn, ragged and as scarlet red as the eyes glowing down at you, and the blood they wish to harvest from your veins. "You don't wear a uniform, and because you're a smart girl, that means you have one, but choose not to wear it. How am I doing?"

Your shoulder is released, and by the time he rounds to your front again, he's sporting the most conceited grin you've ever laid eyes upon.

You bite your tongue and fix him with a furious scowl instead of offering him the courtesy of a worded response.

"I'd pin you for one of Miss Nefer's girls, but that's not right either, is it?" Just when you think he's about to continue his pursuit around the room, his form pauses, steady and domineering in front of you. Your scowl doesn't hold out for as long as you hoped it to, his own expression so perverse, basking in your discomfort as he unravels your identity like a threaded stitch, you have to look down. "No. There's something else there."

His weapon traces your jawline like a lover's caress, and tilts your chin upwards to lock your gaze in place. "Darkness. Just like mine, hm?"

He coos, leaning over to inch his face closer to yours, pupils dilated into lifeless onyx pearls—black holes that absorb your dismay hungrily—before his smile turns wicked again, his eyes widen and he clicks his tongue like he's ready to reveal something he's known all along.

"Oh! I think I've got it!"

Steel braces against your pulse point.

"The Fatui?" And your heart stops (at least you hope it has).

He purrs like a cat, delight trickling down his chin in the manner of insatiable wine, and his eyes narrow, crimson illuminating like rubies despite the shadows casting overhead. His smirk is lazy and deceptive. "How immoral."

For a short moment, you're convinced he winces, eyes narrowed into slits as a faraway thought consumes him—one you hope doesn't involve you and death. It vanishes as soon as you notice it, and you don't waste energy on decrypting its meaning; not when his index finger twitches against the trigger because of the memory, and your pulse spikes like a parasite beneath your flesh. Not a fan of the Fatui then, huh? You don't necessarily blame him—not many are.

It is exactly why your enemies aren't supposed to know who you are.

You think he may answer your wishes and pull the trigger, but surprisingly, he's shrugging and pulling both the pistol, and himself, away. He saunters towards the table as if he has all the time in the world, gloved fingers sliding across the chipped oak while he taps the muzzle against his chin in exaggerated thought. "Well, you Fatui are an open-minded bunch, right? How do you feel about a little game?"

You've misheard him. Surely.

"A game?" Your response is resentful; barely comprehensible behind your gritted teeth. "Why would I ever want to play a game with you?"

"Ah—sorry." He grins impishly. "That was rhetorical. You don't actually have a choice."

You lunge instinctively, tired of being the ant who's poked at and taunted with a stick, only to instantly recoil against your seat, skin stinging where the rope's teeth bite at your flesh. He laughs, wild and unashamed, because he most certainly had been waiting for a reaction, and now you'd just given it to him without challenge and informed him of how well his dickhead moves are working.

You curse under your breath.

"What game?"

Even with your highly refined skills, you can't keep up with the speed he exhibits in such a short time.

Before your eyes, he rips the gun from where he'd momentarily rested it against his chin, and greets the barrel with his own skull, in exactly the way he'd done to you. There's no hesitation when the trigger is pulled, and no hesitation when bile threatens to accumulate in your throat. You think that may be it; it's over, and the daft idiot has killed himself for nothing, and you have to stomach sitting in a brain-painted room until you find a way to worm out of your restraints.

You would've even, maybe, screamed, if the shot had fired and the bang you knew well had cracked across the space like a whip.

Instead, there's wretched silence. Your kidnapper stays standing; gun still levelled in his grip and the gleeful smile of a psychopath etched proudly onto his lips, very much alive. When you take a deep breath and relax your squared shoulders, you come to the certain realisation—you are dealing with an absolute nut-job!

With your attention diverted to a variety of things, you'd forgotten he'd opted to load his pistol with one bullet. Typically, pistols of his design could house up to ten rounds per chamber, and even though you couldn't determine the exact number for sure, to wager your life on a one in ten chance of failure seems to be the epitome of insanity!

Just when you believed yourself at the edge of uncovering the man's intentions, he somehow always succeeded in surprising you further. You've never been so cautious in your life, and it battles tooth and nail to emphasise the nerves fluttering within your stomach.

To your left, a device rings—the stopwatch he'd started earlier. He hums—that same, jubilant melody—as he silences it and brandishes it towards you.

"Perfect timing for my little demonstration! You—" In his other hand, he aims the gun in your direction again. "—have until the timer runs out to answer my questions. When it does, I pull the trigger."

His boots thud against solid timber flooring, a distinct reminder that all you can do is sit and wait as he approaches your front again. He hovers above you, and is rough in the way he forces your back against the seat with the barrel of his pistol shoved to your chest. You wince, but only slightly, to avoid gifting him the satisfaction.

"Six chambers, one bullet, beautiful." Your vision seems to blur the closer he is to you—something bitter breaching your nostrils and the cavity of your mouth. It's stuck between your teeth like gum, as if his presence alone is enough to drug you senseless.

Or perhaps, what's more distracting, is the fact he calls you beautiful.

Sick, perverted bastard.

The muzzle traces your collarbone; kisses the skeleton like a thorn on a rose would a delicate, vulnerable finger. It travels across the expanse of your sternum, and dips boldly between the valley of your breasts. You're sure he traces your nipple on purpose; adores the way your breath hitches even when you strive not to, before finally settling a little to the left—above your unguarded heart. "Your odds are down to one in five."

The silence in the room feels more deafening than the rifles belonging to the Fatui Skirmishers, or the roar of your Second Harbinger's machinery as he conducts his experiments. You recognise quickly that you aren't used to it; that the quiet ties you to a Wheel of Death and spins you round until you're nauseous, while it shoots knives of mockery your way. It doesn't miss for very long—a blade, embedded in your stomach, putting you out of your misery when the man resets the stopwatch and your ears soak in the consistent ticking.

"How good's your luck?" Shielded by dark, gorgeous eyelashes, you're regarded with those mulberry irises. When you refuse to answer, he sneers. "Shall we start?"

"You're a fool to think I'd tell you anything."

"You're a fool to think I won't pull this trigger right now. I wonder if your heart beating looks as pretty as it sounds." He flashes you a glimpse of his fangs, as if threatening to tear your chest open and satisfy his queries with his teeth.

"And learn nothing?" You press, despite fear shrieking and yelling and screaming at you not to.

"You're so much prettier when you're being mouthy." You know it's bait—an attempt to coax you into argument. For you to waste time and skip to the exciting part, where either bullet or mercy would be lodged into your chest, and indulge his disturbed fantasies at the same time.

You feel the metal run back up your chest, to where it had lingered on the column of your throat. It doesn't stop there, however. He continues, tracing the tender skin beneath your jaw; the point of your chin; the supple flesh of your lips. You kiss the muzzle unwillingly, and it flashes like headlights in your brain that maybe, just maybe, your captor wants more than only answers.

It's especially obvious when he presses firmly, and your lips part to accommodate the intrusion of the barrel, cold against your tongue. It tastes of metal and grime and pleas for pity, and while you would've ideally spat it out in complaint, you know better than to test the patience of an insane man with your life in his palms.

He hovers closer, bracing his free hand against the back frame of your chair, with breath hot against your cheek. You haven't even realised your denial to inhale until your lungs begin to ache, though it's far more comfortable to appreciate the burn for the moment. When he's this close, he's all you can smell, and you want to keep as much of him out of your system as possible.

Which is contradictory, with his gun wedged between your lips like a mutt slobbering over a toy.

"It's a shame your chatter is so useless. I said I'd gag you, didn't I? I don't want you silent, but I'm just trying to help." Help? He has a hilarious way of showing it.

And when he pulls back an inch or two, sliding the barrel from between your lips to press its saliva-coated muzzle to your cheek, you know for sure he's lying through his teeth about helping. The expression he adorns is one of utter disdain, as if you'd been the one to beckon the gun to your mouth, begging for it.

You blink, twice, because you're sure his constant switch in attitudes will be enough to send you reeling. Had you been begging for it?

You don't have time to dwell on it, because the pressure on your cheek increases; firm enough you know it'll leave a mark, though it's nothing compared to the hole it'll leave if the next round contains a bullet.

"First topic: venue security. Go on, sweet girl." He coaxes you so gently, it's almost enough to soothe the ache in your cheek and indoctrinate your brain into complacency. You aren't surprised the Knights had administered him for a job most likely involving interrogation.

Even if his interrogation methods involve unusual means of fear mixed with hints of arousal. You're worried it'll prove effective the longer he carries on—especially with the way he leans in, mouth settled against your ear and lips stretched into a monstrous smirk that'll drag you under, cadence low with sultry promise.

"Tell me everything, and I swear I'll have you craving my gun like a bitch in heat. And I'll give it to you, baby. Whatever you want." He mouths at your lobe and tugs it between sharp canines.

Perhaps, at this rate, you may let slip a little more than you initially planned.

∧ ,,, ∧ ( ̳• · • ̳) . ݁₊ ⊹ . thank you for reading ! ᝰ.ᐟ / づ♡

▶︎ • ၊၊||၊|။||||| Front Left Pocket by Jen-Cassie Daisy ၊၊||၊|။||||| • ▶︎

⋆. 𐙚˚࿔ 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐱 𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐛 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

‎ꫂ᭪݁ 𝐋𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧

Idc if I’m getting flamed for this Lohen would NOT be a specialist

Bro is living it up at Cloud Tower learning how to be a witch!

bUt bOyS cAn’T bE wItCh-

DON’T CARE—- plus that’s stupid. They’ll take anyone devious enough, I just know it!

If you are a witch too…..you guys will be total partners in crime!

He’ll sneak into your dorm late at night to bug you (sometimes he just wants to make out)

He’s always interested in what you are studying if you are excited about it! He loves coming up with pranks to pull on the Alfea fairies with you.

