(The plague part made me laugh not gonna lie)

The guard had thrown her head up so fast it nearly gave him whiplash. Nilo had instantly recoiled, eyes wide with what could only be described as a healthy dose of fear. But she had calmed as quickly as she had seemingly angered. Perhaps he had misread her? Whatever the case, he just quietly followed her out of the stables, nodding as she decided on their destination.

But before he could grow too deep in thought, his companion shot off, taking the field as if it were her own. And it was. In that moment, that plain belonged to her. Not to him, not to the kingdom, but to the girl who wanted nothing more than freedom. Nilotrailed some distance behind, giving her space. It was the first time the prince had seen a smile float across her usually stony appearance. He figured he should enjoy her good mood while it lasted, considering she would probably soon be snapping at him again.

Nilo knew he didn’t have to put up with her attitude and that he could be making her life so much worse. He could be rude, or belligerent. Nilo could drag her everywhere, make her do the damndest of things. But he didn’t do that. He wouldn’t do that. He may be prince, who’s entire life was lived from a place of privilege, but he was no monster. So, when she narrowed her eyes at him, clearly wishing he would disappear, Nilo just grinned back. He slowed Wicke down as his guard slowed hers, still trying to maintain a distance between them. Nilo felt like he was walking on eggshells around her, and always crushing them because he wasn’t careful enough.

Nilo sighed, and tilted his head towards the sky, gently turning his horse into a different direction, meandering off towards a different end of the field. Not too far enough to where Gennadius would have to pursue him, but enough so she could continue her race against the wind. Wicke moved with an almost volant grace beneath him, although not moving as fast as Gennadius’s stallion, she held her own, taking on the field like it was a challenge, and Nilo let her. He chuckled lightly at his steeds almost “teenage” attitude, letting her run her course while he admired the signs of a coming winter that embellished the plain.

Nilo let out a laugh as the dark stallion showed off, proving himself to be quite the personality. Magistrate had reared once he had pulled up beside Wicke. The horse was definitely a wild one indeed. But even so, Gennadius seemed unphased, allowing him to have his way. Nilo assumed it was just how the two worked, Magistrate being a somewhat obnoxious child, and Gennadius being sort of like a mother to the steed.

When Gennadius complimented him, he was slightly stunned. Perhaps her hate was simmering into a general dislike? Whatever the case, he would take it. “Thank you, although I’m sure you have more experience on me,” Nilo responded, “And yes, I agree, we should probably head back soon.” Wicke had calmed with the beginning of the setting sun, most energy spent. He would have to take her out more, it was unhealthy for her to just be kept in a pen for the rest of her life. He ran a hand through her tangled mane, noticing that her outward appearance had been on a downward style, due to inconsistent grooming.

Lifting his head, he glanced over to where Gennadius was having a momentary struggle with her steed. Nilo moved his mare over there to offer assistance but, with practiced perfection that only suggested this was normal, she had quickly calmed the fiery stallion. When he reached her, she spoke, “I’m going to walk him back.” In response, Nilo had simply shrugged and dismounted as well, tossing the rope reins over the top of Wicke’s head, leading the mare behind his guard and her own horse.

The sky now flamed with a magnificent orange glow, tinting the land a golden color beneath its rays. Nilo sighed, stroking Wicke’s dappled neck, a quiet hum escaping his lips as the navigated the wood. For once, he had spent a day experiencing freedom. Not that he hated being a prince, but he definitely liked to have fun. Usually his days consisted of reading a book within his room, or helping out the castle staff with their work. It was just things to keep him busy, a way to distract him from his broken family, who was still yet to mend.

“So, was your horse a wild capture? He has much more life to him than the majority of our horses.” Nilo inquired, breaking the silence. He gazed at the pair in front of him, a dark-minded girl with an even darker steed. It was quite fitting.

(When they get to the castle, do we just want to timeskip through dinner?)

