[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/ZPETHbP.png[/img]
Collab between [@The Muse] and [@c3p-0h]
[sub]Location: The Royal Residence — The Jail[/sub]
[i][h1]Part IX[/h1][/i]
[hr][/center]

Outside, the frost-bitten air greeted them—making her absence against him all the more prominent. 

Waiting just ahead was Flynn’s familiar mount: a towering black Friesian, dark as the night itself, pawing restlessly at the snow-dusted ground. He stepped toward Amaya’s steed first, his eyes sweeping over the smaller grey mare, with a coat so fine it was almost silver.

Beside it, Flynn looked to Amaya, ready to help lift her. [color=337d71]“Ready?”[/color] He asked, his expression softer now as he tried to ground himself back into a reality that didn’t revolve entirely around her.  

Despite the way she was still trying to pull herself together, Amaya masked her hesitation well. Even still, it was visible in the way she moved slowly after him, stepping into place as her eyes swept over the animal. Her gaze paused on the side saddle and she tightened her grip on his hand.

[color=d15e5e]“Is it too late for you to carry me?”[/color] Flynn smirked. It was the closest she’d ever come to [i]muttering[/i] at him. Still, Amaya took in a deep breath and met his gaze, resignation in her posture. 

With the help of Flynn’s steady hands (distracting as they were along her waist), Amaya mounted the horse with as much dignity as possible. She was pleased to at least remember [i]enough[/i] of her training to not make an embarrassment of herself. Back straight, chin high, one hand on the reins, Amaya set about fixing the way the skirt of her dress draped – and made the mistake of looking down, and seeing how very far away the ground was. She froze in place, trying to collect herself, before shooting Flynn a look. How disorienting, that his face was tilted up to her.

She rather [i]hated[/i] being tall.

Flynn met her gaze, a closed-lipped smile still resting on his mouth, quiet amusement glimmering in his eyes. For a heartbeat, he could’ve sworn he’d seen a flash of fear behind those shimmering eyes of hers. But she’d poised herself with elegant bravery despite it. Snow fluttered its way back to her again, but no longer spiraled in unnatural patterns. She might’ve been afraid atop the horse, but it seemed the storm within her had settled. 

His, on the other hand, had not.  

It still burned behind his ribs as he looked up at her, nearly dazed—until the rustle of armor behind him pulled him back. The guards were mounting up too. 

Forcing his attention away, Flynn stepped back and returned to his own horse—Sable. A magnificent creature who’d been his companion for over a decade now. A proud, stubborn beast that had taken great pains to train, but Flynn had loved him for every bit of it. 

In one fluid motion, Flynn hauled himself into the saddle and gave the horse a sturdy pat along his neck in greeting. Sable’s ears flicked back at the touch. Hooves shifted beneath as Sable blew out a long, impatient huff of warm air, breath clouding in the cold as he awaited his cue. 

Without a word, Flynn turned his horse with barely a twitch of the reins. Sable shifted forward, moving beneath Flynn like they shared thought. A gentle nudge of the stirrups, and they trotted east—back the way they’d come earlier that morning, before they had taken an ill-fated stop at the Seluna temple. 

His expression shifted the further they rode, smoothing into something more composed. Control layered over him like armor. The playful hunger from moments before had melted away entirely, left behind in the warmth of their living room.

Or so he told himself.

He forced his mind to the task ahead as they headed into the center of town. 

The puppeteer. The strange, blue-eyed man with an unsettling gaze and the odd performance that had lingered with Flynn longer than he cared to admit. An apparently careless man who’d spoken of treason within earshot of a Champion—but had also helped Amaya before she’d been attacked.

He should've remained focused. He [i]wanted[/i] to. But despite his best efforts, his gaze drifted sideways.

Amaya rode beside him, her back straight, her own expression composed—though she seemed entirely too focused on the road ahead to notice his periodic glances. 

Flynn’s mind betrayed him anyway. Memories surfaced. Her lips parted, breathing uneven. Those pale eyes that had looked up at him like she’d—

He tore his gaze away, jaw tightening.

[i]The puppeteer. Focus on the treasonous puppeteer.[/i]

But the image of her, wrapped up in him, was harder to outride than he’d expected.

Eventually, they slowed near the jail and came to a halt at the front doors. A guard stood waiting, straightening as they approached. He stepped forward to steady Sable while Flynn swung down into the dirt and snow. 

Flynn quickly handed over the reins—barely noticing the guard’s wide-eyed stare at Sable’s towering frame. His attention was already elsewhere. He crossed to Amaya’s mare and looked up, offering a hand to help her down. 

