thenxghtwemxt - Tumblr blog

[thenxghtwemxt]

Araminta chooses to let the silence linger. Only the sound of the waves, crashing gently against their bodies, filling in the nothing. A trick learned through a number of business meetings and arrangements. The first one to speak, often loses. "Or falling for anything." She counters, with a low murmur, after Winifred's pride recovers from the strike. Although she did not come to agitate, there's an advantage of knowing this about the new Queen - unlike her brother, principle matters more. "I understand." She says sagely, if not maturely. "You are a young Queen. Your first move must be a success. I understand the plight." Because if not, the world will choose to condemn rather than provide its second chance. "Just... Be careful, Win." She says, gentler this time. "These are dangerous times. There may not be time to wait and see."

“Is that what I’m doing, Countess? Standing for nothing?” Her words were sharp, pointed. It was obvious that Araminta’s words had hit a sensitive spot. Winifred took a deep, collecting breath, wishing she’d kept her words closer to her chest, left the information at her desire to stand in the surf. Her irritation was now a snarling beast in her stomach, but a small voice in the back of her mind reminded her to keep her head. The conversation, while personal, had political implications. The silence hung for a bit while she reeled herself in. “The road ahead only becomes more dangerous if it’s littered with broken glass.” The clouds on the horizon continued to gather- a rather poetic parallel to the state of the world. “The time will likely come for risky decisions, but I refuse to sacrifice Cardiff’s stability until I have reason to do so.” She sighed, her hands fidgeting with the skirts bundled in her arms. Her next words were calmer, gentler. “I’m not staying idle, Ara. I’m biding my time, keeping my eyes open, seeing where the chips fall. When the times comes, we will be ready to act.”

[thenxghtwemxt]

"We may end up here anyways." Araminta argues, despite the shared resolve that this is not success. Unable to hide the antsiness. She is someone with something to lose; a family, a fortune, a legacy. Yet what good are those things, if Araminta fails to deliver on this promise of liberty? "Best steel our stomachs and acclimate to the worst case scenario." Especially if it comes down to a fight on home turf. Far less eyes to do what must be done, to defend the so-called crown.

"Then they must fall." Araminta concludes, after a long beat of consideration. "If not through life and death, then a social death. Make them so toxic, that no one would deign support their claim. Ruin their reputation. Dismantle their resources." It is cruel, perhaps. But Araminta saw first hand how the royals used the public to secure their reigns. Why not the other way around? "Will they still trust you, once we escape from here?" It was necessary, for Nicolette's vision to turn to fruition.

"People are angry, desperate. I am not saying we shouldn't listen to them, but if we allow our movement to become ruled by those emotions... we will all end up in here for good." What price was she willing to pay? "My papa died when the revolution turned violent the first time. I am not sure I can watch that happen again."

They are perhaps the greatest barrier, made more difficult by the fact that Nicolette liked both of the sisters. "And knowingly give them a position of political power in France? It would make it so easy for people to argue that they should retain power, and allow them to make alliances. They have too many friends, it is hard to think of a way to remove them safely from the equation. And while they still have power, so do their parents." She almost felt sorry for these royals, all becoming pawns in each other's games. All attempting to manipulate each other, barely seeing each other as people.

[thenxghtwemxt]

Timur's fight may be with Rahmi, but Rahmi's is not with the monster of his own making. It is the venomous widow in their purview. And yet, he stands to defend her. Taking arms for a woman who uses all like a tool? Rahmi laughs, bitter and sardonic. "She is no one's friend but her own. Who do you think goaded me on? Fueled the sins?" It is pointless to fight. Timur's eyes lock on him, emboldened by a rage that will never settle or dissipate. Rahmi's sword shifts weight from one hand, to another, clashing against Timur's in defense. "And it will never leave, not even when you present me to the ether."

timur  had  once  believed  that  rahmi  had entrusted him with carrying out his missions as a sign of trust. the truth twisted like a knife.   ❝ to you, i might have been nothing more than a tool to be used and then discarded so you can now fool yourself into believing you're worthy of reform, ❞   blood pounded in his ear,   ❝ but she is my friend. not my master. ❞   his body jolted slightly by feet remained rooted. with a snarl, timur advanced, shoving rahmi back before finally drawing his sword, blade pointed at his chest. he chuckled.   ❝ you might be visited by rage tonight, outcast, but it never leaves my side. ❞

[thenxghtwemxt]

"A lover can be in your arms, and still find time to plan a coup or exercise vengeance." He's speaking in an abstraction, of course. Pulling from his own bevvy of experiences; sharing a bed, sharpening a knife. Perhaps it's that bias that propels him to accuse, where one should not. But Angelo is not the man he once was; his new crown and broken knee are proof of that. Despite Arshiya's rage, he pulls her away from the flung dagger, holding her in his arms. "Because, my love, you are maddening and resourceful in every way. You do not need me to broker a move, or commit to a fight." Even if she is now an Empress away from home. Angelo is doubtless in her ability to succeed. Which begs the question - did she act without him?

