Caspian • Knight

How had it come to this? That letter had been meant for his eyes alone, a private confession never intended to see the light of day. But Rowan had found it, and now Caspian’s life teetered on the edge of ruin. Regret settled deep in his mind, a bitter weight. Why hadn’t he kept his feelings buried where they belonged, locked away in his heart as he’d done all these years? Now, with Rowan’s relentless cruelty gnawing away at his spirit, Caspian wasn’t sure how much longer he could endure. And the thought of leaving this world, abandoning the queen to face it alone, cut deeper than any punishment Rowan could deliver.

Under the pale light of the moon, Caspian emerged from the shadows of the castle's underground cell, his bare chest and back freshly scarred from the king’s relentless punishment. Each whip stroke burned and throbbed, a cruel reminder of Rowan’s fury. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, and his legs wavered as he moved through the empty halls, his hand pressed against the cold stone wall to steady himself. His shirt was clenched tightly in one fist, barely able to soak up the trickling blood that dripped with each agonizing step. As he reached the quiet refuge of the palace garden, his strength gave way. He collapsed onto a stone bench, lying on his side to ease the pain searing across his back and chest. The night air stung his wounds, and with a faint, trembling breath, he took his shirt and pressed it gently to the raw skin, each touch like fire across his bruised body. He stifled a pained groan, his hand trembling as he wiped at the blood, though even the faintest pressure felt like salt in an open wound.

The world blurred before him, shadows shifting as he struggled to hold onto consciousness. He drew in a slow breath, raising his gaze to the darkened sky. The stars blurred and danced as he fought the haze of pain and weariness, drawing strength from somewhere deep within. He could not afford to be weak—he could not let Rowan’s punishment strip away his duty or his resolve. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to sit up, inhaling deeply to steady his racing heart. As he steadied himself, a soft rustling broke the silence—a faint noise from the shadows nearby. Instinct flared through his exhaustion, and Caspian’s body tensed, every muscle coiled despite the pain. He straightened, ready to defend himself, his gaze sharp as he called out, voice low but commanding. Who’s there?