Goodness,
not even in her wildest dreams did Irene imagine herself lying on a floor,
the iron wrought chandelier hung above her, its flicking candles painted the ceiling above it in an unearthly glow.
The floor's cold sensation felt as if God's hand slowly graced her back.
She heaved out a heavy breath, each muscle of her body seemed to be at the brink of death, even the slightest moment felt like it would break her fragile bones.
Alexander, that prick.
Irene cursed at Alexander and his punishments, and cursed Ella for starting it all, had she not been there Theodore wouldn't have ogled at her like she was an angel descended straight from the gardens of heavens.
Her hair was spread all over,
Her eyes were closed shut,
And her white floral gown was laid out like flakes of snow blanketing the muddy ground.
The door creaked, it made her jolt slightly though her eyes remained shut as before, light footsteps padded the marble floor,
there were only very few who could enter her room without her permission.
"And you are dead I presume?"
Emmett.
If Theodore's voice was strong and gravelly, Emmett's was sweet like honey, a singers voice, tuneful and soothing,
Irene hadn't twitched a muscle or moved her arms, she looked like she was sleeping but to Emmett, she looked like his salvation.
A sanctuary where he could stroll whenever his heart and mind felt uneasy.
He stood by the door, his eyes scanned her petite frame as he waited for an answer.
Emmett would have stayed longer though, admiring her paradise-touched features and her doll-like frame,
If she hadn't looked so pale and still, that is.
"God! Are you really dead?"
A look of worry and panic flashed by his eyes, he rushed over to her; his knees sank above her head as his hand traveled to touch her cheeks.
"No Emmett, I am very much alive. Do you think I'll let Ella get lucky so soon?" Princess Irene's eyes remained shut, but her voice firm. In their proximity, he noticed the faint smudges peppered beneath her eyes.
Dark circles.
Was she waking up nights worrying about a commoner?
"At least I don't hear Ella's mourns reaching all the way to my room."
To that Irene's eyes burst open as she intensely glared at Emmett, who returned with a smirk of his own.
"You can't be pointing me out for being loud, have you heard that commoner shout? She sounds like a hungry elephant." she snapped back
He noticed that the slightest mention of Ella erupted a war within Irene.
She never held back,
Irene made sure her nemesis knew of the extent of hate she had for them.
To Emmett, it was both admirable and childish.
It did make her look a tad bit bold but at the same time, it made Irene an easy target to be picked upon.
"Give the girl a break, Irene." His hand now found a place on her temple, slowly he rubbed her forehead in circles in an attempt to ease out the expressions of annoyance that took over her.
Irene closed her eyes back, her hands rested on her stomach, and she made herself comfortable on the floor again, seeming to sleep.
"My, my, Your Highness you should consider a change in careers, perhaps I could hire you as my personal masseur."
Emmett snorted with laughter as Irene giggled; her smile didn't fade the next few minutes as they sat in silence.
A cozy, warm, and pleasant silence, one which they both enjoyed.
"Do you remember when we were young?" I'd get in trouble and you always ended up massaging my head."
Irene peered at Emmett who twinkled at the mention of their past.
The little memory had made him grin.
"Ah, of course, little Irene stealing sweets from Theo and hiding them behind her back."
It was a clear image in his mind, a dainty girl with a fierce expression like that of a lioness,
his brother Theo and Irene had fought a lot on sweets back then, it always ended up with Alex punishing them.
The thought of Alexander had him snicker,
That man hadn't changed by the slightest bit.
Emmett plumped himself on the floor, next to Irene. He lifted his fingers from Irene's temple and used them to brush his jet black locks to the side.
The recollection of his childhood pulled him in a daze.
They went way back.
Him, Theo, Irene, and Alexander.
The two Empires, Mubeven and Dalia were in a very prosperous relation years ago and so were Irene's father King Ernest, and his own father King Brice.
He and Theo used to visit the Dalia Empire a lot, along with their parents.
Sometimes for lovely dinners, other times to discuss politics.
But that was everything the adults would do,
The little them years ago were just sweet, goofy, adorable children.
Busy chasing down each other during the tag game,
Busy in wrestling each other to find out which one of them was the strongest,
Busy in trying to balance themselves on their tiptoes to appear the tallest of them all.
The present still had them busy though, not in their quirky, foolish childhood games.
But in their toxic, ruinous games for power.
Busy in chasing down each other to get the throne,
Busy in wrestling each other to find out which one of them was the weakest, a ruthless attempt to eliminate all the worn-out candidates lined up for the throne.
Busy in trying to balance themselves on their tiptoes to appear the tallest and fearsome of them all.
Emmett inhaled deeply,
He wished he could go back to the good old days.
Back when he could care less of what the Kingdoms or its people expected of the Royal off-springs.
"And what might you be hiding behind your back Emmy?" Irene questioned.
Her feminine and melodic voice tugged him back to reality, his smile widened
"Quick and observant as always, I see."