"And what motive would I have, besides you?" This emerging fight with Persia and Turkey is founded entirely on his choice of wife. In which case, he would not hide such a fact. "I defend your honor against those high enough to make a difference, like the regent on your throne." Not the abstraction of Meryem and her secrets.

Perhaps the physical comfort he is providing is a bad thing. Making her feel far too at ease in the present circumstance. During the height of the chaos was likely not the best time to have this argument, would only lead to further escalation between them, but she was too far gone to stop now.

She does not care for the accusation in his tone, nor does she appreciate the idea that she would have lashed out in this way and not told him. Is this simply a diversion tactic, she wonders, a way for Angelo to try and deflect his own guilt.

"Are you suggesting I somehow found time to interrogate this woman, find all the answers I needed, and then arrange a poorly executed murder? At what point would this have been possible Angelo = have I not been in your arms every night since we arrived? And why would I not confide in you at any point? You have far more resources than I to draw upon." Those last words have a bitter edge to them. A reminder that he has his throne, while she has aspirations to one.

She is the new element, but it hurts her to be described as such, "and as the new element I would have very few resources or friends to smuggle a person into the country. You, on the other hand, would have more than enough power to bring her in and keep it secret from us all." She jumped slightly as something was thrown in their direction, the fright only serving to rile her up more. "I respect you enough to suspect that even if you did not bring her to China, you very well could have discovered her presence"

[thenxghtwemxt]

"Yes." Rahmi tempers, exhaling a hot breath to keep from shouting. His fight is with Haspira; the vixen of his past, the poison of his present. But like most days, Timur stands in the middle. The yielder of wills, even as he stands tall, and presents as a man free from manipulation. "No, now you are hers." He would know - he's spent eighteen years under Haspira's thumb. But Rahmi surges forward, shoulder shoving against Timur's person. "Move, or I will move you. And the rage sits with me today, soldier."

❝  no.  ❞  a  word  never  before  spoken  to the man in front of him. orders far worse had been carried out without so much as a question. the tightness in his throat was a surprise, as if old instincts were trying to claw the word back, but timur remained with his feet planted. hand tightened around the sword's hilt but didn't yet draw it - old oaths bled out slowly.   ❝ i'm not yours to give orders to anymore. ❞   rahmi had left. rahmi had turned on everything he'd ordered timur do. the woman timur knew lurked somewhere behind him had not. 

[thenxghtwemxt]

"Some hospitality." Elliott gripes dryly, a half-ginger smirk on his face. It's not what should come from a Spanish King with a black eye and bloodied knuckles. Then again, being dragged at the insistence of advisors into the infirmary is not his style either. "Passing patron." He lands on, peering at one of Auckland's own. Or so he suspects, from her choice of dress and place at court. "If you find me gauze, I can tend to it myself."

who: Yaling & @thenxghtwemxt @flcralhaze @bourgeoning // not a group thread

where: the infirmary, after the pre-tribunal

She was not good at sitting still, waiting to hear what would happen. She had been present at the pre-tribunal, sitting as a proxy for her family, feeling out of her depth. As soon as things turned violent she had been rushed from the room, and left feeling even more useless than before.

So once things settled down she went to the one place she could be of use. The infirmary. Cleaning bandages and running fresh water was a task she could sink into.

When she looked up to see a newcomer in front of her, she finally stopped to take a breath. "Patient, visitor or volunteer?" She asked, catching her blunt tone. "They could certainly use an extra pair of hands."

[thenxghtwemxt]

Most men would quiver at the sight; King Mendrika, with all his fury and poisonous might, barreling down on him. But Rahmi was a Sultan in his own right, and a man with his own rage. Instead, Mendrika fans the fires of his own anger. A gruff shake of the head. "It was Haspira." Rostam would have reason to, but he would not.. No, it was not his way.