He’d enjoy taking you downtown during the weekends, holding your hand proudly while holding an arm full of bags filled with things he bought you.

“How are you getting all of this mone—“

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Lohen…..”

“I thought you said I was more attractive when I was devious…”

“I don’t want you thrown into the detention dimension for stealing.”

“I won’t get sent there! Not for stealing at least….”

Yeah bro has been in that freaking detention dimension a few times. He just yaps to the chalkboard about all of his plans to mix lactate into the specialists’ meals when they come to train at cloud tower.

Or sprinkle pepper on the cupcakes that the fairies always send in hopes the more difficult witches of cloud tower will like them.

He’d enjoy seeing his fellow witches coughing from the unexpected kick in the frosting.

Eventually headmistress Gryffin just has to come drag him out of there by his hair, he was scaring the chalkboard…..

There was one time you got sick from accidentally drinking a witch pouring a random potion into your water bottle.

Lohen was at your beck and call for all of it. He held your hair as you threw up.

He kissed your scorching hot forehead, wishing you a speedy recovery.

You whined about the never ending nausea even though you knew it would only last like 24-48 hours and he gently reassured you everything was going to be okay

bUt kAt, cOuLdN’t tHeY jUsT cUrE mE wItH mAgIc ?

NO! Also lowkey I think they don’t wanna mess with trying to cure whatever food poisoning-like illness the mysterious concoction gave you. They don’t wanna make it worse

The nurse definitely kicked him out of the infirmary room like three times cause he kept sneaking in

Headmistress Gryffin came and saw you at one point to inform you that the student who poured the potion into your drinking cup had been properly disciplined

“How did you know who?”

“The walls of cloud tower hear everything.”

Then you hear a closet door creaking open, Lohen coming through it

“I didn’t actually think that spell would—“ He cut himself off when he saw the headmistress

“What a persistent admirer you have.” She commented, her tone indicated she found it disgustingly sweet

“Just send me to the detention dimension already!” He groaned

“Oh no, you won’t be going there. You’ll be cleaning up trash on the beach with the Alfea fairies for the next three weekends.” She told him

Love you headmistress Griffin, oh the icon you are

NOW, if you’re a fairy…..oh boy.

I’m cooking on post season 2 setting for this, so there’s a good relationship between the three schools, but some students still hold strong beliefs against the witches

Lohen totally spiked your drink with a love potion the first time he met you. It was a dare given to him by one of his classmates

“Hey, look at that fairy over there…you should spike their drink…” One of his classmates egged him on

“No way! I mean…..I just….I can’t get into detention again. Headmaster Gryffin said no more shenanigans at these parties.” He insisted, his voice wavering a bit

Truth be told he was finding an odd enjoyment watching you throughout the night. It was weird…..he didn’t want to disrupt your peace…

“Awww…..looks like you’re going soft. No wonder the Trix didn’t ask you to join them.” The classmate said

Lohen didn’t want to join the Trix anyways. He was more about being mischievous and killing monsters that were going to hurt other people. Sure, he sometimes liked to make other people’s life inconvenient, but he didn’t want power over him.

Either way, not joining the Trix’s fans had really knocked Lohen down a peg in the social hierarchy.

OKAY OKAY, I’ll stop with the Lohen-in-the-winx-universe backstory.

When he spiked your drink, he wasn’t expecting the affects to be that strong.

You were all over him the whole night. Glued to his side, compliments pouring out of your mouth every moment.

He hated to admit he liked you being so close to him. He adored the sound of your praise. But it didn’t sit right with him that it was all artificial.

So, he turned you over to your friends and earned a slap in the face and a kick in his groin.

From that moment on, he tried so hard to make it up to you. He had a friend at Alfea that gave him your number and he would text you CONSTANTLY, begging for your forgiveness

Truly the guilt ate away at him every day.

Imagine your surprise when he shows up at your door, sneezing so loudly you thought someone had casted a charm wrong.

He was holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers

“I really am sorry….” He said, before sneezing again.

You hesitantly accepted the flowers and offered him a tissue.

“Please, let me make it up to you.” He begged

“I think you already have.” You mumbled, giving him a weak glare

“Let me take you out for coffee? Or tea? This weekend?”

And that’s how it all started, you two sitting with the beverages for hours chatting

Okay I’ve yapped enough but but BUT

Think: Season 3 when Valtor left his mark on all the Cloud Tower students, putting them under hypnosis.

You, having just got your enchanted transformation, go with the winx to try and fight Valtor

And end up running into your boyfriend, hellbent on fighting you in his hypnotized state.

Yeah, the moment he awoke from the spell and saw you in your gorgeous new fairy transformation, he knew he was in love.

‎ꫂ᭪݁ 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐧𝐚

She’s a student at Alfeyw, and I’m hc-ing her as Stella’s sister

Because technically her parents have power over the sun and the moon

If you are also a fairy at Alfeya, you two would meet in the dining hall with Columbina piling her plate high with sweets

“Want one?” She’d ask, offering you one with a soft smile

You two probably got paired up on a project together and that encouraged conversation. She was more of a listener, but if you got her rambling about the things she likes, she gladly will talk.

Columbina would totally sneak into your dorm room at night, except she’s actually good at it.

You’d be lying in your bed, trying to sleep, and you’d roll over to see her staring at you with a soft smile.

“Shit!” You squealed, before looking around anxiously

“‘Bina, what are you doing here?” You insisted

“I wanted to see you.” She confessed, sitting on the edge of the bed

“Couldn’t wait until the morning?” You laughed, grabbing her hand gently to get her to lay beside you

“If I could have, I wouldn’t be here.” She stated plainly

You two soaked up each other’s presence, cuddling and enjoying the company.

“Do you have any tea?” She’d ask right as you were about to fall asleep.

It’s okay! Once you make the tea she’ll put a small exhausted charm she’s been practicing on you. You are asleep in minutes afterwards

Oooo, ooo, dates with her are so cutie! You two would go strolling downtown, beverages with to-go cups in hand.

If you had a smidgen of beverage on your face, she’d totally be the type to give you a kiss in that spot instead of just telling you to wipe it off

Now, if you’re a witch…..

Jokes on you, becuase Columbina can be mischievous! You pull pranks on her….oh…she’ll get you back.

You decide to replace all her pastries with lemon-coated maggots while at a shared meal between the schools?

Yeah, expect ALL of your school supplies to be NOWHERE you remember putting it for the next month.

At first you thought it was your roommates fucking with you, but then you start finding little moon charms on shit and you KNOW it’s her.

You track down her number and text her, demanding to put all your school stuff back

and lowkey tell you how she was able to do seamlessly sneak into Cloud Tower

She tells you she’d be happy to inform you of the locations if you make up for ruining her sweets

And then you find yourself that weekend sitting in a bakery with a moon fairy while she eats pastries.

“You’re the sister of that sun fairy, right?” You asked, the princess of Solaria’s name slipping your mind

“Her name is Stella.” She informed you

“I’ve heard she’s a total drama queen.” You gossip, taking a bite out of a muffin

Suddenly, the pastry warms in your mouth, becoming scorching hot. You spit it out quickly, patting your tongue quickly with a napkin.

“What was that for?” You exclaim

“Don’t insult my sister. You might as well be insulting me.”

Yeah, you guys had a rocky start, but you two eventually fell into a nice rhythm.

She liked hearing about your classwork at Cloud Tower

She even gave you a small bag of pastries to give to the board in the Detention Dimension

“Moonbeam, I don’t think it can eat.” You told her with a creased brow

“It can, I asked headmistress Gryffin.” She told you

“How did you—“

“The same way you convinced headmistress Faragonda to let me out past curfew to see that movie with you opening night.” She replied with a raised brow

ּ֯ . ❥ ּ֯ ┆꒰ 𝐦𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐥𝐞 𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐲 .ᐟ ꒱

ּ֯⋆｡♡˚ 𝐍𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐚

This pony owns an equestria-renowned bakery located in Canterlot!

She loves making all kinds of gourmet pastries and overly decorated cakes

Maybe your cousin was getting married and insisted you come along to the cake tasting.

You didn’t want to go and dragged your hooves about the whole ordeal

Then you showed up and there’s this gorgeous and kind pony that runs the bakery

Yeah you begged your cousin to invite her to their wedding.

You start going in nearly every day, ordering something different so Navia didn’t get suspicious of your true intentions.

“I’ll have a blueberry scone.”

“That’s odd, your cousin mentioned the wedding cake couldn’t have blueberries in it because you were allergic…” She pondered aloud

“Oh…..well…..I’ll have….”

Yeah you’re cooked, she sees right through you.

“Wanna join me in going to the theatre this Friday?” She proposed, knocking you even more off your guard

“Of course, yes!” You cheered

“Now….about your order…” She teased with a smile

Navia loved going to see live theatre. All the school plays and professional musicals, she was into it all.

Of course, you tagged along because you enjoyed the company but also because you liked seeing her happy.

You spent many nights taste testing her new recipes and telling her about all your interests, your life, your job.

It wasn’t until you two were having a sleepover, laying under a pillow fort both of your made, that she told you about her parents and their deaths.

You comforted her under the warm glow of the fairy lights you two had strung in the fort. You ended up falling asleep next to each other.

Navia loves visiting Ponyville! She insists they have the best ice cream.

“C’mon! You have to try the apple pie delight flavor!” She told you

“I don’t know Navia….” You reluctantly said

“Sir, wouldn’t you say the apple pie delight flavor is absolutely scrumptious?” She asked a random pony walking by.

He was an earth pony and had farm attire on. He was pulling a wagon and a hat laid low on his head

“Yup.” He stated before walking off

I should mention, I do think Navia is an earth pony! I have no specific lore reason for this it just feels right.

