labour

kiss

warning: this story contains details of domestic vïolence and emotional trauma, please look after yourself and do not read if any of this may affect you <3

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caroline's pov

After my midnight escape to drown anything living inside me, I had made sure to carefully close the door to my bedroom, glad to have not disturbed any of various beings that inhabited Cair Paravel.

I softly lay my body underneath the covers and allowed Xander's arm to enclose me, his lips finding their way to my forehead on which they placed a delicate kiss, one that forced my heart to feel love towards this man.

I believe that for many years, I chose the most perfect memory of my husband and clung to it. I chose it because in that moment he was the person that he should've been, the person he vowed to be. In that snapshot his unwarped personality was something so sacred, I wanted to hold onto it forever, allowing myself to blindly disregard his emotional torture because 'it isn't really him'.

The main memory that held me captive was the one of our first encounter. He had found me half-dead in the forest surrounding his brothers castle, exhausted and wasting away due to my own decisions. I'd fled from the confines of my detestable father, with no intention of survival.

But it was Xander who picked me up and carried me back to his home, with no assistance. He acted from a place of pure concern and sympathy, truly wanting to save a scared child.

I can never erase the image of his eyes carefully studying me as I awoke in his bed chamber, they were spilling with curiosity and kindness, one thousand questions reflecting in his iris.

For the days to follow, he'd never left my side. He bathed me, fed me, dressed me up like a perfect princess. His hands were so gentle against my rough skin.

Neither of us had planned to fall in love, yet I suppose nobody ever does. It was fast and many criticised our plans to marry, but we didn't care.

I wish I could pinpoint the exact moment that things changed, but it seemed as though at some point during our first year of commitment to one another, Xander had a change of heart - and motive -.

The aggression was rare to start and his apologies were convincing enough to a 16 year old. Yet the months in between each fight soon became weeks, and then days, and eventually hours.

I'd began to notice a pattern of behaviours that often resembled that of my father, relying on 'their women' for every little mundane task. I'd fetch water from the springs, I'd tend to the orchards, I'd fix up the gables, I'd even wash and fold his garments.

I would sit as he cried about his parents, how they prioritised one son over the other, and how Alexander deserved the title of 'King' more than Lune ever could. Half of me grew to despise the man that made my husband feel inferior.

I would nurse him back to health when he would fall unwell, even helping Lune when his mysterious sickness took the kingdom by surprise. I would assist the cooks in preparing his meals, three times a day, and bring him wine whenever he so demanded.

Part of me clung to his initial kindness and affection as an excuse, for why should I complain when he blessed me with the title of his Princess?

My lips pulled into a small smile at his forehead kiss, as maybe the real Xander was still within him. But my eyes still watered knowing he was now nothing but a cruel shell of the man I had married. Maybe it was just the wine talking.

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