𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐒𝐊𝐘-(ᴘᴇʀᴄʏ ᴊᴀᴄᴋsᴏɴ )¹

𝟏𝟒| 𝐀 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐞 𝐎𝐟 𝐃𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐅𝐚𝐜𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐚𝐦𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

《𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐘 𝐉𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐒𝐎𝐍》

𝐅𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧⊰᯽⊱┈──╌("𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑝𝑢𝑠𝒉 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦.")

warning; historical inacurracy, mentions of assault .

⊰᯽⊱┈──╌❊ ¤ ❊╌──┈⊰᯽⊱

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐔𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐒 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐍𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐄𝐄𝐍 a welcoming place to anyone, even he as the Prince. Marcant had been down there plenty of times, both in duty and punishment, but even then, whatever fear he had felt had been nothing more than a speck of dust compared to what he was feeling when he kneeled in front of the cell door to find the love of his life curled in on himself on the straw covered floor at the farthest corner.

Marcant couldn't tell whether he was actually asleep or not because of the terrible lighting provided by the single torch on the wall at the bottom of the stairs. But it didn't matter, because his eyes flew open and Marcant grabbed the bars of the door.

"Ælfric," he whispered. Ælfric was not a second late, because he crawled forward fervently and wrapped his own hands above Marcant's.

Ælfric then did the most heartbreaking thing he could have ever done. He smiled. "Marcant," he said in that reverent way he usually did, like it was a prayer.

Marcant just barely managed to hold himself together, and he pressed himself close to the bars. "I can't let them do this," he said in a rush. "I can't just sit by and-and-"

Ælfric's smile faded and that soft look in his eye turned sympathetic, like Marcant was the one in line for execution instead of himself-that might as well have been the case, he supposed. "And what, Marcant?" Ælfric gently asked of him, ducking his head to bore his dark eyes into Marcant's green ones. Marcant wanted to scream for him to stop looking at him like that. "What will you do? You can't make your father change his mind-"

Marcant drew back like he'd been burnt at the mention of his father, a hatred like no other within him. "To hell with my father!" He spat, and his hands trembled with the rage. "I don't need to change his mind. I know he won't listen. I'll force his hand if I have to." The anger seeped out of his body and he sagged with the weight of it all. "You know I can't just do nothing, Ælfric. I can't."

Ælfric continued to gaze at him sadly. His hands reached out through the bars to cradle his jaw. Marcant held onto him for dear life, like he was afraid he would disappear if he let go. "You can't let that be an option," he said. "No matter how much you may want to, you can't. He's still your father."

Marcant shook his head. "No. No, he is not. He ceased to be my father the moment he did this to you." He blinked away the tears in his eyes. "Why are you acting like this? If we do nothing, you'll die in two days! Why are you so calm about this?"