𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 | 𝟏𝟖+

𝐓𝐖𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐘-𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐄 | 𝐅𝐀𝐓𝐄'𝐒 𝐂𝐑𝐔𝐄𝐋 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈𝐂𝐄

ততততত

𝐈 𝐌 𝐎 𝐆 𝐄 𝐍

The thief calls this place home.

From the sheltering peaks of Mt. Elora that reflect off the lake's waters, to the ivy-coated structure of an old home abandoned long ago—this is the one place I know Tobin will run off to as a sanctuary.

Nephthys greets me before Tobin does, neighing loudly and trotting in my direction. I expect her to fight, to bite and nip to get me to stay away. After what Tobin did, we're no longer allies. He's chosen to side with Adorid, and I will never stray away from my own regime. Instead, Neph greets me with such fondness as she nudges me towards the homestead. I'm not sure if she's infatuated with me or my horse.

I dismount my steed to stroke Neph's mane. "Where is he?" I whisper to her.

Tobin told me once that his stallion is quite protective of him, trained to guard him like a watchdog. Yet, she senses me as no threat, as if she's unaware of the trust Tobin destroyed between us.

A fire cackles outside of the homestead, and I catch the door open. Tobin leans against the frame with a bottle of amber liquid in his hand, his shirt missing, bare foot, and his brown hair a disarray of cowlicks and curls. I notice his sword—the blade pierced into the soil and casting eerie shadows that stretch into the meadow. He's stripped his guard down in his completely foolish drunken state.

I march up towards the fire, pulling an arrow from my quiver. My fingers curl around the arrow's shaft as I prepare to jam the iron head deep into his throat.

Tobin will pay for what he's done to my family, to my kingdom, to every vein in my body.

Tobin presses the drink to his lips before I reach him, dropping the now-emptied glass bottle to the ground.

I set a hand to his chest and shove him into the stone walls of the structure. I keep him captive in my grasp, digging the sharpened point of my arrow to his throat. He gulps as I let it dig into his skin, yet not harsh enough to leave a cut. The necklace I gave him that first night dangles around his neck, a golden crescent moon etched with vines, a small reminder of what once blossomed between us as if our love were white orchids.

I expect him to fight, to taunt me.

Instead, he takes it. Those kind brown eyes are shrouded in guilt and sorrow, but also drunk beyond belief. He watches me in a strange sense of awe and pity, such admiration.

Tears swell in the rims of my eyes.. "It was you... wasn't it?"

His kind brown eyes lower their gaze, and his voice comes out in a slurred broken truth. "Yes, princess."

Those two words—yes, princess—allow me to fall apart. Yes is the one word that he needed to say to make all my suspicions and conspiracies true. Yet, he finishes off the confession with a reverent title to me: princess. He always calls me that. Rarely does this thief call me Imogen.

"Why?" I hiss out, digging the arrow deeper into his skin. He cranes his head, giving me more access to make the fatal cut. He takes it all willingly, as if he knew I'd come for him.

He stays silent, although his body drunkenly lulls to the right. I press a palm against his rib, straightening him out in my hold.

"You stole everything from me," I cry. "You wandered my castle's halls until you took every secret we had. I was stupid to reveal those passages to you, because that's how you managed to sneak around unscathed."