In a moment, a small insignificant moment, where the throne room lacks its decedent whispers and secrets, gossip no longer being whispered from lips to ears, sharing the latest not so secret scandal, Kai Azer’s heart breaks. Your hand, his brothers ring. You. His pretty girl. His saviour. His muse. His.

You wore that ring, as a symbol of a united Ilya, blissfully unaware of the forged lies that were stepping stones to you. You wanted to cry. Your eyes searched for him, and later tears were spilled as he held you in that broom closet, consoling you. And even before that, as you made your way out, clutching shaky, blood stained hands to your chest, he’d offered to fight a battle for you; and inadvertently you’d shut him and the other man down.

Crying became a habit over the following days, though I suppose it was overdue. All the people, you loved were being hand plucked before your hurt eyes, screaming of emotion that only he can tame, or control. So while you try mourn one in the no time you have to, another is cruelly taken from you. A cruel thing the world is, isn’t it?

Which leads you to be stood under the willow tree, who’s thin bendable branches sway to a song only nature can hear, as the occasional burnt rouge leaf twirls down to land on the green grass. It’s early September, and fall is coming up soon, far too soon. Kai’s arms are around your waist, and that pretty head of his is on your shoulder.

It’s silent after your short disagreement, about the fact you should leave before it gets too late, before someone notices the absence of the queen to be. “I wish it was you I was marrying.” You whisper, and in a moment the small tiff between the two of you is forgotten.

He sighs, and brushes a comforting kiss over your temple, as you give in and melt against him. “I know darling, I know.”

He was your pretty prince, your Kai, your Malakai. Your poet. Your fool. Yours.