I mean she does have a geo vision and that’s the earth…..idk feels a lil on the nose lol

Either way, you end up eating ice cream happily together

“I’m really happy you decided to come with your cousin that day.” She said sincerely, looking at you with shining blue eyes

“I’m happy I did too.” You replied

ּ֯⋆｡♡˚ 𝐕𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢

Celestia kicked his annoying ass to Ponyville

Celestia decided to encourage her overly excited pegasus apprentice to explore the culture of ponyville to better cultivate his music

If you live in Ponyville, you’ll hear talk of the Princess’s prized musician coming to grace the town and learn about its history and what living there was like.

You found yourself being serenaded as the sun rose, the pegasus musician flying outside your window.

“What in Equestria are you doing?” You insisted, your eyes bleary from sleep

“Awakening you, wonderful stranger, with a sonnet!” He insisted cheerily

“Can the sonnet wait until the sun comes up?”

And like that, Venti was attached at the hip to you. Eagerly asking you every question he could think of.

You swore he was getting more curious than Pinky Pie…..and that was a feat.

“Venti, you cannot have another glass of apple cider.” You told him

You had taken him out for dinner at one of the small restaurants. You didn’t know he was going to down four bottles of the fizzy apple liquid

“It’s just sooooo good…..” He told you while ogling at his empty bottle

“If it’s that good you should write a song about it or something” You snorted

“I couldn’t possibly do that! I’ve got too many songs to finish right now.” He insisted

“Oh? Inspiration struck you?”

“When I met you it certainly did.” He giggled

If you’re a pegasus too, Venti would love to go flying with you!

He’s hold your hoof while soaring the sky

Flying you both through a cloud and moving to kiss you through the water vapor

If you’re an earth pony, don’t worry! He’ll gladly arrange the clouds in a heart for you <3

He’d also love to have you watch him single and fly at the same time, bro loves putting on a performance

If you are a unicorn he is practically begging you to conjure him a refilling bottle of apple cider

“Pleeeeeeease.” He would plead, looking up at you with his gorgeous teal eyes

“The last thing you need is magical apple cider.” You laughed, patting his cheek affectionately

There was one night he had come over to your home for dinner and saw the photos of you and your friends

You told him about each of them and where they were at in their respective lives. Then you asked him about his friends.

He told you about his best friend that died some time ago. He was so serious it made you really realize how even the goofiest of people had hard things to grapple with.

You were constantly surprised at how wise Venti was. While out running errands with you, he was able to defuse so many disputes between ponies by a few words and a charming smile.

He seemed to always know what to say and exactly how to say it. You see why Princess Celestia took him on as an apprentice

‿︵˓ʚ𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫 𝐀𝐟𝐞𝐫 𝐇𝐠𝐡ɞ˓︵‿

˖⋆࿐໋𝐕𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐚

He starts out as a royal, probably the son of some king destined to become someone’s Prince Charming

But Varka didn’t want to save someone, marry them, then rule a kingdom for the rest of his life’s

He wanted adventure! To seize the unknown and gain glory!

He joined the rebels when he came to terms with defying his destiny.

If you are from Wonderland he’d beg you to take him with you

“I’ve heard it’s pretty…wacky down there. Care give me a tour?” He’d ask with a smirk

“Varka, It isn’t wise for me to take you with me…” You told him, knowing Headmaster Grim would have your head if you did

“You can’t even help your dearest friend? Your best bud? Your other pea in the pod? Your-“

“I will if you stop whatever it is you’re saying.”

Varka was very sociable, everyone knew him and pretty much everyone loved him

Not to mention he had MANY admirers.

If you two weren’t dating quite yet, I think he’d probably entertain some of the people.

He’s go on dates with various girls and guys that filled his locker with roses or passed him heart-shapes notes in class.

It was the mid semester when Briar threw a big party, which inevitably turned into playing seven minutes in heaven, as most of her parties did.

You all sat in the circle as Cupid readied her hand and gave the bottle a spin for you.

It pointed towards Varka and you knew there was no denying any feelings you had for him now

“You know, don’t don’t have to…” He started to tell you after being shoved into Briar’s overflowing closet

“No no, I mean, not unless you want to….” You replied

“And if I did?” He asked, his face getting closer

Dating Varka was fun whether you were a royal or a rebel! It didn’t make a difference to him.

Just because he started dating you doesn’t mean the admirers stopped, even if Cupid herself insisted you two were perfect for each other.

“Don’t let em get ya down.” He reassured you, “you’re the one for me.”

˖⋆࿐໋𝐀𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐨

She hated her mother, a stereotypical witch that lured children into her cottage to eat them.

She didn’t want to be like that and she held as much hatred for the system that was trying to force her to as that she did for her mom

Every other day there was spray paint over the headmaster’s door with a anti-destiny message

Or she was helping other rebels sneak into the classes they really wanted to take instead of the ones they were assigned

If you are a rebel, you’d grow close to Arlecchino by helping her by spreading the anti-destiny mission.

One night, she sneaks into your dorm room, tugging on the sleeve of your night shirt to wake you up

You two had been friends for awhile now but she was a pretty reserved person and didn’t want to intrude on you.

But since that wasn’t working she was forced to lean over you and shake you awake by your shoulders

“Arlecchino wha-“

“Graffiti on the side of the building, you forgot.”

“I didn’t forget…” You weakly insisted, a yawn coming over you

“You aren’t sleeping beauty, we have to get going.” She told you with a slightly irritated edge to her voice

One day, while taking a stroll through the forest, you find Arlecchino observing a few spiders making a web

“They are….” You started

“Fascinating creatures.” She finished your statement

You two stood beside each other, hands briefly grazing before you both pulled away. Neither of you willing to address the clear feelings you had for each other

If you were a royal, and one advent on following your destiny, being friends with Arlecchino would be a lot harder

She just doesn’t understand why you don’t want to pave your own way.

You two became friends because you were willing to occasionally help her with sneaking students into other classes. Learning is learning after all!

You both had a few disputes over your beliefs, but overall had a solid friendship, no different than her being friends with a rebel.

Now, there is one night where you two are sitting on the school’s roof, watching the stars.

The conversation of destiny gets brought up, and you try and act agreeable.

You both hadn’t argued in so long and you didn’t want to start now.

“Maybe you’ll come to enjoy…..disposing of children…” You weakly suggested.

“Do you hear yourself? You sound absurd.” Arlecchino insisted

“Okay, okay, you’re right, it isn’t fair that some people’s destines force them to become terrible people!” You exclaimed

“But…” Arlecchino started with a raised brow, encouraging you to finish

“But what about my Prince Charming? Or my castle? What will become of my destiny?” You selfishly pondered aloud

You both set in silence for a few beats, before Arlecchino spoke

“I’d be there to be your Prince Charming, if you needed one that is.”

Yeah she’s down bad

————————☆—————————

thank you so much for reading!

The first time it happened, you'd been mortified. It was a gorgeous, spring morning, and you'd entered the Church of Favonius with your head held high, cheeks sun-kissed and glowy like your content smile. You carried pages of the day's scripture readings, neatly organised into their respective orders, and ended with them scattered messily across the floor, swiftly forgotten.

Who could blame you when you were greeted with the sight your heart lurched at, and had you screaming til you were breathless?

It had been the third row from the front, and the second-to-last seat away from where you stood rock-solid in the aisle. Your eyes were puffy and as red as the blood splattered across the wooden seating and the grand marble tiles.

No amount of comforting from your fellow sisters would've expelled the morbid memory now engraved into your brain. They'd arrived moments after in a panicked frenzy upon hearing your scream to find you sobbing on the floor, your beloved scriptures in disarray around your kneeling figure, and your hand pressed so tightly to your mouth you were surprised your shock hadn't suffocated you.

They'd all paled even greater than you had when their eyes followed your shaky pointing.

The second time was the 48th day following; the morning of Mondstadt's Ludi Harpastum Festival. You'd screamed until your voice was hoarse, but you didn't fall to your knees this time. You'd also clung onto your scriptures (granted they were squeezed between your fingertips until they were practically unreadable), which had been such a pain to clear up last time. You were sure there was a little more blood than last time.

By the third and fourth, you didn't scream, but you still cried. You'd wondered what you did to deserve this; if perhaps you hadn't prayed the night before correctly, or had said something wrong to the other nuns, or thought something mean about the irritating man who lingered in Mondstadt's centre and always had something inappropriate to say to you and your lady friends.

You couldn't help the attacks from feeling personal—you were always the one to discover them. So, you were extra grateful and loving when you bowed your head at night, and you were careful with your words around your sisters, and you bit your tongue, averted your gaze and walked a little faster past the man in the centre.

It had worked, thankfully—until it hadn't, and three months had passed before the pew was red again. You didn't scream, didn't cry, and most certainly didn't ruin your scriptures this time. Instead, you'd stood numbly, expression remarkably blank, because you'd already known it was coming. You'd smelt the tangy, putrid stench the moment you'd stepped through the doors to the grandiose halls of the Church of Favonius; tasted the iron on your tongue until you felt like you were going to choke on it; noticed the atmosphere shift as if the Devil was having fun breaching the limits of where he didn't belong.

You'd informed the Knights stationed outside the entrance with only a couple of shaky breaths, and had even fought back the bile in your throat to help mop the floors of the grime afterwards.

Everybody questioned it, but nothing seemed to change. Seamus Pegg had issued wanted posters to be plastered across the city at every turn, but they'd only lasted for a day. There had been rumours of blackmail and deceit among the Church, and when Seamus had been questioned on the topic, he'd excused it as not wanting to dissuade the community from the safety of the House of Barbatos, and—more importantly—a job for the Knights of Favonius to handle. And so, it was kept quiet, a burden for the nuns and priests to bear alone.

But you were terrified. All of you were. You could tell by the way voices shook during readings; how many twitched and twiddled their thumbs anxiously, keeping their hands to themselves instead of holding their guests and each other welcomingly; and nobody ever held eye contact any longer than necessary.

