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“What a beautiful day to die.”
At these words, Historia stiffened at her window.
“I don’t recall ever granting you leave to enter,” she said coldly, turning to face the newcomer.
Uriah Whimbly sniffed, twisting his mustache. “It wasn’t you who gave me leave, your highness,” he said. He kept to formalities even when the smarminess in his tone made it obvious he didn’t mean them. “The king was worried there was a chance you would be feeling… unwell.”
Historia searched for the hidden meaning in his words. She couldn’t imagine there were any circumstances where her father would be worried for her.
“My father doesn’t care for me,” she said, tone flippant, though the words ate at her soul.
“Is it any wonder that he doesn’t?” He used no title to address her. A show of how far she had sunk in her family’s good graces. “First a woman and now a man-beast.” Uriah sniffed in disgust, moving to collect the tray and dishes left over from supper. Historia had barely touched her food. Uriah hardly spared this a glance. “Such deviance. Is it any wonder your father keeps you tucked away from the world?”
Historia tightened her fists and bit her lip. Her rage was bubbling up inside her and she fought hard to keep it contained.
“Why should I care what the man who had my mother killed thinks of me?” she asked, lifting her chin.
Her mother had been cold.
Cruel.
But she had still been her mother.
And Historia had had to watch as hired killers slit her throat.
An attempt to hide her father’s shame, to bury his affair.
And yet, for whatever reason, he’d spared her life.
Once upon a time, Historia told herself that it had been out of affection.
That time had long since passed.
Her father held no affection for her.
Likely, he never had.
Uriah sniffed. “A pity he didn’t have you snuffed out as well. You’re really far too much trouble than you’re worth.”
He stepped closer to her, laying his hand on her shoulder.
His thumb brushed against bare skin and Historia shuddered before she could help herself.
The touch lingered longer than she would have liked and Historia willed herself to keep still.
“No matter,” he said finally, pulling away. “The werewolf will be dead by nightfall. Perhaps two loves lost will be the lesson needed to keep yourself in check next time.”
He paused a moment longer, before delivering his final blow.
“It truly is a beautiful day to die,” he finished, a lazy smirk crawling across his features. “It really is too bad your werewolf will never get to see it.”
For an instant, she saw red.
How dare he?
How dare he throw them in her face?
Her cheeks felt flushed with heat and she was trembling now, rage threatening to overtake her.
She remembered everything clearly- all the ones her father hurt just because… just because she was his daughter and they had dared to love her and she had dared to love them.
Ymir.
Her lady-in-waiting sent off to die in war once her father learned of their relationship.
Eren.
A boy cursed by his father to live out part of his life as a beast.
And herself.
Illegitimate daughter to the king. A tool to ensure that the Reiss bloodline continues to hold the throne. Allowed no agency of her own.
She would be married off to a man of her father’s choice, reduced to a breeding sow and a pretty little doll all in one.
Was that what she would allow herself to become?
Historia hadn’t been able to protect Ymir from death, but… maybe she could still save Eren. She didn’t have to accept her fate. She wouldn’t allow herself to be a helpless damsel.
Not again.
Never again.
Live a life you can be proud of. Promise me that.
Ymir’s last words to her, spoken before she embarked for a war she would not return from.
Historia let her tears fall, fists trembling at her side.
She had every intention of honoring her promise to Ymir.
And if she left Eren to her fate? Submitted to her father’s will without fighting for them both?
That was something she could never be proud of.
So she was going to fight.
For herself and for Eren.
/
Eren kept his eyes on the ground, throwing another acorn at the tree. It missed its mark, disappearing into a pile of brush.
“My mother died in childbirth,” he admitted. “My father cursed me because of it.” He held out his hands.
His arms were no longer covered in thick black fur, but Historia remembered it all too clearly.
On impulse, she gripped his hand before she could think the better of it.
He tensed, glancing at her, surprise evident in his features, but he didn’t pull away from her.
Instead, he squeezed her hand in return.
They sat there together, in mutual sympathy. They were joined by their status as castaways, two unwanted, unloved children.
“He cursed me,” Eren continued, swallowing thickly. The look in his eyes was haunted. “And I killed him. Before I even knew what I was doing. I woke up and I was me again and I had his blood in my mouth and his body… his body…”
Eren broke off then and hid his face, wiping ferociously at his eyes with the heel of his palm.
Historia tightened her grip, blood draining from her face.
“Oh,” she said and her mouth felt dry. “Eren, I’m sorry.”
“Why?” he asked harshly. The dull shine in his eyes was replaced by one that flashed fire.
Historia would have cringed back from his sudden intensity if she hadn’t known him well enough to doubt he would ever hurt her.
More hollow-like, he finished, “It’s not like you were the one who…” his breath hitched for a half-second before he stubbornly finished the sentence, “cursed me.”
“Because it happened.” Historia raised her eyes to his, but he looked away. She reached out, brushing her fingers against his cheek.
He leaned into her touch.
Something twisted in her heart- a phantom pain of sorts- and she carried on, running her fingers through his hair and exhibiting a tenderness she hadn’t displayed with anyone since Ymir.
He made her feel something she thought she had locked away forever.
He made her feel like she was at home.