Midnight had long passed. A silver moon shone within the sky, basking the kingdom in her silver glow. Stars sparkled in the sky beside her, spending their limited nighttime dancing above the land for all to see, so that anyone one up that late could stop and admire their beauty. Even so, the features of night were humble, as they chose the time when most of the world was asleep to demonstrate their magnificence, as if self-conscious. The sun chose to consume the sky as long as he possibly could, wanting all the attention he could possibly grasp, before fading in an extraordinary blaze of glory, an explosion of color if you will. He was egotistical, with a constant need for validation from the world below him, while the moon needed no praise, so she allowed the sun to take his time, because she would be fine without it.

Nilo was no stranger to night. He had long since passed the phase of getting used to darkness and its gray-scale appearance. The prince struggled to sleep. He spent his nights in an endless cycle of traumatic memories and self-hatred. Only rarely did the night reward him with decent sleep, allowing him to escape from the thoughts he so loathed for a few hours. In the beginning, he tried to avoid sleep by spending his nights out, stargazing, or frequenting taverns. But as time passed, his desperation for rest grew, and he began risking the realm of sleep more often. But almost every time he tried, he awoke a disaster, with his conscious seemingly shredded.

Tonight was once again, one of those nights. Nilo awoke in distress, throwing his covers off of him as he felt overheated. His eyes were cloudy and unfocused. Rapid-fire murmurs escaped his lips, most of it was unintelligible, but one thing could be heard clear as day, and it was “Castor”.

Hands buried in his dark russet hair, he sat at the edge of his bed, moonlight seeping in from the parted curtain of his balcony, illuminating his pale form. Sweat sparkled on his back, and his shoulders were so tensed that it seemed painful.

“This is it! I’ve had it Castor, I gave you a chance, and now that thing of yours went on a massacre. How are you going to cover that up Castor, huh? You idiot! People are dead, yet you still protect him!”

“Nilo, he was just protecting himself. He doesn’t know. Please Nilo, I’ll fix this.”

“This ends now Castor, I am done playing your sick game with this monster”

“STOP CALLING HIM THAT!”

The sound of a vase shattering filled the room. Porcelain shards were embedded in Nilo’s hands as he smashed the artifact that was worth more than a village. He let out a cry that was laced with pain and frustration. This was going too far. How many more nights could he not sleep? How many more nights was he supposed to relive the fights with his dead brother? How many more nights would he have to see him dead or dying in his dreams?

Cold. Painful. Torturing. Those were the only words Nilo could use to describe the nightmare that his mind had become. Every night, the same arguments that lead into the brutal scene of Castors death. Nilo flipped a end table, sending more items to the floor with a crash. Several of the bashed into his feet, but at this point, he couldn’t care. Another strangled call escaped his lips. I can’t live like this. His eyes landed on the covered statue of a knight that he had long ago covered with a sheet. It was one of the only decorations he had left in his room, besides a wardrobe. Nilo had been meaning to get rid of it, but now, he had never been more grateful of its existence.

That was all it took for his mind to form a gruesome plan. The statue itself had no use, but what it was holding did. A sword. He removed it from the statues steel plated hand, relishing its weight in his clammy fingers. Finally… finally. A sick smile ghosted his lips. The prince held the key to freedom in his hands. The nightmares would be over. The self-hatred would fade. The memories would disappear. Nilo didn’t even deserve his princely title. Sure the kingdom would grieve, but they would be better off without him, right?

Nilo had expected pain. He had wanted pain. But within a moment, the weight of the blade had left is fingers, and he heard it clatter on the tile beneath him. He hadn’t even felt it cut him. Everything was still too hazy. For a moment, Nilo believed he had dropped the blade, and began to reach out to pick it up, but as soon as his eyes opened, he was met with his rough, golden-locked guard. Except in that moment, she didn’t look rough, but soft. Her eyes held sadness as she gazed at him, and gone was girl who looked as if she wanted to snap him in half.

“What were you thinking?!”

Her hoarse cry rang in his ears, causing him to flinch. But almost instantly, sympathy laced her voice, and he watched as one of her small hands reached out for him. Nilo grabbed it gently, and placed it back at her side, before wrapping his arms around himself. He watched her for a moment, unsure of what to say, or how to explain himself. Nilo bit his lip, watching her with eyes filled with tears that threatened to fall.

