𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘 𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐅𝐀𝐋𝐋 | 𝟏𝟖+

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐑𝐓𝐘-𝐎𝐍𝐄 | 𝐀 𝐒𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

ততততত

𝐓 𝐎 𝐁 𝐈 𝐍

I roll off the edge of the bed and onto the floor. "For the love of fucking—"

A rumbling pain crashes through my entire skull, the kind that ties a thousand weights to your brain and drags you around. It must be from whatever the hell I drank last night. From what I recall, I went through my entire stash of god knows what—whatever I could get my fucking hands on. It would explain the glass bottles littered around the homestead.

Gods, I hate hangovers.

But the thought of betraying Imogen almost has me reaching for another bottle, but I don't. Now that it's morning, I have to put my princess behind me and focus on my sister.

It takes a moment for me to figure out where the rest of my clothes are. Although I wear my pants, my shirt and boots must be somewhere in this goddamn shit hole. I find my boots, but my shirt is nowhere to be found in this mess.

I push the door open and check by the fire, only to stop dead in my tracks. Next to the campfire's ashes sleeps a peaceful untouchable Imogen. She's curled up in her cloak to keep warm. Her blonde hair fans behind her in waterfalls of honey. Even from a distance, the scent of vanilla strangles my hungover mind. The morning light dances over her, painting her golden in every way possible. She's painstakingly beautiful; more so when I recall every moment she's laughed, cried, or threatened me with an arrow. Underneath her lies my shirt, rolled up as a makeshift pillow.

She shouldn't be here.

Not in daylight.

Because the last thing this kingdom needs is a lost princess, when the secrets of a prince have already begun to swirl through the villages. I believe it's already too late for that, though. By now, knights will be sent searching every nook and cranny of this kingdom for her, and then they'll accuse me of more than just a petty thief.

I roll her over. "You need to leave."

Those grey storms flutter open, dazed as they gaze up at me. It's a miracle that she decided to stick around this place. Whatever happened last night between us is only left in a few sober fragments. She held an arrow to my neck as tears streamed down those porcelain cheeks, and I confessed every thought that met my tongue...

Then I went inside, and I can't remember a damn thing.

She yawns, but refuses to waver her strategic gaze. The crisp morning air brushes against my bare skin, and I know she catches my slight shiver.

Imogen flashes a sweet, yet diabolical smirk. "You look a little cold."

"Someone decided to use my shirt as a pillow," I grumble. Fortunately, she tosses me the stolen shirt, which I put on with haste. "And you call me the petty thief."

"You are."

I bite my tongue. It's these moments of brisk playfulness that make me want to pick her up, throw her on top of Neph, and ride off into the sunset.

The thoughts of Ruslan's crown breach my mind, and all the light Imogen offers to me fades into black. She told me never to tell a soul about Ruslan, to never go back to that hidden room. Yet, I disobeyed my princess' command and severed every promise between us. She has every reason to be mad, but I have every reason to follow through with it.

Aspen is alive, and I can finally save her from the shackles of hell.

"Tobin," her melodic voice carries through the morning air. "You could've told me about Aspen."