"𝐢𝐭'𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐞."
A STORY IN WHICH, you've never had a choice, especially not when you were forced to marry the future king of marley, 𝘻𝘦𝘬𝘦 𝘺𝘦𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘳.
things were difficult from the start, a foreign country a host...
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HE COULD HEAR DRIPPING, despite the darkness.
When he turned his head to try and find sense he saw nothing but eternal darkness.
He tried to speak, but nothing came from his dry mouth.
An overwhelming feeling of heat engulfed his body and when he tried to catch his breath the smell of sulfur nearly burned his nostrils.
Panic came at his throat as he tried to make his way to his feet, but he found himself on the ground, a sudden ringing and light coming from the bleakness. His hands were scraped raw from the sand and gravel, and when he inhaled he found himself gasping for breath.
"The crown prince has fallen!" a stranger's voice rung in the air, leaving a bitter taste in Zeke's mouth.
He'd fallen? He tried to make his way to his feet but he stumbled back onto the ground, once more a couple of worries gasps coming from the crowd. When he reached for his head and brought his fingers down he realized he'd been bleeding.
"My prince," a man with no face spoke to him, but Zeke couldn't make out the words. "My prince, are you alright?"
He shook his head, the heat in his ears unbearable. Ringing. He looked up, and there—atop a tower overlooking the courtyard— was his father. Young, expecting, sneering. Always sneering.
He'd made a fool of himself again, as he always managed to do so.
He had heard the whispers, the scorn in his fathers voice when speaking to the council. Zeke was rash. Impulsive. Weak. His failures consumed him day and night.
The stench of rotting flesh swirled though the air again. He gagged, retching as the scent clawed at his senses. "Zeke." a small voice spoke beside him. "Are you hurt?"
He whipped his head around, sweat beading down his forehead. Eren's bright eyes stared back at him—young, too young. The boy he had known in his infancy, face round and innocent, before the years had jaded them both. Eren reached down, his hand extended.
"Come, brother." Eren whispered.
Back then.... back then he'd slapped that hand away.
He turned, searching for his father again, but Grisha was gone. When he finally grasped Eren's burning hand, it was like sinking into mud, thick and warm. The ground shifted beneath him, the air stifling, suffocating.
A child's cry rang through the pierced through air, so small, so innocent, it nearly resembled a lamb.
"It's a boy!" yelled a man, and when Zeke forced himself to look at the scene, he saw a pair of frail arms raise a wailing blonde child in the air. "It's a boy, your grace!"