That was exactly why you were here now, alone in the cathedral and running on a fraction of the sleep you deserve, with a blood-soaked rag clenched within your fist and an undeterrable will to rid the bench of its gore before anybody else entered the hall. You'd been dismissed as an incredibly committed member of the monasticism for your early arrivals, which you were happy with as long as it meant your brothers and sisters could sleep a little more peacefully at night. In their eyes, the stone-hearted monster hadn't struck the Church in six months; now a phantom memory that you'd heard a few of the priests remark as a 'plague sent by Lord Barbatos, as punishment for our sins'. 

Only you were aware that this was now his seventh morning in a row of defiling your Lord's name. A week straight. He'd never left his gifts so commonly before, and you would've wondered why if it weren't for fear of driving yourself crazy.

Frankly, it might've already been too late. You certainly felt crazy, with the way you spent your mornings frequently cleaning blood off the pews of Mondstadt's holiest venue rather than spreading teachings of joy and freedom of your faith to the citizens who needed it. Your fear had swiftly morphed into anger the longer the recurring nightmare continued, for all you could think now was how badly you wanted this villain to be caught and brought to justice under scrutiny of your trustworthy Knights of Favonius.

Perhaps that could be accompanied by a stern talking to of your own—you're sure Lord Barbatos wouldn't mind in this case.

Honestly, you weren't even supposed to know what the scent of blood sourced from the corpse of Archons knows what smells like!

And you certainly weren't supposed to be kneeling to anything other than your Lord; with a concoction of gore and soap trickling down the narrow bridge of your fingers and between your veins pulsing with life, as you rub and wipe and wash and cleanse the wood, up and down and round and round and round until—

"Are you trying to scrub a hole through that seat?"

You shoot backwards, ankle slipping from your control and knocking the soapy bucket to your right across the blood-dazzled marble. The alarm ignites your nerves; gasp robbing the breath from your lips as you quickly whip your head towards the knight you recognised well. He lingers in the aisle, and seems partly amused by your shock.

Lohen of the Fifth Company of the Knights of Favonius. A man of countless victories, fearsome bloodlust and an unjust, unchangeable loyalty to Mondstadt—a man you'd heard to most definitely stay away from. You clear your throat as the hem of your tunic soaks in your mess.

"Sir Lohen! Archons, you scared the life out of me! Forgive me, I... I was cleaning, and I guess I didn't hear the door open. Or close. I apologise." You must've looked foolishly ridiculous as you bow your head to the wet floors, the epitome of embarrassment which only seemed to amplify in the presence of a Vice Captain. "Is there anything I can help you with—"

You choke on your words when you notice Lohen, eyebrow raised and head tilted, curiously observing the pew beside you. Oh. Oh, no no no.

"Should I be asking you that?"

You stand in a hurry, gathering your tunic from the puddle and positioning yourself to block it from his view. You're grateful when he's distracted easily and his eyes abruptly begin following you like steel to a magnet, even if it does make your skin crawl. Lohen naturally exuded that effect, you imagine, since if it were anybody else, you would've approached with haste and taken their hand to lead them away from the brutal scene. You were supposed to be a guardian, after all.

Instead, you hover awkwardly in place, rag still clutched in the hand you kept rooted behind your back, because getting closer to the man you'd been warned about seemed like an invitation for trouble. You had enough of that in your life already.

"It isn't what it looks like, Sir Lohen, I swear. Father Pegg likes to paint, you see, and sometimes he gets these creative visions—like last night! A masterpiece, really, if he'd actually managed to keep his pigment on the canvas..." Lohen takes a step towards you, and you despise how it automatically has your words trailing off, point escaping you in the caution.

You hardly imagined Seamus ever having the time to pick up a paintbrush; unfortunately, it was too late for take-backs now.

There's an odd expression on Lohen's face—one that exhibits a mixture of amusement, intrigue and pity all in one, and compliments royal indigo swirled with rich magenta in the eyes currently staring you down. Then, he laughs.

"Miss [name], I can assure you I've won enough battles in my lifetime to recognise the splatter of blood shed when I see it." He speaks it like he's boasting. (Inwardly, you wonder how that's anything to be proud of, even if he is a knight. You also wonder how he knows your name.) "I take it he's returned, then."

You have the defensive urge to inquire who he means, though it hits you rather embarrassingly that, ah, of course, he is a Knight of Favonius, and they, bar the members of the Church, were the only citizens of Mondstadt who knew of the recurring vandalism. You nod your head, pressing your lips into a thin line.

"This is the seventh morning in a row that Devil has pulled this stunt." Lohen clicks his tongue in pity.

"Poor thing. You've been sitting here cleaning it all by yourself? Where are the other nuns?" Your eyebrows furrow when his tone portrays itself as demeaning you, but you excuse it as poor social skills. You'd heard of Lohen spending a lot more time on the battlefield than actually conversing with real humans.

"They don't arrive until seven, Sir."

"What makes you different?"

You don't respond. How in Tevyat were you meant to? You really didn't have a direct answer; you'd reasoned it down to a request from both Barbatos and your heart, yet now it seemed a little silly to admit that to Lohen for some reason. Luckily, he speaks for you, smiling so sweetly you could've been fooled to believe that the rumours of ruthless murder and endless carnage were only ever that—rumours.

"Kindness, [name]. You're too kind. It'll get you eaten one day." He scolds, running his gaze down, then up your figure as if he were the one who wanted to carry out that promise. He then hums thoughtfully. "Though I suppose that's your job, isn't it? To reassure? To please?"

"More so to teach, if anything." You correct, though you can't help but feel it falls on deaf ears as Lohen suddenly busies himself with studying the intricate architecture, bejewelled with sapphire and diamonds, arching above your heads like he's bored.

You'd never pictured a man like Lohen to be the religious type. It made it all the more confusing and difficult to work out why exactly he was here, though, of course, you'd never openly judge. "May I inquire why you're here, Sir Lohen?"

He sighs dramatically, shoulders slouched and eyebrows raised, his lips twitching down into a pitiful frown. Then, his eyes are back on you, and they don't leave for a second. "I have a problem, [name]. Truthfully, it's chewing me from the inside-out, and it's the worst. The Church is good for this stuff, right? I know I have these issues because of bottling them up, avoiding them, yada yada, I just..." He cocks his head to the side, though it's nothing innocent. "...I don't want you to gain a different impression of me."

Lohen slumps onto the pew dejectedly within a hairs breadth of the blood splatter, and your gaze switches between both him and the grime in apprehension. Did it not bother him? You must've been gawking, because the pout that had originally taunted you shamelessly swiftly converts to a wicked grin. His teeth sink into his bottom lip as he scrutinises you for all your worth; your fear feeling rather like a meal to him than an opportunity for reassurance.

You look at the clock. Ten minutes before Father Pegg and your sisters were due to arrive. You then look at the mess on the pew, and now the floor as well. Archons, you really were in over your head. There'd be no time to finish your cleaning and indulge the knight in his evident need for confession.

You wanted your heart to ache; to leap forward and snatch the misery from Lohen's, because that was your job. You didn't want anyone to suffer. And if Lohen's problem was significant enough to drag him away from his knightly duties all the way to the Church, then naturally, you should be jumping at the chance to aid him.

This was exactly why you felt guilt—since despite all this, even if it was small, there still lingered a nagging, unavoidable and annoying inkling of doubt for his true intentions.

And nuns should never doubt.

You finally look at Lohen, inhale deeply, and force the polite smile you'd rehearsed for situations exactly like this.

"If there is anything you need the Church to hear, we will always listen. Just because you are a Knight does not make you any less welcome in the Lord's home. I can't imagine we'd see you any differently than we do now, Sir Lohen."

He regards you with a soft smile, wrecked with pity and an unfamiliar stare of adoration, as if you're the equivalent to watching tiny puppies play. Why was he looking at you like that?

"You think it's because I'm a knight?"

"What else?" He snickers while you frown.

"Never mind. You're a pretty liar, [name]."

"What—?"

"Alright!" You think you'll develop whiplash from the speed Lohen shoots to his feet, clapping his hands together in satisfaction. You almost slip as you stumble a few steps away in a panic. Lohen cocks his head towards the gore. "I can see you have business to attend to in the mean time, so I'll come back later and take you up on your promise then. I won't judge upon whatever reason you have to sacrifice your happiness for your colleagues, but for the sake of your health, I promise I'll have this personally investigated and closed."

"You will?" Your voice is shaky with a mix of skepticism and hope.

"Mm-hmm! You won't have to worry about it anymore, Miss [name]. I swear."

Lohen clamps an enclosed fist over his heart—the Knights of Favonius' gesture of loyalty. You would've argued against the hassle, though realistically, it was a hassle worth taking if it meant the perpetrator would finally be caught. Lohen was certainly more than capable enough of tracking someone down (you almost felt sorry for the culprit for having such a terrifying knight on their trail now), and your shoulders tense a little less when hearing the promise.

"If—" You tense again. "—you're the nun to hear my confession when I'm back. Only you. I've got a tight schedule so I can't tell you exactly when that will be. But I'll make time. Promise me you'll be here?"

"Of course I'll be here. Where else would I be?" You attempt a joke to lighten the intoxicating tension overwhelming your senses, Lohen's sly fox-like eyes not helping in easing the promise that seemed a little too intimate than allowed.

"Attagirl. I'll catch you later then, dovey!" You linger idly beside the pew, watching Lohen saunter down the aisle with a spring in his step and far too happy a melody on his tongue. He throws a hand up, index finger extended to catch your attention one final time.

"Just a heads up—it'll probably take me at least a month to handle it, since I won't be in Mondstadt. Useless business trips and all that. If this idiot is anything unoriginal, you can expect him to follow the pattern and return tonight. Maybe he enjoys testing the limits, huh? I'll request guards to station the entrance overnight. Good luck with the service!"

You don't see Lohen again after he slips through the exit of the Church of Favonius.

. * , ' * .

You were smothered with a concoction of emotions for the rest of the day.