"Lia is watched carefully, by his guards and his valet. Any one can stand to testify." The important thing was keeping them on side, rather than bought by the forces outside of them. "When he is in stronger spirits, we need to push Lia to identify them." Alas, Rahmi cannot bring himself to add to his recovery. So instead, he turns to the King. "I suspect Meryem was her doing as well. Poison, used specifically to frame us." And though they are exonerated, suspicions never sieze.

{ transition to post-tribunal }

a storm thunders in their dark gaze. perhaps it had merely followed them from madagascar, slowly building until this moment. the usual mischief that colored mendrika's face had long disappeared.

"are you saying that both your brother and wife were involved in poisoning lia?" logic whispers that the sin may lie with only one, but mendrika's fury blisters. "tell me there are at least witnesses to the damned gift of wine."

[thenxghtwemxt]

"In these last, few troubled years... Do any of us stay the same?" He is not the philosophical sort. Antonio takes things at face value; the warmth of an embrace, the threat of a raised voice. But every now and again, he thinks with gravitas. This time with Isadora? It's one of those times. "Has he pieced together the years? Does he look at you and try to see the young girl of his years?" A new father himself, Antonio cannot imagine so many years apart. And worse, somehow believing it is all for the better...

"She is exactly the same..." He admits, more truthful than one should be regarding a first love. "I look at her, and I am twenty-one years old again. Utterly enamored. Making a fool of myself." Licking his lips, he shakes his head. "But I am not that young man. I am a middle-aged King, with a strong wife and two boys." Squeezing his eyes, she compels the guilt away. "So why is it so difficult to contend the past with the present?"

she nodded when he confided that he would trust her opinion on the matter; though the fact had a twinge of sadness to it. it was unfortunate they were both in this situation. however, losing a parent was vastly different then losing a lover; even with the likeness of their situations, isadora could not imagine in some ways, how he was feeling.

" somewhere, " the princess mused, glancing around. she had not kept tabs on where her father was, or if he was still there. " he may have retired. i'm afraid my papa is . . . not what he once was. " she mused. there was no need to pretend, no need to act as though some beloved father had returned to them. she was quiet a moment, eyes scanning over the crowd before them before she asked, rather boldly — " is she the same? or has she . . . changed, as well? " isadora wondered which was better. for the person missing to return just as they were, or so different that you could separate the two in your mind as two different individuals.

[thenxghtwemxt]

Of course, the tides turn. And with it, so does the thankfulness of Brazil's neutrality. It vanishes with their role as host and keeper, with many contesting his choice through raised blades. Antonio attempts to keep the peace, eyes darting all around him. Oriana falls just out of sight, as Antonio's own behest. "The Queen!" He commands his guard, nearly missing the figures his way. That is, until Eliana.

"Oriana!" He protests, underneath Eliana's too-tight grip. Resisting her tug, neck still craning for a view. "We cannot leave her!" Antonio protests, shaking his head. "I will not have her pay another price."

closed starter: antonio de alcantra / @thenxghtwemxt

location: during the tribunal

the screams echo, just like they did at the wedding.

eliana freezes. her heart thunders in her ears, rattling at the cage of her ribs. someone grabs her arm, and she jolts back. brazilian attire fills her gaze. "find the king and queen, you idiot!" she snarls before wrenching out of their grip and barreling toward where her sibling and antonio had sat.

the screaming doesn't cease, but she must not stop. her eyes find antonio first. let him go, the small part of her whispers. but her body has already responded, digging fingers into the king's arm. "the back entrance," she hisses in his ear. to the guards swarming toward them, she yells, "protect the king!"

[thenxghtwemxt]

"Stay." He encourages, after a prolonged beat. It was a tempting offer, but if he took it. Well, then Antonio would spend the early morning talking to himself. Surely such madness could not be good for the soul. "Do you drink hot chocolate?' It's not a key query on politics, or next steps. But both he and Aranya could use the reprieve from such conversation. "Ours is some of the best. My cook can make it anyway you like - rich and bold, creamy and smooth."

the  only  people  she'd  expected  to  cross paths with so early in the morn were guards and other members of staff. aranya had to blink to ensure she wasn't imagining the brazilian king. when she resumed walking, anya ensured her steps were louder than normal so her approach wasn't unnoticed.   ❝ it has. ❞   sadness had found a frequent home in her smiles.   ❝ if you don't wish to relinquish it yet, i can go. ❞

[thenxghtwemxt]

They stalk the courtyard as two peas in the pod; Japanese nationals with foreign interests. Two homes, two beds. Perhaps if she knew Genjirou better, or if his wife liked her better, she could speak to the irony of it with a laugh. Alas, she keeps on best behavior. The likes of Genjirou intimidate, with all the education and means Midori only experienced as of late. "Sometimes, the memory is more painful than the moment." At least then, they dedicated themselves to a fight.

