The King's Possession ✔️

NINETEEN

Word Count: 1779

Where Marek is being held isn't exactly pleasant.

Shadows guide me down a hallway bathed in smooth concrete, the dim lights above me doing little to ease my anxiousness. Despite it being a holding cell at the edge of Taius's property, it was easy to access. The Guards simply watched me, as I ran, distraught to the entrance, as if they knew their was little point in stopping me.

The Nobles had quickly retired to their rooms after the incident. Taius couldn't stop me, as I ran out to where Marek is being held.

Turning the corner, I look through the line of cells, looking for a figure. All are empty, except one, which I stop by, peering in warily.

A dark figure leans against the far wall, devoured by darkness. Despite hardly being able to decipher who dwells there, I immediately sense it's Marek. Kneeling down, I reach through the bars to place a bottle of water upon the floor.

"Are you okay? I brought you some water," I offer softly, nudging it closer to him before I settle into a sitting position. The floor may be soaking up the last of my warmth, laden in questionable substances that I don't spend much time considering, but I'm not going anywhere. Marek may have pinned me against a wall and threatened my life, but I in no means blame him.

"You shouldn't be down here," he mutters, voice strained. He's in pain, likely from the way the guards handled him out of the room earlier.

"How could I not? What do you think he's going to do?" I ask warily.

Tai has proven to be a weaker King than I thought, and those that live in fear are more inclined to react in vicious, unpredictable ways. I abhor him to the point it hurts. I'm not sure what I would do if he tried to have Marek sent to prison, or anything worse, but I know it would not be pretty.

"Kill me, maybe. King's don't like being embarrassed," Marek admits, finally pulling his body closer to the bars. I rest my head against one, feeling the silent thrum of vibrations that pass through it, likely from other inmates that dwell deeper into his facility.

"Thank you, for not..." I break off, not wanting to say this words. Thank you for not killing me.

Pulling himself forward, he leans against the wall close to me, his face finding the dull butterscotch tinted light that dribbles pitifully through the small barred window behind me. I can't retain the gasp that escapes past my lips.

"So you don't hate me?" he asks, head dipped forward, knowing exactly what I'm confronted with seeing.

Indigo and ebony shades his face, especially concentrated around his right cheekbones, which has a nasty gash sliced right through his skin, the blood having since dried. The bruises continue on the left side of his jaw, creeping up dangerously close to his mouth, the corners revealing where blood had once bubbled up and been spat out.

Despite an overwhelming sense of anger and disgust that twists in my stomach, tormenting me, I don't look away. "What did they do to your face?"

"Beat me and threw me into this cell," he admits, sweeping his hand back through his hair, only to reveal another bruise, the black and blue hues cutting into the powdery silver tint of his marking. "If I fought back, the Noble's would have killed me themselves."

"I'm sorry this happened. These royals are poison," I growl, my anger beckoning me, demanding my attention.

"Don't apologise on their behalf. They wanted me to kill you," Marek reminds me.

I allow myself to get lost in the blistering blue hues of his eyes, cornflower and cobalt blending together, tinted with pain from both his wounds, and the reality of the situation we have fallen into. Part of me wants to reach out and touch him, to feels another touch and know that despite what has happened, we have each other.