After Lohen's departure, you'd stood rather numb in place, almost still enough for someone to mistake your figure for one of the holy stone depictions scattered around Mondstadt. An entire month? You'd always tried your best to root gratefulness in your blood; to be thankful for what you're provided with, as that is the Lord's will.

And it wasn't that you weren't so incredibly appreciative of Lohen's gesture. He'd sacrificed his own precious time to investigate a wanted criminal and personally see to it that they atone for their sins, all to guide you and the Church from misery.

You were grateful—but you also weren't sure just how much longer of it you could take.

When your sisters and the priests had trickled in one by one, with not a word to say about the pew so clean it practically sparkled, you'd almost cried. It was pitiful. You were much stronger than this, and you weren't going to let it get you down again.

Even if it did suck a little soul from your belief in Lord Barbatos. It still felt as though He was punishing you, after all.

The service had progressed beautifully as usual, a perfect transition to the sunny afternoon which kissed your cheeks with soft breeze and warm rays of golden hue, yet it might as well have been a foggy, miserable storm with the way you couldn't bare to lift a smile to your lips. At least then the weather would've matched the turmoil your thoughts had created in your mind. They swirled in circles as if they were caught in a makeshift tornado, crashing down and destroying what little remnants of hope remained like a merciless tsunami the later into the day it got.

By evening, you sulked over your dinner, head and heart pounding twice as violently. At some point during the day, you'd realised something vital in Lohen's final words.

'If this idiot is anything unoriginal, you can expect him to follow the pattern and return tonight.'

You'd heard Lohen was crafty and careless, but you'd also heard he was rarely ever incorrect in his assumptions based on his targets. Once, he'd even cleared the entire southern border of Wolvendom of a pesky tribe of hilichurls that adventurers had been tracking for months. They were almost as shady as Lohen, sentient enough to hit the road often enough they'd keep hunters off their tails. Nobody knew exactly where they'd head to next—except the Vice Captain, who refused to share his secret knowledge and claimed the bonus consolation prize because he'd been 'bored'.

At least, so you've heard.

It was admirable in a way that had the hairs stand on the nape of your neck. The Knights of Favonius were so frighteningly brave—it was an utter shame they'd unfortunately proven so useless when it came to matters of the Church.

This was why you'd ultimately come to the conclusion that the solution had to fall into your own hands.

With Lohen, the more capable of the Knights apparently, away on expedition for at least a month, you saw no other choice than to at least explore the minute hint you'd been accidentally given. Besides, you wouldn't be entirely alone, and back-up would be called the moment you caught the Devil.

Lohen had said he'd request overnight guards!

Which was odd because—as silvery moonlight blanketed the cool concrete steps to the magnificent oak doors of the Church of Favonius, and your boots stifled pebbles beneath their soles with every slowing step you took—you didn't see anybody shielding the entrance.

The surroundings were deathly silent, in fact. Perhaps he'd forgotten.

For a moment, you're about to turn around. To abandon ship and run with your tail tucked between your legs before you could meet a grisly untimely doom. It was the sensible choice.

It didn't help that you weren't a quitter. It also didn't help when something crystal or porcelain smashes ahead of you from inside the Church's lobby; barely audible behind the thick walls but undeniably broken.

For the first time since you enrolled in the monasticism, you feel a sickly urge to curse. This was real. This was happening, and you needed to run and alert the guards, alert anyone, just run, run, run—

The door is slightly ajar.

It catches your eye the moment the universe realises you don't want it to. And this time, you do curse, even if it is feeble and mumbled under your breath, because your feet move before your head has a chance to stop them, and your heart beats a little faster the closer you approach the open door, a wordless invitation to quench curiosity.

Your fingers curl around the wooden frame, as silent as you've ever been; an attempt at evading the Reaper of Death, because if you were careful, you'd be able to spy a face detailed enough to describe to the Knights, and escape with your life still intact afterwards. That was all you needed, you remind yourself, as you pry the door to.

Inside, the Church feels otherworldly. It's unfamiliar and hellish, drowning in ink-black darkness without the warmth of the aureate chandeliers decorated with candles to guide the way. You'd always hated the dark. There's no love in the hall at night; no joy and no hope, freedom squashed between the fingertips of the void, stomped beneath the boot of the moonbeams which bore down onto the marble tiles, offering irritatingly minimal light for its extravagance. You regret to admit even the presence of Lord Barbatos himself appears to be lacking. You swallow a solid lump in your throat before you can choke.

You discern no evidence of broken shards scattered across the floors, much to your horror. Had your mind played tricks on you? No, surely not—you knew what you'd heard. But then, what had broken? And where was it?

Unfortunately, you don't have time to dwell on it further when your squinting eyes spot something far more troublesome in the dark. You wordlessly battle blurry vision when your body considers passing out.

There, beneath the arches bejewelled with sapphire and diamonds, perched a hunched figure, lifeless and still, upon the third pew from the front, second seat from the left. They were barely visible within the shadows, yet real enough to rob your heart of its ability to pump blood, and your lungs of their capacity to expand. Your body runs cold; ice cold, like an anaesthetic breaching the nerves from the nape of your neck, to the bridges of your fingers, and to the tips of your toes. You don't breathe; don't blink; don't move for fear of being heard, until by some miracle, the moonlight beams a little brighter on the individual, and the safety lock on your senses clicks off, refusing to release fire so soon because that head of earthy mint-green locks is frighteningly similar to—

"Lohen?" You feel as though your voice has sliced something invisible in the atmosphere of the aisle.

"Hmm? Miss [name]?" Yet again, your feet move first, with a speed your mind doesn't find reason to complain about by the time it's caught up. You hurry down the aisle, only stopping to tentatively peer over at the man still concealed in the shadows. Your chest rises and falls with the urgency of a hunted prey, and you don't need the light to recognise the hint of a smirk in Lohen's tone. "Oh! It is you!"

"Are you hurt? Did you catch him? Something smashed, did you hear it too—?" Your inquiries spill from your lips like water from a broken dam, unfiltered by your desperation and embarrassing you foolishly when the glint of a silver rosary, tangled between digits clasped together, causes you to falter mid-sentence. You gasp, fingers pressing to your lips in a manner of horrific disbelief, because you, a nun of the Church, had interrupted a guest from the midst of their prayers.

You'd never broken such a rule before, and even in the absurdity of the situation, rules still applied.

"Sir Lohen, please forgive me. I didn't realise you were—" Argent streams pour through the windows and pool at your feet, and you can just about catch Lohen's eyes regarding you from behind his fists, accompanied by the soft smirk you already knew was there. The rosary entangled within his palms is an Anemo sigil embalmed with teal crystals, attached to a woven chain of mauve beads that dip and hang between the veins painted beneath his skin. Something stains Lohen's hands the longer you stare, though you look away when he clears his throat. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be ridiculous, [name]. I was only testing something out, anyway." His voice is uncharacteristically low, like he wanted to suit the aesthetic of the setting purposefully. You regain some missing remnants of your confidence as you linger in the aisle, taking a moment to control your breathing when you realise Lohen isn't the threat you'd imagined his shadow to be. You can't help but be drawn to the rosary again. It looks so perfectly natural in the fingers of a boastful murderer, and it sends your mind spiralling in confusion, because such juxtaposition shouldn't exist in the real world.

"Are you a follower of the Lord, Sir?" He scoffs behind his hands softly, like your question is amusing.

"Somewhat. Your God teaches ideas of freedom. I like to be free. I have a different opinion on such things I deem my own, though. Why should they be free while under my scrutiny? You get it?" You want to say no; that for someone who studies and teaches complicated holy scriptures daily, you'd never encountered something quite as cryptic as Lohen. Surely he'd mean his belongings; but then that would also mean they are inanimate objects, so how in Tevyat would they be free anyway?

He must've comprehended your confusion, perhaps from the way your lips twitched into an unpleasant frown, because he speaks again before you do. "Never mind. You'll understand soon enough. For now, I rather enjoy your naivety."

Lohen stretches languidly like a cat across the pew, unashamed to flaunt himself while your cheeks burn, because you'd then noticed he'd rid himself of his armour and instead lounged in his dress shirt like he were at home. To make matters worse, he'd taken the liberty of undoing the top three buttons (at least you assumed it was three, it wasn't like you were actually looking!), graciously exposing the bare expanse of his collarbone and sternum to virgin eyes.

He was littered in scars, some small and light where they'd faded with time, and some large and disturbingly new, still tainted with dried blood around the borders. You knew you shouldn't look any longer, even if a little part of you wanted to.

It's when your eyes pull away up to his face, that the blood floods from your cheeks and your heart misses a crucial beat.

In this position, the moon casts directly upon his face, and what was once clouded in darkness now illuminates and presents a vibrant, alarmingly fresh stripe of crimson across his cheek. Lohen was a fiend for battle—you knew this, and that's why you wouldn't have doubted the knight of his intentions once again because of a silly mishap on his face, had he not adjusted his grip on the cursed rosary and drawn your attention to the hands doused in matching blood.

Or brazenly revealed the human head on the pew beside him now he wasn't hunched forward, a stream of gore from where the rest of its body should've been splashing to the tiles and decorating them with droplets exactly like the ones you'd grown used to cleaning in the morning.

Archons above, have mercy.

You were speechless; afraid that if you tried to speak, bile would be the only thing to come out. You stumble away a single step, nausea spreading like wildfire and causing your vision to spin. It's only when you hiccup loudly through a sob that you realise you're crying.

"Oh? Is there a problem?" Lohen's grin is something of pure evil, too inhuman for man. "You told me so sweetly earlier that I'd always be welcome in the Church. That's still the case, right?"

Wicked teeth stretch wider, showcasing the fangs you wonder have ripped out necks.

And to your horror, he stands.

. * , ' * .

"What have you done?" Your voice trembles, unapologetically terrified of the man mere metres away. It's so heart-achingly adorable, Lohen's sure he feels his cock twitch.