"Viscountess..." She says out loud, testing it for size. "I am not accustomed to it yet." Nor being married, but she does not talk his ear off on that note. "I presume I am the same as you; moving from one apartment to the other. Trying to bridge the gap." Pausing, she has to ask; "Do you suspect the gap will ever be closed?" Madagascar is high on the list of unpopular figureheads now.

his steps are quick and silent. if ire is directed at him for walking to his wife's apartment, so be it. he cannot stand another moment of staring at the ceiling, pondering alone whether to pursue relations with a nation he's spent a year convincing to aid japan.

but genjirou's gaze lands on midori, even from a distance. his speed slows, taking account of the head lady --- and the new wife of a viscount. "yes. it's hard to sleep when the mind is cluttered with images of . . . " silence fills the space between them. it's pointless to finish when they both know what he speaks of. "have you been restless since, lady midori?" a pause. "i apologize --- viscountess midori?"

[thenxghtwemxt]

He's garnered quite a reputation; the coward, the hypocrite, the mad Sultan of Persia. But no one associated Rahmi Abdul with violence at his own hand. Far too-tender hearted and mercurial for such a feat. But it seems both he and Haspira act outside of their rules of engagement. He is not pliant and empathic, she is not demure and subtle. The storm of fury brings human nature to the forefront, and Haspira meets his aggression in such fashion. Beauty that quickly unfurls into something dangerous.

"Do not play your mind games with me!" She's toyed him about for eighteen years. No more, Rahmi resolves. Something crude in how his anger turns into a leer. Finally, he could scare her. "At least you have the decency to be scared." Rahmi grunts. He knows that sense doesn't count for much - Haspira is brilliant, but fearless. Until now.

"And Lia?" Rahmi presses on, engulfing the space. Leveraging his weight to draw closer, one palm raised to catch her trigger-happy hands. "You had nothing to do with the poison in the wine you gave him?" He knows the answer, and it is enough for Rahmi to slam his fist against just an inch from her face. "We will not give you such grace. When I kill you - it will not be in poison. I will look you in the eye as I do it."

A well-maintained sense of self preservation encouraged Haspira to begin a hasty exit from the moment she watched life leave the eyes of Meryem. Horror, confusion, rage, and shock all contended for focus under the ringing fear in her ears. She was no fool; she knew that Turkey would look guilty, and by all associations, she had been gathering enough enemies to know better than be in a room full of weapons and hateful men.

Not quick enough. Efforts futile, Haspira let out a screech as Rahmi grasped her, not hesitating to raise her arms and shove him hard with her forearms. " What madness have you taken to now? " She hissed, a hand going to her hair to remove a clasp from one side, a cascade of brunette curls falling- now transformed, a dagger in hand. Gratitude for a recent birthday gift from Timur himself, a concealed weapon under elegance and grace. He saw Haspira, unlike Rahmi had. The irony was not lost on her in the moment, and her eyes narrowed, heart racing in her ears.

Not even Haspira could hide the fear that was a fire in her eyes; like a creature caged, darting back and forth, chest heaving. " I had nothing to do with this - and I will cut your throat if you take another step. "

[thenxghtwemxt]

"What's the point of coming this far, to only make it this far?" There's a hint of whimsy in his voice, reserved only for Lorenzo. A whisper of the yearning and work that came into ruling. Now that they had it; power, control, freedom. Couldn't they enjoy it? Couldn't the Tolentino siblings sing and dance, even with blood on their hands and a muddled conscience at their side? "I'd think you'd see a brother, first, anyway." His words are of two agendas; first, love, but second is preservation. Look at what happened to the last Emperor of China under Lorenzo's thumb.