If only this moment could last for an eternity- just the two of them locked in time.
Unobserved by any but the eyes of the forest.
/
“My father will want to marry me off,” she whispered against his lips. “He won’t allow us to have this.”
She wanted to resist this, resist repeating the cycle that would only end with someone else dying.
She gripped his arms tightly, holding him like he was her last defense against the world and he was.
Eren, for his part, never said a word against it, though she must have hurt him.
Then again, maybe not.
Who knew if the pain tolerance of a werewolf was the same as that of a human? Eren never told her and she didn’t think he would any time soon.
His curse wasn’t something he talked about.
Ever.
“I’m not afraid of him,” Eren laughed, cold and arrogant in his declaration.
It made her shiver.
He was a storm just beneath the surface, a force that threatened to destroy just as it promised to protect.
And he was sweeping Historia off her feet.
She was falling for him faster by the second.
“He’ll try to kill you. He killed the last woman I loved,” she said and the words tasted like ash dissolving on her tongue. “The only thing she did wrong was fall in love with me.”
His arms tightened around her shoulders, pulling her close.
“Let him try to take me.” He grinned at her, all sharp teeth and cockiness. “I’ll fight him. I won’t run away from him.”
Her heart twisted in her chest again.
Did she dare hope that they could?
/
“Eren.” She grabbed his hands through the bars, holding tightly. “Eren!” She pressed herself against the cell, reaching for him, pulling him to her as best she could.
“Historia…” Disbelief was evident in his tone.
“I’m here,” she cut him off, breathless. “I’m here. I won’t let them kill you. I swear it.”
He clutched at her.
If he had been her rock before, now she was his.
“He’s going to kill you in secret,” she told him. She couldn’t hide her bitterness. “He doesn’t want the people to know about you. If they did, if they knew about me, any heir I produced… Well, they might question it.”
That was her father alright.
Always looking out for his own self interest.
Eren pulled away from her and frowned.
Historia gripped his hand tighter, reluctant to end the contact now that they were finally reunited.
“How did you get here?” he asked, suddenly urgent. His eyes flickered behind her, as though he feared at any moment they might be interrupted.
“My sister…” Half-sister. Technically. Though Historia couldn’t be bothered to worry about technicalities.
Frieda had cared for her more than her actual parents had. She was the one who’d made Historia feel, for the first time in her life, that there was something about herself worth loving.
For all intents and purposes, Frieda was more her family than anyone else ever had been.
“She showed me secret passages when I was a child. It was a game we played. I doubt anyone else even remembers that they're here.” She tugged her shawl closer around herself- then immediately felt all the more selfish for doing so.
The dungeons were chilled and damp and Eren had nothing to keep himself warm.
Not even a blanket to sleep with.
Historia began shrugging her own shawl off, but Eren grabbed her wrist, stopping her.
“What are you…?”
She smiled at him. “Just feeling a little warm…”
“Historia…”
She gently extricated her arm from his grip. “It’s fine, Eren,” she told him. “Let me do this.”
“Okay.” His mouth twisted into a frown, but he made no further attempt to stop her.
She held her hand out, inviting him to place his palm against hers.
He did so.
“I’m going to get you out of here,” she promised and if her smile wavered, who could fault her for that? “I love you.”
“I…” Eren faltered. “I do too.” His face flushed with color. “You, I mean.”
“I know.” Their fingers twined together and, before she knew it, he had pulled her closer till her body was mashed against the bars.
“What are you…?” but she was cut off when he brought her yet closer.
It wasn’t a proper kiss by any means.
She ached for them both to be free, for him to take her in his arms and hold her, for her to be able to kiss him when she wanted, unhampered by these cells.
Instead, she gave him her shawl. “Put it on,” she ordered.
He was startled, but he didn’t question it, sliding it over his shoulders.
“Historia…”
She procured the key from her pocket and held it for him to see. “They still haven’t learned to watch me closely.”
/
She was pushed to the ground with a startled cry.
“Eren!” she gasped, unable to catch herself.
Why was he attacking her?
An awful thought struck her.
Is he going to kill me?
Immediately, she felt ashamed for thinking that.
This was Eren.
She knew him well enough to know he wouldn’t hurt her.
“They sent someone to follow us,” Eren growled.
Historia rolled onto her back and scanned the woods they had just come from, but she saw nothing. That didn’t mean anything, though.
She knew Eren was aware of things she wasn’t, just as she knew they would never be able to take him alive again.
Not if they didn’t have her.
As he stood over her, she knew something else with absolute certainty.
He was going to protect her, even at the cost of himself.
She couldn’t let that happen.
“No!” She climbed to her feet and grabbed ahold of his arm.
Eren was formidable, but he wasn’t unstoppable.
That he had been caught in the first place was enough evidence for that and, besides, she was sure that her father’s men had guns.
“Not here. Please.” Perhaps pleading with him here was selfish, but she wasn’t going to let him die.
Not like Ymir.
He relented, allowing her to guide him from the place.
They couldn’t run forever.
She was only delaying the inevitable- of course, her father wouldn’t let her go that easily- but perhaps she could buy them both some time.
No matter.
They would flee from this place and, when they could flee no longer, they would fight.