He was careful to not show her the white lily he had plucked from his own pots for her,
His cheeks burned scarlet as blood rushed to them, he angled it by her head to see. The sunlight brightened the hue of its petals, its veins intricating patterns that flourished its beauty.
"These bloomed beautifully, thought I'd bring you one."
White lilies.
He had lots of them tucked by his window,
Right, where the sun rays could get to them,
Or where the rain could shower them,
If Romeo used love letters, intimating gestures, and affectionate stares to express his love for Juliet,
Emmett used white lily flowers.
Every petal, thorn, and leaf of that plant reminded him of her.
She could be as bewitching as the white and smooth petal.
And sometimes as hurtful and sharp as the pointy thorns, especially when she had rejected his love time and again.
He placed the flower by her ear, slowly brushing her strands with it.
Irene flashed recognition as if she had seen the flower somewhere before, her eyes traveled to the windows by her far-right and Emmett followed suit,
between all the silk curtains and excessive gold decoration, there was a large pot intertwined in patterns of copper and silver; within it sat dozens of white lilies, unlike the ones in Emmett room.
Hers was way richer in its shades and far fresher then the one is his hand as well.
"Is it the growing season? I've seen them sprouting in everyone's rooms."
Irene raised her brows, her lip stuck between her teeth in doubt.
Emmett did not reply, his focus was solely on the lilies by her window, his cheeks tinted again, not because of Irene,
not because he felt nervous or embarrassed,
but angry,
So very angry.
The rage scattered through his mind and body.
Every time he tried so desperately,
And each time his efforts to impress her remained futile.
The disappointment he felt at the moment turned stronger than the love he harbored for her.
"Emmett?" she called upon him,
Irene straightened her back as she pulled herself in a sitting position beside him; her hair was in need of severe combing, the lily he placed by her ear was tangled between her inky strands.
Irene looked back at the flowers;
it was confusing, these lilies weren't the type to grow in such conditions nor did she recall ever watering them.
Hell, she forgot they even existed.
Had someone been coming into her room?
Irene shook her head and shrugged, she tried to shove out the thoughts as she took Emmet's hand, lifting both off the floor, and walked towards the sofa.
She flopped down herself, apathetic of her appearance, her hands folding atop her eyes in an unladylike manner, her thoughts nor her mind were in order.
A long sigh escaped her mouth.
"Alexander thinks you've gotten extremely grumpy these past few days," Emmet said after he sat, his eyes glued to his boots as he placed his elbows on his knees.
Irene clucked; everyone was exhausted anyway.
"Yes, I know. Things aren't good for me since it is "that" time of the year again." her voice laced in bitterness and sadness made Emmett's heart sink a bit.
His hands ruffled through his hair, trying to muster the strength for his next words.
"I know, it gets especially hard for you but-" his voice was rough, his cheeks burned.
He gripped her hands,
"-Remember I am with you and I'll always be with you."
Irene smiled, keeping her hands in his.
"Of course Emmy, we made a promise after all."
She rested her head on a pillow, how long had it passed?
Behind the window's glass panels the stars glinted like diamonds in the sky, the sun had bled out fainting into empty black,
It was night time already,
how boring.
The candles within her room enlightened an artistic piece, a painting, hanging by the wall directly in front of her, an illustration of the previous kings and queens, the first rulers of Dalia. Though what attracted her wasn't the painting or the story but what was hidden underneath it,
a white-capped bottle; a bottle of ointment, to be precise.
Exactly like the one she had sneaked in Ella's room.
Irene's eyes remained fixated on the container of medicine.
Her mind drifted to that stormy night she had met Ella months ago,
The thunderstorm on that chaotic night never bothered Irene, she had rather enjoyed the trickle down her face.
Fully cloaked; she kept her hood up, concealing her features.
The back gates of the Palace were open as usual, guards lacking in their duties, but it made her escape easier.
The escape she had so religiously made every night.
The muddy route and all the streets she'd cross were engraved inside her brain.
She walked down her regular path; it was five miles away from there, her footsteps were light and almost inaudible, a trick she had learned from Theo.
She prepared a little speech for "her" like always,
For the woman, she'd slip out of the palace to meet every night.
Each line she had memorized and recited in her heart several times.
She gripped the paper that had her speech carved in it, within the folds of her pocket.
Maybe she should have gotten some flowers too,
her hand traced the walls, smog and dust clogged her lungs; typical Dalia weather.
Her steps started to slow as her thoughts raced, each memory of "her" was precious, tears picked Irene's eyes but she held them back,
I'm going to be strong, I need to be strong.
This was her mantra, her motto, her catchphrase.
These were the words she had lived by each and every day.
Chanting them in her brain every night before she went to bed,
Or every day in the morning before she even opened her eyes.
"Oi, who goes there?"
Someone called out from behind her,
It was a blaring and manly voice,
without a thought Irene had made a mistake, a huge mistake; she whirled to see who it was and her cloak fell,
the moonlight shone revealing her face.
She froze.
Shit.
The beady-eyed man latched on her which caused Irene to jump,
she shrieked,
And bent to cower down, a vain attempt to flee from the man's grasp.