He was already undeniably worked up the moment he'd seen the first tear trickle down your ghostly cheeks, yet for his ears to be blessed with the sound of your sweet voice, vulnerable and pleading for him to say something, anything that indicated it wasn't real—ah, that was true pleasure.

He stalks you like the prey you are, taking a step forward for every one you took back. Honestly, he was surprised (and a little disappointed) you hadn't attempted to run. He was a sucker for the chase—that much was known by everybody who'd heard of the man—yet here you stood, eyes gorgeously glossy and a pitiful tremble in your bottom lip, not retreating just yet like you were attempting to defend your territory.

Lohen supposed this was your home, after all. He'd intruded, of course, to achieve your attention. Countless times by now, in fact. He could argue that the pay off was well worth it. He tuts once, purses his lips to feign innocence, and smoothly curls his fingers into the scalp of the decapitated head, lifting it to present it to you fully and relishing in the way your face contorts into something of pure terror.

"What, this? Come on, don't tell me you don't recognise him. Take a good look, pretty." Oh, how beautifully you were obeying, fighting the urge to turn your gaze away completely as you study the displayed head through tears. The addictive realisation blossoms across your cheeks, shifts like a roaring fire in your eye, a drug for Lohen to soak up whole. "That's it, baby. You know him, don't you?"

He watches you with the manner of a hawk as your lips part and close like a fish out of water, yet no words come out. Now, it seems as though you find it easier to look at the damned head than Lohen himself as you fight to keep your expression steady, fixing him with a glare of tearful repulsion. It's adorable.

"Now, now, don't give me that look." Lohen's tone reeks of condescension and an eerie lust for humiliation. "This man caused you so much trouble, did he not? Disgusting behaviour, really—who even gave him the impression that lurking around Mondstadt's centre and preying on the poor, helpless women just trying to get on with their days was a good look?"

You must not have realised he was cornering you, based on the way your eyes shoot as wide as china saucers, until your back hits solid wall; a lost little doe, paralysed by the oncoming headlights. Lohen thinks he'd love to see you as roadkill. "I mean, God, the way he looked at you, [name]. It was so... so animalistic. Like he'd ravage you alive. Who in their right mind would ever believe that's an okay way to think?" He tilts his head, tongue running across his bottom lip.

"And the things he said, hah!" He laughs maniacally, unhinged and shameless but incredibly strained, like something had pained him detrimentally but he'd rather bleed out than establish weakness openly. "He's lucky I ended things for him nicely. You probably would've preferred for me to drag it out, huh? I know you've fantasised about it before in that pretty little head. Don't be too disappointed in me, angel."

The head crashes to the floor with a sickening splat when Lohen releases his hold, admiring the strength you had to still look at him while he approaches. His other hand lifts up; two fingers playfully tap the supple flesh of your cheek twice, leaving behind a generous coating of the dead man's blood. You flinch like a bunny in a trap, too stunned to push him away. Your nose scrunches with the gory stench so close, and Lohen disregards the temptation to smother your face in it entirely until you pass out.

"If it makes you feel better, this scumbag had no family, no friends, no nothing. It's the first thing I check. Nobody will even notice he's gone!" He's perfectly sincere, until his teeth sink into his bottom lip and he stifles a laugh behind a poorly mannered snort. "Well, besides you and me, I guess."

"There is something disturbingly wrong with you, Sir Lohen." His eyes burn a hole through your skull, surprised you'd found your will for speech.

"You still call me Sir. Cute." He only studies you for a moment, eyes devilishly narrow and smirk ghostly, haunting the crevices of his lips, before he pulls away from you abruptly, kicks the skull on the floor further down the aisle and relishes in the way you squeeze your eyes shut to avoid it. "Every man who yearns for confession has something wrong with them, though, otherwise why would they feel the need to confess? Surely you know this?"

He's not surprised when you don't reply.

Again, you don't make any move to run. It's like he'd glued you to the quartz pillar; a mere bystander to observe his gruesome antics.

"Also, if you're confused, I lied about the mission away. I know, it's abhorrently cruel of me and definitely not something to land me in the Lord's good books, and I promise I won't ever lie to you again. You see, I had a little extra time tonight, and thought what better way than to spend it confessing after I promised you I would. So this—" He jerks his head towards the grime splattered across the floor. "—is my confession. It's funny that you showed up when you did to hear it. Must be Barbatos' will, huh?"

"Never speak to me of the Lord's will. You are of the Devil's spawn, you monster!" Oh. There it is. The growing sparks of a raging inferno as it's taunted and teased by sticks and paper and unkind words. Lohen always knew you had it in you; it was exactly what had caught his attention in the first place.

Sweet, docile Sister [name] of the Church of Favonius—the one with the most inappropriate thoughts and needs of them all.

The one Lohen needed to see broken.

"And you aren't?"

"What do you mean?" You were exquisite with such steadfast determination, fists clenched to your side like you were ready to swing no matter how much your voice shook with trepidation.

"Come now. I already said I know about what you'd wanted to do to that man. I'm sure that couldn't have been the only case, baby. I mean, look—you still haven't bothered to wipe that blood from your cheek."

Surprisingly, you still don't, sniffling a pathetic sob when he reminds you it's there. You bristle as Lohen turns to you fully. "And you don't run. Why is that?"

"You'd catch me." Your throat bobs.

"True." His smile is wickedly proud.

"Are you going to kill me?"

"No."

You blink, tongue pressing into the side of your blood-stained cheek while your eyes dart between left and right like you're weighing up options. "Then I'll report you to the Knights of Favonius and have you rot away for your crimes."

Lohen's laughter is explosive and immediate. "Go ahead. You think I don't have everyone in that damn institution wrapped around my finger? They are terrified of me, [name]. Terrified of what I do to our enemies, and what I could do to them. Terrified in exactly the way you are, though arguably not as sweet. Were you really stupid enough to believe the Knights hadn't been able to find a conclusion for your Church's mysterious killer?"

Lohen thinks you're about to burst into tears again by the way you squeeze your eyes shut like you had done before, and he's gutted when you don't. He thinks nothing would've satisfied him more than pushing you over that edge continuously; enough so to produce a pond of salty fluid for him to lap up to quench his thirst.

You shake your head as he nods his. "Oh, they knew. They just didn't care as long as I ordered them not to."

It finally looks as though you've snapped—tipped over the brink of exhaustion into pure delusion now as you wail and fall to your knees, soaking your tunic in the stream left behind from where the human head had skidded across the floor. You don't seem to care about it anymore, though, as you kneel before Lohen like he was your God instead.

He has to admit he much prefers it like this. You look divine from this view; he ponders if it's worth having the image painted and hung as the centrepiece of the Church of Favonius, a flawless example to your fellow sisters and believers on the right way to pray and beg.

And if he took you home with him, he'd undoubtedly wake up to the real thing every day. How poetic.

He nudges your chin up with his boot, humming in satisfaction when there is little resistance on your part. Blue and magenta meet your gaze, holding you captive within a silent dare to move.

You don't.

He absorbs the dark circles beneath your eyes; smiles because he knows he's the cause of your sleepless nights. He loves you tired enough to have your brain short circuiting. It makes you easy. Pliable. His.

He hums, crouching down to level his face with yours; brutal in the way his hand reaches out to cup your cheek, messily smearing the blood with his thumb across your skin until he's content with his artwork—the shape of a love heart, imprinted on your flesh like a tattoo.

And while admiring your hopeless despair, he speaks with heavy-weighted truth and deathly promise.

"Forgive me, Lord Barbatos. I'll have to take from you what's yours tonight. If she was ever yours to begin with."

∧ ,,, ∧ ( ̳• · • ̳) . ݁₊ ⊹ . thank you for reading ! ᝰ.ᐟ / づ♡

Oh well, what harm would a little messing around bring anyone? You were only bored.

And it's not like you had immediately fallen for his charm the moment you'd first picked up the phone. On Wednesday, you had politely informed him of his error, wishing him a good night before disconnecting the line. He'd called back moments after, with an endearing urge to apologise and a disregard for privacy in the way he inquired what you were up to, and what on Earth the noise on your end was.

"Popcorn!" You'd exclaimed, deciding to entertain him. When you'd explained you were on a horror movie marathon with a brief wince at the DVDs scattered across your coffee table, he had promised to check in the following evening to hear your thoughts on that night's pick: Nightmare on Elm Street.

And he did—at 9:02pm on the dot on Thursday, with the following instalment of Nightmare on Elm Street loaded up and ready, and a fresh, steaming bowl of popcorn situated in your lap. You'd answered the call cluelessly because, to be truthful, you hadn't really expected the mystery man to keep his promise. You teased him for it. He'd breathed heavily down the line for a moment too long, but dismissed it sheepishly before it grew awkward. As a reward for keeping his promise, you indulged him in his fascination; an honest review being that, while yesterday's movie had lived up to your expectations, you didn't have very high hopes for the next.

(You were right. The second had sucked.)

Now, it was Friday, and you supposed he was checking in for that opinion, alongside a variety of other random things he decided he wanted to find out about you. There was no doubt this man was as intrigued about you as you were about him. Maybe tonight you'd even get a name off of him (not that you were actively wondering, or even looking for anything serious, but curiosity usually had a habit of getting the better of you). You swing your legs off the arm of the couch, removing each finger from between your lips with a pop once you'd moved the popcorn bowl to the side. There’s far too excited of a spring in your step as you enter the kitchen, fingers curling around the handset without a second thought. He was later tonight; 11:23pm.

"Hello?"

"Hi! Miss Nightmare on Elm Street!" He sounds ecstatic that you've picked up. You giggle.

"Mister Mysterious Phone Guy! I was wondering if you'd call tonight."

"Aw, you were thinking of me?" You balance the speaker between your ear and shoulder, picking at your nails while his voice remains a low tease down the line. Egotistical bastard. "Sorry I kept you waiting, baby. Got caught up with..."

