The Queen's Duplicate [USUK]

Start of a Journey

      Never had the two officially dated, they rather spent days on end with one another, mostly because at first they were forced too, and when you share a bed with someone after so many months you don't have to go through an entire process to learn who they truly are. There was no placed up facades, there had never been any reason to as the two knew they had to work alongside one another, but that was as far as they had ever imagined it, not even Yao had thought their relationship would go any further than acquaintances. Before a year or two after Arthur's coronation, neither had felt the slightest bit of attraction towards the other, Alfred could admit interest in the Queen but it was just a general in who he was, and to be fair Arthur had been the first to feel anything of the two outside of physical.

      It must have been that night once the other allowed himself to be lost in his head, as the other fell into a fit of laughter, when he turned his head, still gasping for breath to a smile plastered on the other's face and for once a genuine smile played on his face too. That was the day he caught genuine romantic attraction towards anyone in his nineteen years.

      "Why, what do we have here?" A familiar voice called, Alfred jumped before turning sharply on his heel to see who had spoken.

      His throat closed, eyes wide, and mouth dry and he looked upon. It couldn't be, there was no possible way, "Feliciano." He breathed out half-heartedly, staring as the other just offered a smile, his auburn hair somehow catching light coming from a place he never knew. He had not seen light for what he could assume was three miles of his journey, how had the Jack of Heart's manage to make it appear, he wondered never letting his gaze wavering from the man who sat in one of those harrowing tree's.

      Before he could be conscious of what he's was viewing the Jack popped out of thin air, leaving the Monarch in the dark once again, surrounded by the thicket that never seemed to end, nothing but dirt and curled around tree's that threated to elope him, holding him prisoner had he dared to come near one. Their branches swaying like arm's ready to outstretch at any point. Grabbing onto his wrist he placed two fingers near the inside, holding his breath trying to sooth the rapid pattering of his heart. Reminding himself of why he was here, he mustn't allow the atmosphere around him to dissuade the mission.

      Gathering the courage he begun his journey once again, his mind often falling to Feliciano, had the few hours he had been treading through mess with him psychologically, inducing hallucinations of comfort that would disappear upon recognition. Surely that was no coincidence, he must be crazy, there was no other possible explanation. Stopping in his footsteps he let go of his own wrist, not having realized he had held onto it for the past hour or however long he had continued walking, all he knew was the exhaustion that kept creeping up. Arthur, all of it had been a dream created by his sick mind, truly he was sitting in a padded room, and he had created figments to aide the isolation, only to become attached to the figment he named Arthur, forming a romance out of the part of him that was still sane.

      Falling onto his back his throat hardened, eye's watering as he felt his head spin. Squeezing through his closed throat he dug his nails into his arms, "Damn-it stop. Stop, this is real." Sitting himself upon his knee's he reached into his pocket, reassuring himself the gloves were still in his pocket, but nothing seemed to settle his thoughts and he could feel not only his breath deteriorate but his own mind as it seemed he had fallen into an ocean darker than the woods he had once been in. Cement was being shoved down his throat, thickening while pursuing new pathways into his lungs, any attempt to retch it up cut off as his lips remained stitched together. Ribs enclosing while the breaks and cracks weren't able to be felt rather the bones bended into themselves miraculously never cracking, his lungs and heart compressed.

. . .

      He hadn't bothered to come down today, whatever that meant Arthur had not a clue, at this point his kidnapper was something that miffed him every time he was around. Every piece of body language and word spoke different, thinking of them gave him a headache. Dehydration was catching up quickly, his muscles occasionally having spontaneous spasms, endless headaches along with constantly being in a state of confusion and debility. At some point he would become too weak to stand, that was a general fact, and when that was found out he would most likely be unchained from the wall, but he couldn't wait until he was that weak to escape.

      Any attempts to get the shackles off fell flat, either due to their sheer strength or possibly due to how weak he had become. He could envision Alfred in his situation, he would be so terrified even more than he is in these moments. No, he couldn't think of that wretched person having what he wanted. His plans would falter because Alfred would never allow them to be separated, if not Alfred then Arthur would have no hearing of it. He just had to hope that his beloved was alright, what he would do for any part of him outside of the memories and his wedding band. His heart clenched in it's cavity and his eye's watered.

     Four days, four days has been all he could figure and already was it managing to take such a toll on him to be away from the other. Had he always been this dependent or was his mind breaking not only under the pressure but from having his life ripped away, he would sound like a child if he wanted Alfred, but he couldn't lie to himself. Even the smallest presence, any inkling that the other was near, he cut himself off, if Alfred was near that prick would get what he wanted. He had to remain unassailable, nothing would slip past or in. He wasn't going to be tricked into revealing anything about Alfred, his Kingdom, or even his past. All the other knew was his title and current physical state.

      Yanking his arm he felt something give, permitting a small grin as he yanked once again. The feeling's washing over him were breathtaking as his finger's wrapped around where his wrist once was, yanking his right he found restraint in that one before yanking harder. A wave of reeling coming over him, not now he begged, yanking harder until he fell down to the floor, hitting it with enough force to know bruises would form, and his breath to be snatched in a wistful hand. Black began spotting his vision, making it nearly nonviable to distinguish one thing from another, a tornado running in his head, pounding on his forehead, wrecking havoc as he lost the ability to form coherent thoughts.

      The last thing he made was a pair of black shoes, with a laugh erupting through his ears. But his last thought promised more, because he knew that he was closer to achieving his plans and returning to his husband.