Amaya sat atop her horse, the picture of silent, regal dignity — and hesitated. She glanced at Flynn’s hand. Then down at the muddy, cobblestoned —

[i]No.[/i]

Her eyes snapped shut against the sudden rush of vertigo that had her stomach doing flips. She forced in a slow breath. 

There was usually a step stool for her. 

When her eyes opened again they found Flynn immediately. Another emotion surged through her veins at the amused, patient look he gave her as he waited: [i]irritation.[/i]

Letting out a proud little huff of her own, Amaya handed the reins to the waiting guard on her opposite side and set about the work of maneuvering her dress around the saddle with smooth motions. And if her cheeks were a little dark, if she spent a little longer than necessary handling the fine fabric, positioning herself for a dismount, keeping herself from thinking about the impending [i]drop[/i] —

She met Flynn’s gaze coolly and [i]dared[/i] him to comment on it. 

That dancing spark in his eyes only seemed to grow brighter, and Amaya had the very reckless impulse to wipe it away somehow. Several options flashed through her mind. Suddenly her heart tripped over itself for an entirely new reason, all her proud defiance draining out of her. 

Flynn’s eyebrow quirked up as he waited, that [i]smile[/i] back on his face. That flash in his eyes. 

His fingers curled at her in a quick, playful beckoning. 

Amaya grabbed onto the first flicker of nerve she could find, slipped her hand into his, and pushed herself off of the horse. 

Air rushed around her weightless body, her stomach looping as she fell, gasping —

Into Flynn, a guiding hand at her waist as she landed on the path before him. 

Her eyes fluttered open to stare at the embroidery decorating the front of his coat, polished buttons gleaming against the night. Her hands were tight around him, one wrapped around his, the other on his shoulder — once again properly above her eyeline. Shoulders still tense, Amaya blinked up to Flynn. 

For a moment, neither of them moved. His eyes flicked down to make sure she was steady, then rose to meet hers again.

Immediately intoxicated. 

He should’ve let her go. Turned away and moved on. Said something neutral—or nothing at all. 

But his hand stayed firm at her waist, the other still curled around hers. That mischievous flicker in his eyes lingered, despite himself. 

[color=337d71]“That wasn’t your first time on a horse, was it?”[/color] he asked, his voice low, laced with a quiet humor meant only for her to hear. 

Self consciousness made Amaya want to curl in on herself. But his voice, that [i]tone[/i] — she could feel it pulling her towards him again. Amaya could almost hear how it would grow rough against her skin if she closed the distance, low and full of promise as he breathed it into her —

[color=d15e5e]“Was my interrogation also scheduled for today?”[/color] she snapped back, her hands pulling away. But even as she tried to wrap her own sharpness around herself like armor, it didn’t quite fit the way it was meant to. The edges were dulled by the way her cheeks warmed, eyes glancing over him like she wasn’t quite sure where she wanted to look — the way she kept herself close, voice soft. The illusion of privacy, suddenly precious, couldn’t be broken if she stayed hidden here, with only his eyes on her.

But she felt the gazes of strangers against her — weightless and chilling, like the inescapable Lunarian snow. She watched the snowflakes fluttering around them, white and sparkling as they dotted Flynn’s outline. Amaya could count each one, she thought, call a storm down around them, and Flynn would accept them all as simply another burden to carry. 

Her gaze softened as she looked up at him, seeing him as he’d been last night — [i]exhausted.[/i] 

[color=d15e5e]“What should I expect?”[/color] she murmured up to him. 

She’d been too nervous to ask this morning, afraid of what he might say. If he’d hand her the damning knowledge of another death, if he’d deride her for [i]daring[/i] to ask, if she’d reveal the depths of her ignorance to him and how very unprepared she was for all of this —

And what had that gotten her?

Another death had still been laid at her feet. Others had still dismissed her out of hand. She’d been unprepared and [i]blind[/i]. 

If Amaya was to be of any help at all… if she wanted to keep Flynn from [i]burying[/i] himself in everything he thought he needed to carry, then she needed to be better prepared.

Flynn exhaled softly and let his hand fall away from her waist. The weight of the world pressed down in the absence of her touch. But even then, something in him stayed warm. An ember, buried beneath it all, still stirred in her presence, eager for her to bring it to life again. The burdens never fully vanished, but with her beside him, they felt a little easier to carry. 

His mind returned to what awaited them in the half-finished stone building ahead. He quickly sifted through every interaction he’d had with the man—all of them unnerving, each in different ways. 

