Ophelia didn't take my hand. She stared at me, unmoving.

I was about to pull my hand away, when she suddenly gripped it. But it wasn't to shake it. No, she twisted it until it was bent at an angle and behind my back. My shoulder screamed as something cold bit into my neck.

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you now." She hissed in my ear. Her breath was hot, and it crept down my neck. I held in a shiver, taking in a breath. It took me a moment to process what she'd said. It'd all happened so fast. I was either really out of practice, or she was deadlier than I'd expected. Infinitely more deadlier.

I didn't respond, and she pressed the blade harder. One move on my part and it'd penetrate skin. "You're time's running out, Prince." She spat the title out like an insult. It probably was.

I winced, my mind whirling trying to pick out the right words. The blade pressed harder, and a bead of blood welled and slid down my neck, tickling my skin. "I need your help." I gasped. She sunk the blade a little deeper, not falling for my 'lies.' Why would she have? If I were her, I wouldn't have believed me.

She laughed for a short moment. "And why would you, the crown heir to the Yerpen, want my, the leading General to the Anarchy Heist's most deadly unit's help?"

"I want to kill my father." I strained, trying to pull away from the blade that kept pressing against my throat.

She paused. The blade didn't continue to push against my throat, but it still remained, its presence a warning. "And what makes you think I'll believe that?" She asked.

A lump formed in my throat, begging me to gulp. But I was this close from my throat being spilled. I wasn't going to gulp.

And then I started to wonder: What could I have said that would've made her believe me? I couldn't show her the maps or the plans, not when I had a knife to my throat and the possibility of her thinking they were fake was highly probable.

"What?" She yelled. Her mouth was close to my ear, and my eye twitched at how loud her voice was. It rang through my ears, echoing.

"Because," I said, exasperated. "I know how to kill my father. How to abolish the Yerpen. For good." She stayed silent, and I took that as my cue to continue.

_________

I lied.

To be accurate, I half lied. Which means I technically told her the truth. The half truth. Technically speaking, everyone knew how to kill my father. He was human; a stab in the heart or a cracked skull and then he'd descend to the demon pits. And as for the second part... That was the part where I'd lied. Abolishing the Yerpen was a huge task, one that'd take years.

"And how do I know you're telling the truth?" She asked, pulling my arm. My arm strained as she pulled, screaming as it bent at an unholy angle.

"Why would I lie? I have a knife to my throat?" I winced. It was the most unbelievable excuse, and at this point, I was just stalling.

Apparently Ophelia thought it was a stupid excuse, too. Because she laughed, lifting her head away to let out a hysterical sound that was a laugh. "Why wouldn't you lie, Prince?"

"Well, have I lied to you since we met, General?" I asked with a sudden surge of confidence. Where it'd come from, only Vesha knew.

"Stop answering with a fucking question, Prince." She hissed again, pressing the blade harder. I grimaced.

How the fuck was I supposed to get her to trust me?

"You're life's on the line." She hummed, pulling my arm as she pressed the blade. Tiny drops of blood trickled and slipped down my neck as my arm begged for relief.

"You know, I'd feel much more at ease and ready to give information if we could have a normal conversation. One without a knife to my throat." I gasped, voice straining as my arm, nose, and throat all hurt in unison.

She scoffed, and I'd thought she was about to push the blade in, when she removed the blade. She let go of my arm, and I sighed in relief as my arm was finally freed from her treacherous hold. I touched a hand to my neck. Blood fell down in soft drops, sliding across my neck and absorbing into my shirt.

It honestly surprised me, how she hadn't immediately killed me. I wasn't complaining, I just found it... Odd.

"Will you answer now?" She asked, leaning against the wall.

A year ago I would've thought she was an idiot for being so casual, for letting me go. But she knew she had the upper hand. I was tired, disarmed, and desperate for her help. Of course she knew she had the upper hand.

"I let you go, now answer the fucking question." She stalked closer. Her dagger was still out, and it shone with my blood. It dripped and fell off the blade, falling onto the floor. A steady countdown to her thinning patience. I gulped. I'd rolled the dice and taken a gamble, and had won. But what would I do after winning the first round?

"I'm unarmed, have brought no backup, and have the plans and information to destroy my throne with me. Why would I lie when you could dump my body into the river at this moment?"

She rolled her head, making a cracking sound. "And why would you want to destroy your throne, Prince?" She asked, taking a step forward.

I hesitated, the words on the tip of my tongue. "Because he killed my lover," I was supposed to rage and say. But I couldn't. Saying that she was actually dead felt like making it real. Once the words left my lips, there'd be no taking them back. I could forget about the funeral, the look in her eyes, and pretend she was still alive. But saying it, speaking the words, I would be admitting that she was truly gone. That she was dead.

"My brother was going to take my title, and I didn't like that. So I... Ran away? Yeah, ran away." I shrugged nonchalantly, stuffing my hands into my pockets.

It was the most believable excuse I could've given, and if I'd told her the truth... She probably wouldn't have believed me. I was the villain to her, and rationalising myself to her would be like saying the sky was green.

"So you lost your throne and want revenge against your family?" She tilted her head to the side, hood falling across her face.

"Yes." I answered, hands still in their pockets.

She scoffed. "So fucking believable." She muttered, pacing the floor.

She let out a laugh, staring at the sky. Her hood fell back, revealing pale skin and a head of fiery red hair. Her features turned soft under the moonlight, but when she tilted her head to the side, shadows fell and she looked like stone. But what made my stare linger was her hair. It shone like silver in the moon, and the silver hair nearly had me on my knees.

Narelle's hair was silver.

A lump formed in my throat for a completely different reason, and I stared at her hair, so similar in the light to Narelle's.

As if she knew I was staring, she snapped her face to me, and for a second, her eyes glowed like blue fire. Wild, cruel, and calculating. "Mavla Keest." She whispered before something heavy hit the back of my head.

My vision went hazy, and new voices had erupted. Black cornered my eyes, and the distinct outline of a hand waved over my face. "Wha–" I managed to say before I was hit again, and darkness took over.

_________

Darkness.

It turned grey, and a voice muttered, "So no wedding then." And then darkness...

_________

Darkness.

I faded into reality for a few seconds, and heard a voice shout, "DON'T FEED THE CAKE TO THE HORSES."

What the fuck?

And then darkness...

_________

Darkness...

It smelled like cake... And vomit?

What the fuck?

Darkness, again...

_________

Light.