𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 | 𝟏𝟖+

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐄𝐄 | 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐓 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄

ততততত

𝐈 𝐌 𝐎 𝐆 𝐄 𝐍

Tobin steps onto my balcony, his expression speaking all the words his voice can't. He's come to meet Ruslan, to come face to face with the prince he betrayed. There's still a lingering ache inside of me for what he's done. Before, I felt as if the world wasn't falling apart, because he was the glue that held it together. Now, he's the one that shredded it.

Unlike before, there's nothing between us that could ever speak of love. I'm simply here to fulfill his request, and that's all—no matter how difficult it is for me, considering I've grown accustomed to Tobin.

In the dead of the night, we slip through the castle passageways. Getting into my father's private garden isn't exactly the easiest task for a thief, but Tobin isn't alone. I guide him through the castle until we're sneaking through walls and halls. Somewhere through the darkness, I take his hand in mind, morphing our palms together. I squeeze his clasp tightly within mine, just yearning to hold on for a second longer. He strengthens our hold until we reach the light, and I let go.

The smell of white orchids consumes us as we enter the empty garden. The full moon looms above us, a timer ticking as it treads towards the horizon for dawn.

Tobin's kind eyes gaze at the magical gardens around him. White orchids brush against his fingertips as he walks, his boots not daring to tramp down any of the growth. It's as if the sea of blooming white flora parts for me, as they are no stranger to my presence. I glance over my shoulder. Tobin remains still in awe of how the moonlight captures each orchid petal, of how ethereal this place has become.

He lifts his eyes to meet mine. "You've never shown me this place."

"There's a reason for that. No one's supposed to enter but my father and I," I glance up at the towering cherry tree overhanging the center of the garden. "And perhaps maybe a petty thief?"

His lips smirk at this, just slightly, before he follows me to the foot of the tree. There, we stand before two gravestones: one belonging to my mother, and the other to Ruslan, her beloved son.

Tobin stands beside me as a stronghold I can lean against to brace myself.

"Tobin, this is Ruslan," I whisper, reading his name over and over again in my head: Ruslan Marius Navarro Mironescu. "Ruslan, this is Tobin."

Silence, but a warm breeze wraps itself around us. The leaves of the cherry tree rustle against one another, as if the sound was a subtle 'hello' from the dead. He's here. The phantom of my brother fills this courtyard, and although we can't see or hear him, I can feel him. I wonder if Tobin senses Ruslan's presence too.

He must feel something as his eyes widen. He stares fiercely at the grave, then lowers himself to one knee, bowing before the lost prince of Lagulon.

"My prince," he mutters under his breath, his voice a gravelly low.

He remains on his knees as another slight gust brushes against the locks of his hair, his cowlick dancing in delight. The breeze ends, and once again, the earth stands still. Tobin rises and returns to my side, slipping his hand between mine.

"Tell me about him," Tobin whispers. "I bet he was supposed to be king, right?"

"It wasn't like that," my voice chokes, and the tears come as I begin the tale of Ruslan. "He would never be king."

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐒 𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐄𝐑