Scorn and Devotion

Chapter Part 5

Timothée ran his fingers over the pages of his notebook. Ever since he had made the request of his father, he had been sequestered to his room. It had never been said outright that he was not allowed to leave, but food was brought every several hours, and the door had guards posted outside of it. He didn't want to push it. If his father wanted him in his room, that was where he would stay. Anything was worth it to get his father to agree to his request.

He did not mind being in his room anyway. He had been living in a daze for the past 24 hours. He had no idea how he would approach this situation with y/n. He felt almost as if he were in a dream. Perhaps he should have been planning, but his nerves were all over the place.

He wondered how long this process would take. His father had simply said, "I will take care of it." After that, his father had told him to wait in his room. That was all he had been doing since.

He had not seen y/n except when he had watched her practice her swordplay. He wondered if she was confused about where he was. Maybe she thought he was avoiding her on purpose. He hoped that she did not think he was unhappy about what had happened. She had not come to find him, and he could not help but think maybe she was nervous.

It was odd to think of her as nervous. She was usually so bold and carefree. He had expected her to come knocking down his door and demanding they talk further. She had to know he did not regret anything that had happened.

A scream echoed through the castle halls. Timothée jumped up from his chair and leaped over his bed. He knew that voice.

"What the Hell are you doing!"

Timothée tried the knob of his door and it did not turn. He banged his fist on the door.

"Get off me!"

"Y/N!" Timothée screamed. He could barely hear himself over the cries and shouts.

"Stop!" Y/N shrieked.

"Let me out!" Timothée threw himself against the door. It was clear he would not be let out. This wasn't working, he needed another option.

He looked around his room, eyes landing on his window. Maybe there was a way down into another room that he could escape from. It would be too risky to climb the whole way down, his room was on the seventh floor.

He bounded over and looked out. The left and right of his window's ledge transformed into a parapet that went around the tower. Below the parapet was a series of corbels that lined the tower walls. It was perfect, almost like a set of stairs to a different window.

Timothée tried not to focus on y/n's screams as he hefted himself onto the window ledge. He edged himself against the wall, cursing the recent rainfall. He crouched down carefully to let himself down onto the closest corbel. He slipped down, his large feet barely fitting on the small square of stone.

He regained his balance and took a deep breath. He took a large step to the next corbel. His foot slid ever so slightly and his heart jumped into his throat. Two more precarious steps and he was in front of another window. He stepped onto the window's ledge and prayed it was unlocked.

It was! He carefully pulled one of the doors out and slipped his thin frame through. He didn't bother to look around the room or shut the window; he scrambled for the door, nearly tripping on the rug.

Timothée burst into the hallway, trying to decipher from the direction of the screams, where y/n could be. He saw broken vases and knocked-over chairs. Y/n had clearly already been dragged through this particular area.

He follows the sound of the screams, shouting y/n's name as he goes. What were they doing to her?

Timothée exploded out of the castle and finally caught sight of y/n. Two burly guards were dragging her towards a carriage that her mother was standing beside. They were already very far across the grounds, and Timothée didn't know if he could catch up, but he would be damned if he didn't try.

He pumped his legs as hard as he could. He saw that y/n was putting up a good fight. She clawed the guards, dug her heels in the ground, anything she could to stop her progress towards the carriage.

Timothée took his eyes off y/n for a second and looked at her mother. The cruel smile of satisfaction was enough to make him push himself harder.

Timothée hardly had the breath to scream her name as he saw her hands being bound, as well as her ankles. He could not let them take her!

Suddenly, the world shifted and Timothée toppled to the ground. His face plowed into the dirt and he heard his ankle crack as he fell.

"Fuck," he groaned as he raised himself up, mud clinging to his curls and skin. The castle grounds were flat, what had he tripped on? Timothée tried to raise himself up when a heavy hand landed on his shoulder.

"Son," the king was there, stopping him from moving.

"Dad, what are they doing? They have to let her go, they're hurting her," Timothée said, trying to struggle to his feet again. His ankle gave way underneath him.

"She is going to The Accomplished Ladies Academy," he explained plainly.

"What? Why? That place is Hell, you know how they treat the girls there!"

"It was the only option, after what you asked me."

Timothée's gut whirled with dread. He had caused this. If he had just kept his stupid mouth shut, this never would have happened.

"I take it back, just don't make her go, they will destroy her," Timothée begged, his voice ragged from screaming.

"There is no going back now. Now come, you are injured my son," The King tried to help his son up.

"Don't touch me!" Timothée snarled, pushing his father's hands away.

Timothée got up on his hurt ankle. The pain seared through him as he limped towards the carriage that was nearly ready to leave.

"Stop!" His father ordered, but Timothée did not heed his father. He struggled toward the carriage.

His ankle burned, but it did not hurt nearly as bad as his heart as he watched y/n begging and pleaded to be let go. The crack of the whip resounded through the air. The horses plowed forward.

"No!" Timothée shrieked after the moving carriage. He could still hear Y/n's wails echoing in the air. He tried to push himself forward.

Suddenly, strong hands circled around his waist. He was heaved up and thrown over his father's shoulder. His slight body made him easy to carry and with a hurt ankle he couldn't give much of a fight, but damn did he try.

"Bring her back!" his voice was raw as he pounded on his father's back. He made the mistake of trying to kick his father with his bad leg. He let out a string of curses.

"Why are you doing this!" Timothée was sobbing now, the anger giving way to misery.

"Why?"