considering how tropey this whole plotline has been so far, I don’t think it’s too much to ask for a scene of Ed angrily demanding that Oswald tell him WHY ON EARTH he murdered Isabella because Os keeps refusing to give him a straight answer, and Ed continues yelling until a tearful and clearly wrung-out Oswald finally shouts, “I DID IT BECAUSE I LOVE YOU!!!” followed by him dramatically clapping his hand over his mouth as Ed stares at him, mouth hanging open and eyes wide, and we can literally see Ed’s gaze flicker all over Oswald as the pieces start to fall into place in his head and of course, of course, how could he have have been so blind–
Thank you for asking and following me! You’re amazing! I hope you like it
“Please, put it down.” She said please, but every syllable
rang with authority.
The entire king’s guard was circled around her, firearms
loaded and swords drawn. In the center of the circle, stood the king. With a
five inch long knife at his throat. The minor baron’s son who was holding it
there laughed and shook his head.
“I’m doing this whole
country a favor, Your Majesty. This goat-foot,” he shook the king bodily,
the knife skipping dangerously close to his throat, “is playing all of you!”
Attolia clenched her jaw in anger. Costis, visibly shaking directly
behind the king, made eye contact with her over his shoulder. He looked
desperate, his sword unsheathed and ready. The king, for his part, looked
“He’s a thief!” He yelled, looking at everyone in disbelief.
His voice dropped, “And he got a thief’s punishment.” He grabbed the king’s
right wrist, so tight Eugenides’ face paled in pain, and forced the gleaming
hook up. Slowly, with every soldier staring in fury, he sliced a long, thin cut
into the king’s cheek.
The king twisted, swearing emphatically. The baron’s son tightened
his hold, the knife slipping against his throat, a red line of blood appearing.
Eugenides stilled, making eye contact with the queen. Her face remained
Then suddenly, she was taking the hidden dagger against her
ribs by the handle, and throwing it at the would-be assassin. There was a
collective gasp among the guard, Costis took a stumbling step forward, and then
the knife was in Eugenides’ left hand, plucked out of the air with ease.
A second later, the man was on the ground, a long gash on
his forearm where the king had cut him, and the king himself was surrounded by
his guard, Attolia standing in front of him.
“They’re fairly shallow,” she said, taking his chin in her
hands and tilting it toward the light.
“It hurts,” he pouted sullenly. She rolled her eyes. Behind
them, they could hear the guards drag the criminal away, with him still
shouting profanities at the king.
Costis pushed his way into the circle of guards. The king
laughed at his pallor, and his face visibly relaxed. Finally, the guard made
way for the physician to guide the king toward his chambers, despite protests.
The queen walked next to him, close enough their shoulders pressed together.
Costis thought, as he walked behind them, that he heard the king whisper to her, “Good aim, my love.”
Irene wan’t really sure when Eugenides stopped watching her cut her meat at dinner. It hadn’t taken her long to notice after their marriage–she would slice pieces off with the silver knife, and Gen’s eyes would flick towards her hand with every movement. Or, more accurately, toward the knife with every movement. He was afraid of her and she accepted that and even relished it a little bit, when he was being particularly stubborn about something.
But then the wariness faded. The fear might have remained, did remain judging by the nightmares, but his watchful eyes, his tense muscles, his caution relaxed until he would reach for her hand without looking, trusting it not to have a knife in it, ready to cut off some other piece of him. It scared her. She did not trust herself so easily.
It came to a head one morning, when they were finishing their breakfast. He had drained his glass, fresh from the training field and dehydrated, and no one had refilled it yet. She had offered her own, and then watched in horrified amazement as he drank from it. When he set it down again, he noticed her stare.
“You’re the one who offered it,” he reminded her.
“I didn’t expect you to actually drink it,” she hissed.
“Was there a reason not to?” he asked coolly, knowing her answer. He tipped his chair back on two legs.
“Don’t trust me,” she warned. “I could still poison you. I could cut off your other hand. I could hang you from my castle walls.”
“You could. But you won’t,” he said simply.
“And you have come to this conclusion how?” She was keenly aware of her attendants and guards listening closely.
“Because I am your king,” he answered, and several attendants drew sharp breaths. He stood and kissed her as he always did. “Because you love me,” he whispered, then left.
I am sorry for those posts I made and I want to let everyone know I will be ok. I know it seems silly to be so upset over this. I grew up with his music. He helped me through extremely rough times in my life. His music made me happier than any other artist. You could say that I’m just shocked more than sad, but I am feeling this deeply. He wasn’t just some artist that I liked.