"If we always wait for the right time, we will only go so far in this seat." People's memories were short, and Angelo could not stand to invite the prolonged whispers of China's failed war. "It is not today," he reminds. "But it will come, soon, if Persia's regent is anything to go by." An imploring glimmer in his eye - will you raise your sword for me, or against me? "I will get the support from our allies - Hong Kong, the Bonaparte's." Angelo pauses. "So long as I have it in my own home, as well."

Lorenzo stared blankly at Angelo for a moment, but eventually shifted his gaze to some random point in the distance as he weighed his words. It seemed to be an honest effort at connection, but who could blame him for triple-guessing his brother’s words? “Does anyone have time for a bit of fun anymore?” He laughed, loosening his guard, but only as much as he could justify, which wasn’t much. It wouldn’t kill him to let Angelo in- for now, anyway. “I might save a trip for an emperor if you’ve seen one.”

It was a matter of time before conflict found its way to China again. Going a year without inserting themselves into an unnecessary war would be nice, but that was up to the Emperor. Unfortunately. “We’re not ready. Not yet.” He stretched his arms as he spoke, trying to stay loose. “Making any offensive moves before we have fully recovered from our war with Japan would be a mistake.” It was clear that Lorenzo had put quite a bit of thought into the state of the military, but he could only hope his words held weight in Angelo’s mind. “If war comes to us, our soldiers are itching to prove themselves, but I believe we’d struggle to win without outside support.”   

[thenxghtwemxt]

"What's family for?' She utters, rhetorical yet sincere. She's made her mistakes with Hisashi before. She won't make them again. Her thumb tracks along her cheek, satisfied to see him safe. Reaching into the pocket of her dress, she extends a handful of sweets and a flask of liquor. "Something to help with the passage of time."

"You needn't worry. You will always be the most insufferable prick." Midori assures, with a smile that fails to last. The certain terror of his circumstances make it so. After a week's delay, she licks her lips, and shrugs. "I do worry for him, though..." Glancing up, she whispers; "He is my new husband, after all." The spur-of-the-moment arrangement finally reaching Hisashi's ears, albeit with a strained smile. "Seems like as good a time as any to share the news."

He leans into her touch, using it to anchor himself. Every part of her is familiar to him, home even when he is not sure where that is anymore. "Thank you," she knew his past, but he would hate to think she still saw him as the criminal he had once been. It means more to him than the sweets (although he certainly won't be giving them back).

Normally he would blanch at the idea of seeking help from Kaito, but right now the only thing on his mind is survival. "I will." For the first time he is able to manage a joke, if a strained one, "careful, I may be able to accept your feelings for Max, but I cannot stand the idea of you worrying about him more than me. I am supposed to be your biggest frustration."

[thenxghtwemxt]

If Angelo wanted a fight, hard-knuckled and no holds barred, he'd seek out Giuliana. Or Lorenzo. Or Tian Feng. The inter-connected, peripheral members of the Qing-Tolentino clan that can give as good as they can get. But Angelo wanted a one way exchange of his frustration, and it lands squarely on Daeng's shoulders. Fortunately, it is a skill, the way it falls off their shoulders. What remains, he recognizes, is a plan of attack.

"And you will not show mercy." Angelo tacks on, settling into his chair. The desk shielding his hand, reaching for the joint of his knee, tending to the ache he will not let show. "If they will not talk, you make it so. By any means." He's not above twisting a few arms, and Angelo clicks his tongue at the examination. "I want eyes on every enemy, a pulse taken of the court's moods. We will not be the only ones looking into this." Clicking his tongue, he levels his eyes with Daeng. A mark of the friendship beneath his ire. "If there is something to know, we must know it first."

he knows a lesser man, or one simply less experienced, would have already withered under the king's ire. daeng's sense of duty and loyalty keeps him determined. does not flinch as the staff clatters on the table, nor does he look away. hands behind his back, he cuts the perfect picture of a soldier, standing at attention even under the demands that could cut through the bone. a part of him wishes there were no other soldiers in the room, so they would not have to face it also, though he knows not to ask for that. "immediately." short, curt, cutting the chase. it's hard not to grimace at the very true statements that fall from his king's mouth, and he makes no excuses. "we will be tracing any and all contact she has made, and will start interrogations immediately. i will spearhead them personally and cross-examine to learn if there is anyone who is omitting the truth." a pause, he continues with the next plans of action. it is always difficult to accept to be at fault, though daeng does not sugarcoat it. "we were uncareful with accepting her into our midst, and will trace the origin of her entry to learn if anyone else was involved."