His eyes examined her figure as he desperately searched for something to say. Her curls poured over her slender shoulders, and her sheath drooped over to the side. Nilo’s eyes moved the blade, and he saw that blood stained it, but it was too far up the blade to have been his own.

The prince’s eyes darted back to her, his blue orbs rapidly searching for the wound he knew had to exist. He ignored her comment about the small cut he had, as his eyes landed on the fist she held tightly clenched to her chest. Blood seeped out from one of the cracks in her fingers, and his hazy eyes widened. “You’re hurt.” Nilo murmured. He reached out one of his own bloody hands, but retracted it, folding it back under his other arm. Nilo was holding himself so tightly, it looked as if he might break.

“I’m sorry,” Nilo apologized, “You’re bleeding…” His eyes remained focused on her injured hand. Nilo still hadn’t met her eyes, as he feared what he might see within them. Nilo turned away, his bare back now facing her, as well as the nasty scar that decorated it. It ran diagonally from his left shoulder down to his chiseled hip, and was over two inches wide. It was ugly and ragged, just like the situation the two of them were left in.

For the first time, he lifted his head, but it wasn’t to look back at her, it was to look out at his balcony, where the night’s breeze had parted the ornate curtains. Part of his mind told him to run for the balcony, to throw himself off of it before she could catch him. I can’t. I won’t. Sense, although splotchy, was seeping back in through a small crack in his mind. She would be executed on my behalf.

Nilo had heard the almost silent pad of her feet as she exited the room, and immediately he wanted to call her back. The two of them may have been merely acquaintances and even though she had spent her day hating his existence, he did not want to be alone. Nilo needed a distraction. Tonight, he had allowed things to go much farther than they had ever gone before, and the thought terrified him. What if the next time something like that happened, she wasn’t there to drag him back to his senses? What if next time he managed to get the blade into his chest? Nilo wanted his seemingly endless pain to end, but he knew that taking his life was not the answer.

The broken prince almost sighed in relief at the soft sounds of her re-enter. Nilo still had not turned to face her, still afraid, but it seemed as if Gennadius would not allow that. She had slipped around in front of him, bringing a wet rag to his chest. Nilo initially flinched at her touch, shocked at the contact, but let her continue. The wound needed to be clean, and Nilo wouldn’t have done it himself.

Nilo squeezed his eyes shut, willing the tears go away. You need to calm yourself. She’s already seen too much. He bit his lip yet again, nearly drawing blood, and forced his shoulders to stay put. He just nodded at what she told him, not even fully comprehending her words. Nilo took a few shuddering breaths, and reopened his eyes, having stopped the tears from falling. He directed his anguished gaze down to where she wiped at his small wound, still not daring to meet her eyes.

A small part of him thought he would see anger. But most of him knew he would see concern, or sympathy even. Her words had been too soft for anger, and that scared him the most. Nilo knew that if he saw her looking at him like that he would completely break. He knew something like that shouldn’t phase him, but he knew that would make the situation all the more real. Nilo wanted to hide from it. But hiding is what got you here Aslan.

He forced himself to look up, meeting her eyes for the first time since she had barreled into his room, saving him from doing the unthinkable. They were sorrowful and gentle, looking at him like he was someone who deserved to be saved, instead of the lifeless piece of garbage he believed himself to be. Tears once again threatened to spill. Nilo gritted his teeth. Not again.

“That was selfish of me. They would have killed you if I had…” Nilo trailed shakily before inhaling sharply, “If you hadn’t stopped me.” His voice had no hint of pity, for her or himself, but was just sad. Perhaps it was an admittance, or maybe even a fraction of an apology, but whatever it was, it was the truth. I would have dragged her down with me. The thought of her dying like that almost brought him to his knees. Nilo couldn’t fathom it.

With a trembling exhale, he pulled away from her touch, and moved quietly to the sofa in the corner of the room. It too, just like the statue, had a sheet covering it, as if it were never used. Nilo sat down, resting his elbows on his knees and burying his face in his hands. By the Gods, what a mess has this become?