𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 | 𝟏𝟖+

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 | 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋'𝐒 𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍

ততততত

𝐈 𝐌 𝐎 𝐆 𝐄 𝐍

Elena paces in front of me as a flash of lightning paints the silhouettes of us on my bedroom wall. As the storm rages outside the castle, there's a furious hurricane brewing within these walls due to my antics. Sneaking into the guest wing through the passages and planting the wasp's nest within Leighton's washing chamber was nothing but a breeze. I just hope it's a long while until he reciprocates with his punishment.

"Wasps?" Elena hisses, the hearthlight flashing against her features. "In the washing chamber? What were you thinking?"

"He just needed a reminder that he's not in control of us," I rouse.

Elena shakes her head. "He's enraged about this one, more enraged than he was about stealing his clothes. You should see how swollen he is due to the stings."

I cover my mouth, stifling a sharp laugh.

"Stop laughing," she jeers, but even I catch the humoured smirk perching at the edges of her lips. "The healers and doctors are trying their best to reduce the swelling, considering he can't see out of his left eye."

"He deserved it."

"Just prepare for another conversation with your father tomorrow, okay?" she raises her brows. "He sent me to talk some sense into you, and to warn you that he's not impressed."

Curiosity gets the best of me. "Where else did he get stung?"

"Princess," she warns, but the grin that now spreads across her cheeks tells me that there are plenty of more stings than just his left eye.

Elena leaves me be as she shuts the door to my bedroom. It's here, when the sun dips below the horizon and night begins, that I let my mind wander into a world so far away from this one.

Thunder booms, and the walls shudder at the heaven's obedient roar, and I lay myself on the quilts of my bed. There's intricate designs on my cathedral ceilings, ancient markings placed there long ago by my ancestors. Tobin and I have laid here, both of our gazes locked on the artwork above. Although, his gaze would always fall like stars from the sky and land upon me, his moonbeam. When it was my turn for mine to fall, I'd met the kind brown of his irises, the golden flecks twinkling like constellations.

I imagine tracing the slope of his nose, charting out hidden scars that etch into his olive tanned skin. When my fingertips brush against those kissable lips, they'd curve into a bashful coy smirk. It's strange to think that long ago, he wore a mask to seal his identity, a disguise to hide his breathtaking features and scars.

Stop. Tobin is gone. He's not coming back to this bedroom.

I rise from my bed, unlacing the ribbons of my dress so I can slip into my night clothes. It's an attempt to distract myself from the unmasked thief, and yet my mind still yearns for him. You would think I'd have gotten over him after three weeks, but I still wait for him to knock on my balcony door, to add lumber to the hearth to keep it burning into the depths of the night.

A flash of lightning illuminates the room, dancing off the vanity mirror. In the reflection of the glass, a shadowed figure climbs onto my balcony without a sound or a trace, almost unnoticed if it weren't for the storm. Thunder shakes every dusted surface with one booming roar, followed by another flash of lightning igniting a pair of kind brown eyes. His rain saturated tunic clings against tight muscles, his cowlick matted against his forehead. His knuckles hold the hilt of his sword, the veins in his hand prominent from his strength.