𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐕𝐘 𝐈𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 ━━━━━ 𝑻𝒊𝒎𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒆 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒕

• XI

If there was one word that could describe the perpetual torture Dahlia felt, it would be hell. An endless whirlwind of horrors coming to haunt her. Minutes turned to hours and hours turned to days. She didn't bother to keep track of time, or rather anything after Adrian's death. She wasn't allowed back in her room and was put in a guest space right by the dungeons. Dahlia assumed her father planned it out. Night and day she could hear the tortured screams of Timothée and it tore through her.

Her father was hurting him. Tormenting him and all she could do was listen. Dahlia couldn't help Timothée and it made her feel powerless. It was like she was back to square one. The days before Timothée showed her freedom. Where she was a defenceless puppet being shipped off to marry some shallow boy who claimed to be a man. When she would sit back and watch her father hurt the common people and excuse it. She thought that was what monarchs do, carry out justice like that. Her time with her real friends showed her how wrong that was.

Timothée's screams ceased a while ago and Dahlia couldn't help but fear the worst. Her brain told herself that he too was dead, but her heart sensed that something was still there. Dahlia couldn't eat or sleep knowing that he wasn't fine.

"My lady," A knocking came at her door in the middle of the night. She turned and got out of her seat. Dahlia's nimble fingers wrapped themselves around the door and slightly opened it. She could see through a sliver that there were a few guards. Dahlia moved back as they walked into her room. Two stayed out in the hall looking for anyone approaching.

"We're here to get you out." Their words were too good to be true. Dahlia stepped back to her table and gripped the butter knife laid down.

"I'm not stupid. My father sent you." She wasn't going to fall for his games anymore. Dahlia was tired and just needed a break. Her clutch on the knife turned her knuckles white. She lifted it up and pointed it in front of herself. Dahlia knew she wouldn't win in a fight against them. They were palace guards and her tiny knife meant nothing against their swords.

"Dahlia," That very voice that could make her weak in the knees called out from the hallway. Timothée walked into the room. His appearance is rugged, but it was still him. Dahlia let out a sob. She couldn't tell if her mind was playing tricks. That something was slipped into her dinner drink and she was just hallucinating it all.

Timothée approached her and she raised her hands to touch his face. Dahlia's teary eyes scanned his features. She took in the fact that there was a large gash on his temple that had dried blood going down to his chin. He had light stubble and a dirt-stained face. The way he walked weakly towards her, Dahlia could tell he was severely injured. His arms left his sides and he took her in a hug. She wrapped her arms around his neck and didn't want to let go. He was there and he was real, that's all that mattered. They pulled away and looked into the eyes of each other.

Timothée leaned down and kissed her. It was different than their first kiss. Their first one was gentle and slow. They were new to those emotions and couldn't gauge where they stood. This one was filled with longing and desperation to be closer. They missed one another and their hearts beat rapidly. The two pulled away to the sounds of the guards awkwardly shifting on the spot.