[color=337d71]“Well,”[/color] Flynn took a step back, angling himself toward the prison, eyes scanning the unfinished frame thoughtfully. [color=337d71]“When I saw him yesterday in the tavern, he called himself Halcyon.”[/color] 

Flynn’s brows furrowed. The man had said a lot more than that. In many, [i]many[/i] words. [color=337d71]“He—”[/color] Green eyes flicked to Amaya. Memories flickered behind his eyes as he recalled the performance Halcyon had put on. Memories of Nyla and her wide eyes, nearly teal, as she stared at him from across the room. Guilt crept in, sharp and painful along his heart. 

[color=337d71]“He put on a… play, of sorts. Dragged me into it.”[/color] Flynn’s gaze drifted back to the jail, unfocused, landing somewhere near a stack of timber. [color=337d71]“And Nyla too.”[/color] His lips pressed into a thin line at the admission. The name sent a painful shock of ice through Amaya that she wasn’t prepared for. [color=337d71]“I don’t think he knew who she was—how could he?”[/color] He wondered aloud, not daring to look at Amaya just yet. 

[color=337d71]“He had her play a ‘Princess’ role, while I played a Prince in his story. But the way he acted…”[/color] Those ghostly eyes returned to memory, accompanied by that insufferable little grin on his infuriating face—like he held all the cards that Flynn had been searching for all along. [color=337d71]“It felt like he was making insinuations about my family—my father specifically—but he used different names. He called me… Red Star, or something.”[/color] Flynn shook his head, dismissing the thought. [color=337d71]“I don’t know… I think he may just be a lunatic.”[/color] He shrugged, finally turning his gaze back to Amaya. 

[color=337d71]“But he was also the first to warn me something was wrong. With you.”[/color] The painful memory came rushing back to the surface. The piercing dread he’d felt at Halcyon’s tone, stripped of humor. Not a single trace of that theatrical arrogance on his face. Flynn hadn’t wanted to believe him then, but he’d felt the truth of the words as they were uttered regardless. 

Amaya was silent, eyes trained on the jail as she tried to move past the frigid memory of that [i]name[/i] and its unexpected hold on her. It was the first time she’d even thought of it since last night — and the woman it belonged to. Flynn had told Amaya that he’d seen her yesterday. The image had been nebulous and indistinct in her mind at the time, but now she imagined it… Flynn standing across from someone else, a more suitable [i]Princess.[/i] She fought to fold it away, letting out a slow, wisping breath. 

Briefly, she remembered the odd, disorienting man that now awaited them inside the jail. Amaya knew she owed him a debt — not just for helping to break her attacker’s hold over her, but apparently for alerting Flynn, too. But Amaya thought of how he’d approached her yesterday at the feast, asking about her [i]mother[/i] — if Amaya had inherited not just her eyes, but her heart as well. 

She suddenly wanted to leave him to [i]rot.[/i]

[color=d15e5e]“And our purpose here?”[/color] The words were flat, but clear as they slipped out into the air. She still wasn’t looking at Flynn. 

Flynn hesitated, watching her profile for a moment. [color=337d71]“We’re here to hear him out,”[/color] he said, his gaze drifting back to the jail. [color=337d71]“And… decide his fate.”[/color] Finally, her eyes found his again.

The words sat heavy on his shoulders. He’d played a part in sentencing before, back in Aurelia—surrounded by councils and protocols, decisions diluted across many hands. But this was different. 

This time, the weight didn’t fall on a council. Or his father. It fell to him. 
And he hadn’t expected to have to make the choice so soon. 

Flynn exhaled quietly, tense beneath his coat. [color=337d71]“He seems to be an ally of yours, but… an enemy of mine—or my family, at least.”[/color]

Amaya watched Flynn brace himself against the press of his own authority, the solidity of his shoulders, the weight of his voice… the shadows in his eyes. 

[i]Decide his fate.[/i]

This wasn’t managing bickering old men or finding an excuse to leave an uncomfortable situation — this was a [i]life.[/i] Flynn’s voice made Amaya too real, too solid in her body. Too visible. Too [i]consequential[/i]. The gravity of it suddenly crushed against her, making every move a risk. 

Two were dead because of her. Surely Flynn didn’t expect her to —

But even as frenzied doubts swarmed inside Amaya, she knew the answer. Even if she didn’t believe it yet. 

She hesitated. Then somehow she managed to take a step closer to him again, her hand finding his. 

[color=d15e5e]“And what am I?”[/color]

Who was this prisoner to her, if he was an enemy of Flynn’s?

Flynn’s gaze dropped to the hand she’d slid into his, then lifted to her eyes. He studied the quiet in her expression, wondering what thoughts lay hidden that she still refused to voice. 

