𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 | 𝟏𝟖+

𝐓𝐄𝐍 | 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓

ততততত

𝐈 𝐌 𝐎 𝐆 𝐄 𝐍

Dread encapsulates every inch of my skin. Today, King Leighton of Adorid arrives to the castle, demanding a feast from us to seal our betrothal. I try to think of the event in its simplest form: a dinner with a man who happens to be a cruel king. After all, that's all this truly is.

Yet, I fear that tonight, I will reach my demise and shatter completely in order to comply to his will.

A knock on the door breaks my serenity. "Good morning, duckling! Can I come in?"

Duckling. It's my father.

A beam of morning light falls across the bed, touching the skin of my bare arms, and dancing over the taut biceps laced around my waist—

Oh gods.

I spin my body around, only to come face-to-face with a sleeping Tobin. His cheeks smoosh into the pillow, his chestnut brown hair strewn in a series of adorable untamable cowlicks. Tobin has always left before dawn. Always.

He can't escape the castle during daylight.

"Imogen?" my father prods with another knock.

"Coming!" I croak, then swat a palm across Tobin's cheek.

He jostles awake, his tired face knitting into a cute scowl. "What the—" I shut him up with a finger to the lips.

"What the hell are you still doing here?" I hiss. "Get your boots on and get in the closet! Now!"

He hesitates, but another rampant knocking from my father acts like a kick to the ass. He needs to disappear from sight, and the only safe place within my room is to go through the hidden door in the closet and into the castle passageways.

Tobin is light on his feet as he stumbles across the room, frantically lacing up boots as I belt the scabbard to his hip. If my father swung open the door, he'd certainly interrogate me with questions at the sight of us.

Tobin releases a frustrated grunt. "Who the fuck—?"

I pull on the scabbard, causing him to groan. My fingers accidentally slip lower against his pelvic region. Oh gods. I retract my fingers as if they were scorched by fire before apologetically meeting those darkening brown eyes. Now, I see there's no need for an apology. The golden flint trapped in his irises twinkles like the heavens, and his cheeks flare with a slight rosy blush.

I return to fixing the belt for his sword.

"My father's here," I seethe in a soft whisper. "The last person you want to be caught by."

"And you want me to hide in the closet?"

I tug on the scabbard belt, jostling an oomf from Tobin as he finishes with his boots. "Go in the closet and slip into the passages," I chide. "I'll meet you down there once he leaves, but don't do anything stupid."

He smiles that bloody mischievous grin. "I'm always doing something stupid."

"Imogen?" My father. My relentless adoring father. "Are you alright?"

I push Tobin towards the closet, and yet it still doesn't knock that goofy blood-warming smirk from his mouth. He loves this—this chaos spiraling out of control because of him. Even he can't contain his silent laughter as the fabric of bodices and skirts encase him in the closet.

"Stay hidden," I order.

Then I slam the closet door.

I rush over to my bedroom door, clearly bothered, flustered, and troubled. I hope my father excuses it for nerves, when it's really due to a petty thief and his extended stay.