There's shuffling; something you can't quite hear as he trails off. You blink once; twice again, politely waiting for him to finish before you realise the line must've actually cut out temporarily. No biggie. It was the least of your worries when he was calling you that.

"Baby?"

"Well, I don't know your name, do I? Seems a pretty fair replacement to me."

You pause momentarily; with your tongue digging into the side of your cheek, you barely manage to stifle a smile. Oh, God. He had you smiling. Behave, [name].

Beneath the porch lights illuminating what would've been shrouded in inky darkness, the garden tiles glow; golden and void of life. Your eyes wander across them through the patio's glass doors, taking a moment to readjust positions so you're hovering over your kitchen island now, and for the gears in your brain to kick in and not embarrass you with a stupid response. He was smooth.

"Your words, not mine."

"So what is your name?" His reply is instantaneous, and invasive in the way that heats the blood in your veins.

"How do I know you won't use that information to murder me?" You tease, drumming your fingers across the marble counter. Overhead, your clock ticks, indicating the passing of one second, two, three. You barely hear it over the faint chatter of your television set, and the drumming of your heart you seemingly have no control over.

You'd never been one to deny school girl crushes; unfortunately, you'd been deemed a hopeless romantic from the day you'd been born by Cupid himself. You very much thanked him now, because it was oh so helpful you had the impulse to blush at the words of a stranger you'd only ever talked to over the phone. Twice.

Real fucking helpful.

It's also just as helpful when said stranger chuckles in your ear like you've accidentally shared some sort of inside joke you were unbeknownst to.

"Come now. You really think a murderer has time to sit around and call the girl he doesn't have the guts to meet?" What strange emphasis. You hum, with pursed lips and a doe-like pointing of your eyes to the lampshade above.

"Mm, I dunno. Isn't this exactly how a horror movie would start?"

"You tell me. You're the expert." You grin, teeth sinking into the flesh of your bottom lip with unrestrained mirth as you straighten yourself from the counter and pad back into the living room, unceremonious in the way you flop down onto the sofa. On the TV, Laurie Strode is running from the masked killer, Michael Myers.

"Actually, no. You sound like too much of a dork to be capable of anything like that."

"Meanie." He comments in your ear, though your eyes remain trained on your TV screen.

You're almost at the climax; a stomach-churning final chase between beauty and beast. The idiot killer doesn't stand a chance when he's stabbed through the eye socket of the damned mask, a piercing scream making you wince and tap the volume down on your remote. Unfortunately, your new stalker huffs, and it's evident in the tone of his voice that he's plastered a smirk on his lips to match the attitude. "What was that?"

"Ah, sorry! I was watching Halloween before you called. Not being murdered. I promise."

"Halloween?"

"Yeah! You know, the guy with the white mask who walks around and stalks babysitters?" Your eyes widen comically as said white-masked villain rises from the floor with horrific intent; your back arched like a startled cat and body tense enough to snap bones. Behind you, Laurie!

"Mm-hmm. I know the one. You must like scary movies, huh?" She doesn't look behind her. Typical.

"To an extent. I thought Nightmare on Elm Street was great, but the second one not as much. And  Halloween's good, but there's only so much masked guy with a big knife I can take before it grows repetitive."

He snickers curtly; to your ears, it's as if it's swamped with something like heavy-weighted pity, but you don't understand why.

"You think it's boring?" He asks cryptically.

"The movie?"

"Being chased with a knife." You don't answer—for a short moment, at least, to avoid awkwardness. What a creepily odd question. It's almost enough for you to cease messing around—to inform him he's had his fun, but this wasn't actually meant to end up anywhere, and to finally hang up the line. Almost.

You clear your throat.

"O-Oh. Well, if it were me, that would be much different, of course."

"In what way?" Michael Myers is shot several times with the revolver, a staggering mess of uncoordinated limbs, before tumbling to his grisly demise. It makes you smile, cruel and satisfied.

"I'd be terrified, obviously. Though I think since I'm apparently now an expert in horror movies, I'd have a few tricks up my sleeve to survive." A lamp flickers in your kitchen. You wouldn't have noticed if it weren't for the flash catching your eye in the window reflection ahead. You really needed to get the electrics checked. "I learn from the best. I mean, when have you ever seen the victim actually lose?"

You think the man clicks his tongue; it's too muffled to tell for sure.

"Ehh, but movies aren't the same as real life, pretty." You're sure if he continues to flirt so casually with you like this, you'd drop dead from heart palpitations. You might have to consider a restraining order—might, since the tightening of your stomach was an unfamiliar, but not entirely unwelcome sensation.

"True but—"

"Though something does tell me you'd put up a good fight." He sings his words like a bittersweet praise; inappropriately dreamy for what they are, with strange connotations that bare their blackened teeth if you think about them a little too long.

You don't. Instead, you bite into them with insatiable greed, delicious if you ignore the tangy aftertaste of a contradictory ingredient.

"Exactly! They should know not to mess with me." You exclaim, all prideful smiles and sweet giggles—until you sink into your cushion, sigh shortly, and sport a solemn frown when it hits you how dark of a scene it really was to imagine. "That being said, I don't ever want to wish that actually happening into existence. I'll leave that to the ladies on the TV. It's not the most pleasant thing to think about."

"Is that why you look so uncomfortable?" Your stomach churns; this time, it's not so pleasurable. Look?

"What was that?"

"I said, is that why you sound so uncomfortable?"

In the briefest of moments time has to offer, you sit up forcefully, phone clutched to your ear like a vice. That definitely wasn't what you heard. And while it could've been chalked down to a communication error on behalf of poor connection, you'd indulged in far too many horror movies recently for them not to linger in the forefront of your overthinking mind.

God, silly Halloween had you on edge far more than you realised.

But this was still a stranger, and you were still uncomfortable, exactly as he'd predicted. There was no reason to allow him to continue spooking you so easily, even if it weren't on purpose, and even if he did sound hot. Bummer. It was likely a good time to head to bed anyway.

"Uh, yeah. Listen, I've gotta go, it's getting late. You probably shouldn't call my number again." In the reflection, your kitchen lamp flashes as it had done before. It makes you jump.

"What? But I thought we were having fun talking like this." He whines like an untrained mutt, child-like and petulant.

"We were! But nothing will come out of it, you know that, right?" Your fingers fumble with the remote, onyx void clouding the screen when you switch off the machine. Not even Laurie can comfort you now.

Mirrored in the darkened glass, you're greeted by your face wrecked with nerves. It's evident in the doll-like eyes locked back onto you, glassy, widened and round like discs. "It was lovely talking to you these past evenings."

"Wait—"

"Take care now."

"Don't hang up on me—"

You pull the receiver from your ear, and the house plunges into silence.

Deathly, infected silence. It rams its claws into the skin of your shoulders; draws blood that streams freely across the expanse of your chest; coils around you like a rope and tightens, tightens, until you can't breathe.

You shake your head; air forced in a huff from your nostrils which reminds you, you're being ridiculous, [name], of course you can breathe.

You're alone. You're fine.

Until the phone rings again; a dreaded alarm that pierces loud enough to shock silence into retracting its claws, though somehow you feel more constricted this way. With a heart beating through the flesh of your chest, you shake off the nerves building up, brick by fissured brick, to answer the call with a slightly irritated groan.

"What?!"

"I told you not to hang up on me, dovey." Who does this weirdo think he is?!

"And I told you not to call this number again. I'm serious!" With a flurry of emphasis that probably should've been used the first time, you press the button to end the call—hopefully for the final time.

Though, of course, it isn't.

The phone chimes again; you don't even let it ring once before denying it. You think something flashes past the window in the corner of your eye, though it had to have been those damn kitchen lights again! You think.

In a futile attempt to regain any semblance of the confidence feebly lost in the past two minutes, you shoot up from the sofa, marching with the manner of a reprimanded soldier to the kitchen. You flick the lights off just as the phone sounds again.

Reject call. How many times will this fool keep trying until he gets bored?!

By the following two, you finally lose it, pressing the phone to your ear so hard it stings.

"Listen, asshole—!"

"No, you fucking listen to me or I'll mount your pretty head on a stick, you understand?!" Within seconds, you're back to feeling as though you can't breathe.

What once fooled and fed your delighted ears with insatiable teases soaked in gold and cheeky inquiries that fell nothing short of innocent, had grown dark and vicious, a threat to bite the organs from the sides of your head. A voice that would leave you bleeding and helpless on the side of the road; that would watch as the bears mauled your body ruthlessly—or perhaps no bears were even needed if he were present to do the job.

"What?" You're unsure if you've even spoken, your voice barely audible and crushed by the hands of real fear.

"You heard me, lovely. Oh, you sound so sweet right now." He torments you like you're a puppet; a toy with strings for him to play with, to coo at, to perform for his sadistic pleasure.

"I'm calling the police. Leave me alone!"

"You're too far out, [name]. They wouldn't get here in time." You think you might choke on the sob lodged in your throat, any remaining facade of safety robbed from your fingertips as he speaks.

"How...?"

"Hm?"

"My name. How do you know my fucking name?!" Your eyes bolt to the patio doors, and you don't waste a second in racing over to lock them. You move onto the windows beside them; then the kitchen's. Out into the hall. Your front fucking door.

"Ohhh, that. Yeah, there's a lot I know about you actually. It's a beautiful house you've got here. Is that real vintage cedar wood?"

Your feet move before your brain can catch up; you're back in the kitchen again, your target as clear as crystal waters. The knife block—offering a multitude of blades to defend yourself.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you." He comments, sickeningly so in the same way you'd done for stupid Laurie Strode. You were his victim on the screen—his doll for amusement. He suddenly snorts, a giddy chuckle that strips skin from bone from how unnerving it is. "Actually, do. Oh, please do, baby. That makes it so much more fun."