[color=337d71]“My wife,”[/color] he said at last, steady and confident. A faint, almost hesitant smile touched his lips. [color=337d71]“An ally or an enemy… I guess you’ll have to let me know which you decide.”[/color]

Amaya was struck with a sadness that sank deep into her core, even as the corner of her lips twitched up in a small, answering smile. Centuries of bloody history sat between their palms, loosely held together. Amaya heard all the words she still couldn’t bring herself to share with him, felt the distance that held her apart, even now — saw the shadows he cast on the ground beneath them, shifting in the torchlight. 

But his hand was still warm against hers. 

[color=d15e5e]“Let’s see how the rest of the day goes.”[/color] The words were light and soft, but too achingly real. 

Amaya finally turned her attention outward, to the guards around them — the man hidden away in the jail. And she was a Princess once more, serene and untouchable. 

She’d spent too long standing in the dark, searching for words she couldn’t give him — hiding beneath him with only his eyes on her. Her walls felt too thin and fragile, nearly translucent beneath the light he cast. 

Flynn’s gaze lingered, thoughtfully drinking in all the delicate features of her face. There were moments, like this one, where he felt the ground shift beneath his feet.

What would he do, truly, if she turned from him? If she named herself an enemy the next time his lips hovered above hers?

He already knew the answer. The thought hollowed something inside him.

His gaze remained steady and soft, watching her as if he were trying to memorize a star before the dawn tore it away.

She had already undone him in ways no blade ever could. He’d been altered by her, and there would be no return from it. No reclaiming the man he’d been before her, nor the world he once knew.  

She’d taken pieces of him and shifted them, quietly, until he no longer knew where the old edges fit.

And Goddess help him—he didn’t want to. 

Perhaps that was the cruelest truth of all. That the most powerful weapon Lunaris had ever forged… was the one he had come to—

His heart stuttered, fingers wrapping more securely around hers. 

She didn’t tighten her grip around Flynn’s hand, but neither did she pull away. Instead, Amaya stepped towards the jail, loosely tugging him forward until he stepped into place beside her. When his eyes left her again to instead focus on the jail ahead of them — on the next task in his endless list of priorities — Amaya felt her walls finally solidify, shielding her at last from view. 

As they moved, Flynn’s expression shifted, slipping back into something measured—more Princely.

The heavy jail door creaked open as a guard pulled it for them. Flynn gave a silent nod of thanks before stepping inside, tailed by two of the Aurelian guards who had shadowed them throughout the day. 

His gaze flicked to the intricate lavender runes etched along the walls, faintly glowing. The anti-magic field tugged at him the moment they crossed the invisible threshold. Swiftly, it siphoned until he could no longer feel a trace of magic, leaving his limbs heavy in its absence.

His pace slowed as he glanced at Amaya, giving them both a moment to adjust—watching to see how the same unnatural silence pressed against her.

Her expression was calm, but her focus turned inward, the slight hitch in her breath betraying her. In place of her vast, wild magic, normally so restless and alive, always commanding what attention she could afford to spare, there was… [i]nothing[/i]. The sudden [i]lack[/i] nearly set Amaya off balance. She was still breathing, but it was like all the air in her lungs had been stolen — like some fundamental piece of her was gone, but there was no wound to prove that it’d been a part of her to begin with. 

Amaya’s heartbeat quickened — and there was no stir of frost beneath her skin. She tried to poke and prod at the space her magic had once filled, not knowing what to do with the emptiness, and how there was no answering force to press back against her. 

Dim torchlight spilled across the stone corridor, casting long, flickering shadows. Every step echoed off the walls, their presence announced long before they reached the cell.

Up ahead, a figure came into view, a guard stationed near a cell—her posture relaxed, leaning against the far wall, gaze fixed on the prisoner within. The glint of Lunarian armor brought Amaya back to the surface.

Flynn recognized her immediately. The young guard he’d tasked with protecting the Seluna Priestess the day before—and she had followed through, without hesitation.

He gave her a nod of acknowledgement and respect as they approached. [color=337d71]“Afternoon,”[/color] he greeted her. [color=337d71]“Glad to see you’re doing well.”[/color]

As they came to a stop beside her, Flynn’s hand curled a touch tighter around Amaya’s—not from nerves, but instinct. Protection.  

Inside the cell, the man was already watching them.

Seated casually on the edge of the cot, bare chested and calm, Halcyon smiled.

[hr]
[sub]Interactions: Daphne [@PrinceAlexus], Gadez [@Dezuel][/sub]