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1
Kai
My hand flirts with the shimmering wall of my prison, not touching it but fucking wanting to. Only I know what will happen the moment it makes contact with my flesh. It’ll burn like a motherfucker.
How could she do this? Yes, I put her in a similar position when I marked her, but I truly didn’t know about the repercussions of the spell. There was only one thought running through my mind and that was to keep her safe. I would’ve removed the mark the moment I got Luri to safety. There was no way of knowing that it’d drive her mad… Mad enough to cut the damn thing out.
This though? This doesn’t compare. Not only has she locked me in this damn prison world, but the lords, their wives, and most of the castle staff as well. There’s hardly enough food to last us for more than a couple of days, and unless the flowers in this remaining sliver of the royal garden are edible, we’ll be shit out of luck when the rations are gone.
I can’t die from lack of nutrition, but it doesn’t mean I won’t want to should we run out. And besides me, no one within the castle’s stone walls is immortal. They’ll starve and this beautiful courtyard will become a haunting reminder of just how far Alice went to save Finn. I can’t let that happen… She might believe she’s doing the right thing, but that much innocent blood on her hands will destroy her.
Did she account for that? I doubt it. Alice is many things, but she’s not one to blindly hurt people. She just has a habit of trying to do the right thing without thinking it through fully. Not that I’m better…
My fingers skim too close and the barrier zaps my pinky. I jerk it away with a hiss. Conveniently, it’s the exact same boundary that I left her with. She gave me the same space just to spite me. I’m sure of it.
Even with the rage seeping out of every pore of my body, I can’t help but admire her spell work. It’s skilled–perfect–for someone who just got access to their power and magic a year ago. It’d take a normal witch centuries to cast something as powerful as this, yet she did it without pause. I don’t know what’s more infuriating… The fact she managed to weave together this fucking prison without me knowing, or that the magic is woven so tightly that not even I can break it.
Following the initial shock of being betrayed, I’ve been testing it nonstop. Not once has it bent or showed a single sign that my efforts have weakened it. Prison worlds are my father’s forte. I know he helped her–which is ironic, since she supposedly locked me in here to buy me time to overthrow him–but over the years, I’ve learned how they tick. And those built within the confines of objects are breakable, or should be. Only she’s managed to do somethingdifferent.
I just wish I knew what.
Looking over my carnage and weaving through the remnants of magic bombs, singed grass, and cratered earth, the vast realization that I’m running out of options weighs heavily on my chest. Not to mention the prickling beneath my skin that comes when Alice puts herself in harm’s way. I suppose I can thank the fates for that, considering our parents bound us in their wicked ribbons, demanding I protect Alice at all costs. At least now, I have an explanation as to why I feel so compelled.
With a quick motion, I stoop to grab the battle ax I left on the ground and lift it up, arching the curved blade over my shoulder.One more time…Swiping at the wet shine of sweat dripping down my bare chest, I huff out the air in my lungs, ready to give it my all.
I slam the ax over and over, feeling the vibrations of the impact radiate up the handle, ebbing through my bones. The boundary blisters and hazy colors splinter out across the surface, but the moment I stop, they fade. It’s as if it was never touched.
Heat flares inside my chest as I grit my teeth. “Gah!” I yell, tossing the ax into the rose bushes of the garden and kicking at the debris littering the ground. “That’s fuckingit!”Balling my fists, I snatch Finn’s bottle of whiskey from where it sits in the grass and storm back toward the castle.
The moment I’m inside, I’m met with wide eyes, and the staff scurries out of the way. At this point, I’m sure they believe I’m more of a threat to myself than them, but I’m not sure I care much if they tremble in my presence. I’ve lived my entire life striving to be the king they deserve and look what that’s gotten me. There’s no more Mr. People Pleaser. From here on out, I’m not hiding my anger, and I won’t fix my crown when it slips.
I throw open the doors to the library and stalk through the shelves toward the back, where the archives and magical objects are held. My feet don’t stop until I’m face-to-face with the one object that’s supposed to be able to cut through anything. What’s left of the Grim Reaper’s scythe.
It’s been fastened into a dagger and coated with the deadliest poison known in Hell, or in any realm, for that matter. A mortal victim will succumb to its magic in moments, and someone like me would die in days. It won’t kill an immortal permanently, but it will certainly do some damage should the blade nick my skin.
Bringing the whiskey bottle to my lips, I take a deep swig, replacing the cork and shoving it into the pocket of my sweatpants.
Here the fuck we go…If this won’t break through the watch, nothing will. Gripping the leather bound hilt, I examine the blade, the serrated teeth, the curved sharp tip.This better work, for both mine and Alice’s sake.
2
Alice
As if being my mortal enemy wasn’t enough, Asmo fucking lied. Why? I don’t know.
Maybe he wanted me to rush into the unknown, hoping my need for haste would lead to me making a mistake. He likely wanted me to drop my guard, but that won’t happen. Not when I’m surrounded by danger, not when death lurks within every nook and cranny of this forgotten land.
The piece of fabric burning near my feet is proof that I can’t trust a single word that comes out of Asmo’s mouth. Not that I truly thought I could.
Finn thought it would be cute to add a ‘Made With Love’ tag on the inside of my boot. He helped me get them commissioned, since mine–my mothers–were quickly wearing out with all of our sparring and had asked the craftsman to add the sewn tag on the inside of the tongue. It’s just a simple piece of fabric with what’s left of his marker handwriting, but it was enough for me to do a spell.
Honestly, I’m not sure how accurate it is, but with every minute it burns, it means he has a day to live and it’s been burning for at least five, based on the watch around my neck.
If Finn was set to be executed in two days’ time–like Asmo said–it would’ve burned to ash already. I stomp it out, pocketing the fabric that doesn’t even look like it’s been touched.
“Well? Are you going to share with the class or…?”
“Finn has at least a couple of days. There’s no need to throw caution to the wind just yet.”
