The Fallen Prince

28

Rowan's POV:

Ciaran is still breathing, though his eyes are closed. His blood covers my clothes as sobs wrack my body.

Gods, do not take him from me, please!

I hear footsteps surround us, and I am ready to murder anyone who comes near my lover. When I find who shot this horrible arrow at him, I swear they will die a painful death!

"Come on, we have to get him!" someone says, and I hold up my knife in a threatening way when someone comes near to me. "Aye, lay off, brat! Do you want to save the boy you are crying over or not?!"

My eyes widen and I look up to see people dressed in dark clothing.

The woman who addressed me sits down, a pouch with a bright blue liquid inside. "The arrow must be poisoned, that is the only reasonable explanation for why it is impacting him so quick." She carefully removes the around and pours the liquid over the wound.

Ciaran tenses in his resting state, and I am just thankful he moved enough for me to know he is still alive.

"Come on, we have to go," the woman says, but I lift up Ciaran and do not allow her to hold him. She scoffs but waves me on. "Just keep up. We must get him to the healer to make sure he is not going to die. I failed my prince once, I will not fail him again."

I will ask what she means later; for now, I stay close with her small group, all of them armed with what look to be elite, professional weapons. For a long time we run and I am exhausted, but I still feel Ciaran's shallow breaths against my chest as I carry him, so I stay strong and keep going.

I will not stop and let my love die on me.

I will not lose him; he is a part of me and I am part of him.

We need each other.

The group of people guide us to a small clearing and to a tall, rocky wall that is covered in moss. Shock runs through me when they walk into the rock, passing through the vines.

I follow, and once we are inside, I realize that there is an entire hidden structure inside of this rock; it is big enough that there are small, wooden shacks built, and it seems like an entire village, all of it underground.

"Doctor," the lady who I spoke with says, stopping a man as he carries a basket of fruit. "The prince has been hit with a poison arrow."

The man hands her the fruit and he runs over to me, as if he knows Ciaran... why do all of these people seem to know him?

"Bring him over here," he orders, and we enter one of the shacks.

The walls are covered with shelves that have bottles of liquids and dried herbs.

I lay Ciaran down on a bed made up of blankets and pillows on the floor, and there are several others here most likely for treatment. I do not want to put him down and stop holding him, but I have no way to save him.

All I can do is stand to the side and watch as the doctor cuts off Ciaran's shirt and begins to tend to the wound.

"Hey, give him space," the woman orders, grabbing my shoulder. "We need to have a conversation."

"No," I mumble, sitting down and taking Ciaran's hand in my own as he lays unconscious. I push the tips of my finger into his wrist, and I relax a little when I feel his pulse.

It may be weak, but it is there.

There are so many scars on his body, marks that should not be there, marks that have made him feel imperfect.