Your fingers clasp around the biggest one, wielding it adjacent to your stomach no matter how sick it makes you feel that you've listened.

And with a shaky breath and your body pressed impossibly close against the cornered wall, you speak into the phone.

"What do you want?"

"To play with you! A game, of sorts. Exciting, no?" You shake your head, on the verge of sobbing. He tuts once. "Don't be such a buzzkill, angel. It's nothing difficult, I promise."

"Please! Stop it!"

"Fuck, I love it when you beg." He curses like he's pained; a moment of muffled pleasure down the indistinct connection of the call. "Unfortunately, you don't have a choice."

You cry pitifully, and the man outwardly groans this time. Sick, disgusting bastard. "What?! What is the stupid game?!"

The doorbell rings, and you scream with terror you didn't know you could muster, clutching the phone to your chest and raising the knife within a shaking, clenched fist. It's pure trepidation for your life that urges you lift the phone back up to your ear.

The clock ticks overhead. One.

"You only gotta do one thing, baby." His voice curls around your neck like a noose; you inhale it, breathe it in to throw it up again. The Devil within your system like a deadly drug.

Two.

"What...?" A creak from your hallway's floorboards.

Three.

"Run."

. * , ' * .

You're not sure you know where you're going.

You're not even sure you care.

You'd smashed the phone to pieces; let it crash to the floor as you skid from your hiding place, a true victim worthy of her own horror movie, because this is one. The bile had crept up your throat, threatened to spill onto the tiles like blood—and you'd sprung up like a hare evading a well-hidden trap, buried beneath the leaves of its own burrow.

Hunted in its own home.

It made no difference, now—because before you'd dropped the phone and bolted, before he'd uttered that single, nauseating word, you'd only ever expected to hear him on call.

Instead, you'd heard him, loud and clear, only metres behind you, and very fucking real.

You hadn't turned to look.

All that mattered was that he was in your home. And you'd do whatever it takes to live.

A few corners, a corridor, and you'd meet the front door. Even with the perpetrator hot on your tail, there's hope. Wrapped in silk ribbons and decorated with freshly bloomed roses painted red, because one more corner and you'd make it—

There's a cloaked figure in your lobby. Bathed in black, swarmed by shadows that seemed to open their cruel mouths wide, bare their fangs and engulf the minimal moonlight pouring through the windows and pooling at your feet, soaking it up like wine. It's black everywhere; bar the crimson red coated on his silvery blade and splattered across the ivory ghost mask, mouth stretched into a horrific scream.

You'd forgotten rose petals were the devastatingly beautiful lie that beckoned unsuspecting fingers into pricking themselves on the deadly thorns they guarded.

A trick of the mind to allow you to believe escape was in your grip. He was playing with you.

He blocks the door from reach; tilts his head towards you like he's spotted something fascinating.

And laughs—dauntingly loud, and with no essence of mercy.

You spin around before you have a chance to scream, crashing against your stairs with hands flailing to balance yourself as you topple over with the force of your run. Your knife nicks the inner skin of your thumb; a hiss escapes through gritted teeth as adrenaline pushes you on.

Up, and up. Further and further away from your exit.

Your shoulder collides with the corridor wall, yelping as pain strikes you like a whip. There are footsteps behind you, hot on your tail yet somehow in the opposite of a rush. He takes each step with perfectly timed tranquility, though heavy in their execution.

One step. Two. Three.

You don't stop to listen, eye's dead set on the furthest room possible—your bedroom. If you could just—

You grunt, comfort robbed from your stomach as it's winded and you're pressed battered cheek to wall; head spinning as nausea takes its toll on your vision. Instincts prevail, and you lash out blindly with your knife-clad hand, before your wrist is seized against the wall beside your head and your attempts are rendered futile. Your knife clatters against the wooden floors with a devastating crash.

There's silence in your home again; void of life besides the heavy breaths of a man masked behind plastic who keeps you pressed against the wall. There's a hand on your waist, which travels beneath your rib cage and splays across your stomach, devilishly possessive despite having no right. His pinkie rests just shy of dipping below the hem of your shirt.

Then, he chuckles lowly, all heavy vibrations which take your position for granted. He's directly beside your ear (or at least the haunting mouth of that mask is, you imagine, with eyes squeezed shut), making you flinch like a grazing deer threatened with a hunter's gunshot.

"So much for that knife, huh." You fight the urge to scream, as you know it'll only satisfy him. "Oh well. You looked cute with it while it lasted."

A chorus of pleads stream from between your lips, quiet and pathetic as you beg him for your life, though he quickly dismisses it with his tongue, coaxing you into silent sobs as he shushes you into complacency.

"Aw, baby. You're not giving up, are you?" From the way his tone dips into something borderline stroppy, you're sure he's sporting a pout behind that mask. "No fun."

It's when something sharp accompanies the press of his fingers into your abdomen, that panic slams into you like a truck at full speed. You scream; louder than ever this time, using your free arm to elbow aimlessly behind you. It lands on target; a direct hit to your pursuer's sternum, evident from the grunt (or moan?) on his tongue, and he backs off enough to give you a chance to slip through your bedroom door. There's laughter from behind you; manic and bloodcurdling and terrifyingly thrilled.

Your fingers curl around the wooden frame, only moments from slamming it shut in the monster's face—moments away, had he not gripped your ankle hard, sending you plummeting to the floor with a sickening thud.

Your vision blurs as your head collides with the solid panels, glittery constellations and streaked strobe lights painted across the sense you held most dear. It left you vulnerable, robbed you of your ability to see and now hear, as your ears begin ringing in protest.

When you finally can see again, you're greeted with a boot next to your skull, and a blade to the soft expanse of tissue guarding the vital veins of your neck.

One wrong move and you'd be dead.

"Now that is what I'm talking about, dovey! You're a natural." Above, the ghost-face mask looms, but it's lopsided, and you can just about catch a glimpse of a mint green lock of hair, curled around the plastic border. He's the image of pure, unfiltered horror.

You wonder if it's worth accepting fate now.

As if reading your mind, he pulls back, cocking his head to the side and spinning the knife deftly between his fingers. Suddenly, he's standing, because above your limp body rests your dresser, and something on it has seemingly caught his attention.

With a poor push void of power and weakened by your head still spinning, you clamber away from his feet, nails digging into the plush fabric of your carpet like it were a lifeline. He's whistling—a twisted and sickly happy tune you're not able to place in this state.

You hate how it's so familiar. Every little taunt, a reminder of his stalking that has gone on for God knows how long.

He must've turned because he snickers callously. Must've seen you, a messy combination of desperation and determination; a beautifully deadly mix if it weren't in the hands of prey.

Unfortunately for you, that means it's useless.

"Oh, you're still trying to run? Okay, baby, give it your best shot! You got it, I believe in you!" Footsteps fall into place beside you and crowd your hearing, deafening when it's all your instincts order you to focus on. "Almost there! Though I must say, if you really want a chance at escape, you gotta put more effort into it than this."

The monster clicks his tongue, one knee landing with a thud beside your head as fingers find a home curled into the roots of your scalp. You claw pathetically at the carpet, hands tensed hard enough to snap the ligaments in your fingers when you're helpless to stop him from lifting your head up, effectively arching your back and rendering you immobile.

You're then able to realise exactly what had him so enamoured on your desk—your beloved polaroid camera, now tainted with the stains of a victim's blood. And perhaps yours next.

"Alright, angel. Say cheese now for me. Go on, smile nice and pretty—cheeese." He angles the polaroid on you as if taking a selfie, the fabric of his cloak streaming down your aching back as he hovers above you and snaps the photo. "Beautiful, there we go."

You think he'll end his fun there—you pray to any Lord above he does—though instead, you're released and your cheek smacks against the floor again, only subtly subdued by your rug. You don't have the energy to even crawl anymore.

The thorns on that pretty rose of hope have cut you enough, and now you have bled dry.

Above, he walks around your room aimlessly, as if attempting to kill time. He hums that same tune, the one you can't place. He pinches the polaroid between his thumb and forefinger, waving it like a flag of surrender until it develops.

And the claws of silence return, but this time, they latch onto every surface of skin you have to offer. You hate it when he doesn't speak, and you're left alone to suffer. You hate it more when it grants you the energy to weakly lift your chin and see what has him so quiet.

You wish you hadn't.

The hood of his raven cloak rests lazily around his shoulders; a mess of celadon locks, untamed and shabby, poke out beneath the mask that he's pushed up to reveal the face of a boy no older than you.

He's beautiful; in the way that would create tales and rumours that he would tear the heart from your chest, kiss it dearly, before trampling it beneath his boot. A scar impales itself across his cheek, and you're almost convinced he's monstrous enough to have given it to himself.

And his eyes; so inhuman, so alien. So enchanting. Magenta swirled with cerulean blue, and you understand why, to be a ruthless killer, he would need to stay masked. The thought only makes you sob more, energy depleting as you crash your face against the floor again.

A waste of a face on such an evil soul. How many women had he tricked already without the mask at all?

He giggles at the photo in his palm; approaches your side again and crouches with gleeful enthusiasm.

Fingers tap your cheek twice, and when you refuse to respond, they wrap beneath your jaw to force your gaze onto the picture presented in front of you.

"Sweet, right? I'm thinking this one deserves to be framed." He purses his lips, thankfully drawing the dreaded image away to rub his chin in thought. "Though it still doesn't beat the real thing, sadly."

He bites his lip, hard enough to draw blood though it doesn't phase him.

"Hm. Well. That means one thing, at least."

He leans closer; far too close, close enough that the stench of gore and evil blocks your nose, sticks to the flesh of your tongue and inhabits the surface of your lungs. It's all you can taste, smell, feel.

And when he speaks again, you hope it's enough to suffocate you.

"You'll come home with me."

∧ ,,, ∧ ( ̳• · • ̳) . ݁₊ ⊹ . thank you for reading ! ᝰ.ᐟ / づ♡