It caused Irene to fall over instead, the heavy fall made her thump on the ground and it pushed the hard, rocky stones within her, her mouth clenched shut from the pain.
The man had towered over her now, slowly he leaned right over her; his hands and knees pinning Irene there yet she made no sound.
But the man certainly did, he yelled out names,
Calling out his accomplices.
The patter of feet approaching her made Irene's stomach reach her heart.
Could she have blamed the angry mob though?
Irene had heard about the civilians of Dalia living in unhappy and miserable conditions.
The Empire was financially unstable and ever since her father came to power,
things had only worsened and the townspeople's anger?
Skyrocketed.
The route she'd always take was on the bad side of the Empire, choked with revolutionists and rebels, and wherever they'd see a Royal they'd try to kill them.
She knew she could fall victim to these people's vexation someday, but tonight she had least expected it.
Her ears felt numb, cutting off all sounds, she could only listen to her whines forcing her to think.
Think, Irene. Think.
"It's our pretty little princess." The man held a grin, his brightly yellow, crooked teeth, and his smoker's scent made her gag.
The man let go of one of her hands; catching it in the other, his hand traveled down, reaching for something.
Irene stuttered a shaky breath,
bile sat by her throat.
He brought what he was reaching for to the surface,
its peak glinted beneath the moonlight.
A knife.
Of Course, it had to be a bloody knife.
Irene resisted with all her strength, she wiggled under his brawny grasp with any bits of will or power left within her.
No progress.
Though within the sound of her own cries and whimpers in her ears,
she heard another voice,
Theodore's voice.
*if someone pins you with one hand, that means he's weak, wrench it out and break his nose*
Theodore had taught Irene a lot of things in their childhood,
How to be strong,
How to fight for her right,
How to move on,
And how to defend herself was also one of them.
A small smile of relief and comfort waltzed on Irene's lips.
That day was one of the many reasons she thanked God for Bringing Theo in her life.
Mustering all her might; she forced out her hand, grabbed and pushed his knife aside, then slammed her face into his.
Stars danced above her eyes and a screeching headache took over her,
quickly gaining back her momentum, she twisted out of his grip.
But amid her swift break out, the knife ended up slashing deep within her arm,
she wailed and bit her tongue to withstand the suffering.
Hurriedly scurrying to her feet she used her right hand to strangle her left arm,
and ran for her life.
Surroundings blurred as she dashed,
She sprinted until her feet gave out and knees slammed back down again, though this time it wasn't hard uneven gravel, it was fine mud.
A moan left her mouth, following a hiss, her knife-slashed arm was bleeding profusely.
Irene pulled her knees close to her chest and rested her head on it.
Nothing has ever gone right in her life.
She was a fool to think that this night would be any different.
"Are you okay?" A gentle voice questioned her,
a girl or woman Irene couldn't tell.
She ducked her head further inside her knees and tried to conceal her face.
Irene was scared she'd get recognized again and having another brawl with a severely injured arm was the last thing on her mind.
A hand gripped her shoulder, not too hard but not light either.
"Don't be an idiot. Your bleeding and I have medicine."
The girly tenderly whispered and reached out for Irene's arm.
That voice Irene would never forget, she hadn't known the girl's name or where she lived; only a glimpse of her face and her voice, occasionally ordering Irene to stand still or to be quiet.
When she bandaged up her arm, Irene spoke.
"I'll find a way to repay you."
The girl paused, her mouth pressed in a thin line, she never uttered another word.
Her eyes did not once try to meet Irene's.
She respected Irene's wish to keep her face veiled.
Irene had wanted to get her name though.
But the girl had already disappeared,
the drizzle that night turned into a storm.
And so had Irene's thoughts in the present.
She skimmed at Emmett who was still occupied at analyzing his boots.
Oh, how the fates twist and tie themselves.
And how life has a way of making two people meet, in the oddest conditions and the most unlikely circumstances
To think she would find that girl again, but not helping her this time.
But across her, standing with a sword in one hand and mission in another.
Did Ella know it was Irene she had aided that night?
Irene seized her hands into a fist.
I have completed my favor upon you commoner,
I have healed your wounds as you have healed mine.
Her brows furrowed and soft eyes turned into an intense glare.
I owe you no more, Gabriella.
All silent thoughts capped and hidden within that very bottle of ointment
Irene struck her head towards Emmet again, she noticed their hands still intertwined.
"Emmet, do you believe in destiny?"
Emmett turned his head sideways shifting his gaze between their hands and her eyes.
"I do... Why do you ask?"
Irene's attention moved towards the dark sky outside her window.
The glinting stars illuminated the otherwise dead night into a field of fine jewels.
"Because even if it's just by a little, I have started to believe in it as well."
༶•┈┈⛧┈♛ ♛┈⛧┈┈•༶
A/N: Turns out it's not just Theo and Ella who are constantly tied together but the strings of fate for the most mysterious reasons, but It's Irene and Ella who had run into each other way before the troubling boys came into the picture.