[thenxghtwemxt]

"Out of my way." When was the last time Rahmi spoke with such authority, in the presence of his once-loyal slayer? He cannot pinpoint the time and place. But now, in the present, it is there. An aggressive huff, as Rahmi sees only red. His husband-to-be barely saved, the executor of Rahmi's worst actions now gone. There is one woman to blame, and Timur is all that stands in his way. "Move." He urges, drawing his sword. "I will not ask again."

closed starter ›› rahmi abdul , @thenxghtwemxt

he  wasn't  certain  where  the  disappointment  grew from. was it at his failure to deliver a fatal blow when it could be concealed and blame shifted or from losing control of his rage in the first place? he'd been trained well. he was not to strike without order and none save the demands of rage been spoken. shaking his head, hoping to dislodge the thoughts, timur turned and immediately halted. eyes narrowed.   ❝ what? ❞   he hissed. instinctively, hand drifted to the hilt of his sword but the blade remained sheathed.

[thenxghtwemxt]

He finds tranquility in Lia's gesture. A burly smile beneath his beard, soft and satisfied by his fingers on the petals. Just about ready to save Lia the trouble, and place it on his bedside himself. But Rahmi's brows furrow - first, in confusion. Then, immediately, in concern. His hand presses further against his back. Was it the allergens in the air? A particularly bad case of the flu? Lia's frazzled hands miss, and with it, glass and water shatter at their feet. A pool of petals forgotten, as Rahmi hurriedly catches his body. "Lia!" Rahmi exclaims, clinging desperately onto his arms. His body is simultaneously warm, yet cold in his arms. The unfamiliar shaking rousing fear, unabashed and real, into his own bones. "What is the matter? Lia, Lia!" His voice is pronounced, hazy with desperation. Careful not to shake his betrothed, though the temptation is real. If he keeps moving, if he keeps talking... Surely, it could not be that bard?

"What?" Amidst the haze, his eyes land on the wine. Poison. A deep chill runs down his spine. Of course. Lia's wan features. The closing of his throat. It is everything the Ratsifi's knew to enact, now taking one of their own. Dropping onto the ground, Rahmi desperately pulls Lia closer. Placing his head on his lap, as the palms of his hand brushing away the sweat beads. "Stay with me, stay with me-" He whispers, before finding his voice. "Guards! Alistair! Somebody!" He roars, finally, earning the hastened pace of the guards on the onset. "Find the King, quick as you can. Lia - The Prince! He is in critical condition!" Rahmi ushers in a panic, but he is unmoved. He cannot leave him. Look at what happened the last time he did.

the lump in his throat does not go away, and he has to hold his breath to calm himself down. it scarcely helps, though lia does his best to ignore its presence. the second glance at the flowers fills his chest with warmth, and he reaches out to take the bouquet with the hand not holding onto the glass. "thank you, dear. they look-" the words continue to stick, and he coughs around them. "w-wonderful." there is an odd quality to his voice as the lump grows. breathing becomes difficult, and despite the hand on his back, he realizes his vision beginning to swim. a hand pushes the flowers back towards rahmi, though before he can put down the glass, it slips from his grasp, shattering against the floor. the red liquid spreads across the carpet, glass turning into hundreds of shards. lia cannot bring himself to care- his breaths turn into a wheeze, and he feels a chill, running down his spine. "something- something's wrong." a hand, goes up to his mouth, as the coughs continue to wreck his frame. in a desperate attempt to stand straight, he reaches out to rahmi's shoulder, to keep himself up, fingers digging into the fabric of his shirt, eyes clenching shut through the sudden pain. the next couple of coughs bring a metallic taste to his mouth, accompanied by a spray of liquid on his palm. a glance towards his hand, he sees the drops of red, stark against his skin, and slowly begins to realize what's happening. "rahmi- i think —-" his eyes move to the bottle of turkish wine on his bedside table, and all the telltale signs of poison as his condition grows worse. when he meets rahmi's gaze again, his own eyes are filled with fear. in a few more seconds, he finds it impossible to stand straight. the loud thud of a carpet against his knees, as the prince continues to cough into his palm. "poison- i- i don't-" the words come out in a wheeze, and he feels the panic making him sweat, despite how cold he is beginning to feel. "antidote- mendrika might-" how foolish of him, to not realize what was in front of him, how terrifying, if this is how it all really ends.