#but i won't blame ya'll if you want off the taglist lmao

[rapunzelles-archive]

PROLOGUE PT. I: A TALE OF TWO HEARTS

— you are the love that came without warning; you had my heart before i could say no

          KIERAN CAN’T REMEMBER a time he didn’t love the girl with the silver eyes. He’s tried. He’s tried so hard, because maybe if he could remember such a time, he could stop loving her now, as if he had never loved her at all. But, he despairs, how can he when even his earliest recollection takes him back to memories of her?

He is three and grumpy, frustrated with the rainy weather that prevents him from playing outside. He’s pouting in his room when his mother, Rhozia’s bright-eyed Queen, bursts through the doorway bearing a bouquet of freshly cut flowers.

“Miss Gracelyn’s just had her baby! Come, darling, let’s go see her!” Vaguely, Kieran remembers his father’s most trusted advisor and her swollen stomach. He makes a face, he doesn’t like babies much—the last time he’d seen one had been six months ago with the birth of his newborn brother, Ster-fry something or other, and he had been a drooling mess. Besides, he hated the hospital, where everything was too clean and too bright. But he could never resist his mother. Thus, a reluctant Kieran allows himself to be dragged towards the hospital wing of the palace, where a woman of about thirty is lying in bed, clutching a pink bundle in her arms. His mother is ecstatic to see her friend and rushes forward with her offering of flowers. Kieran, is more reserved however, and holds back, hiding behind the skirt of his mother’s royal blue gown for almost fifteen minutes before his curiosity gets the better of him.

He had been afraid to see spittle—stars knew how many cloths his new brother went through every day—but upon first glance, he’s pleasantly surprised to see that the baby is drool-free. Upon looking closer, he notices the freckles dotting her cheeks, and though her eyes are closed, Kieran is already entranced. She has curls of brown blooming atop her head, and it looks so much softer than Eliza’s wild tresses that he almost reaches out to touch it. It’s then that she opens her eyes, and they shine such a brilliant pearl gray that he thinks he can’t breathe.

“What’s her name?” He asks Gracelyn with wide eyes. “She’s so pretty!”

She laughs quietly, “Gwyneira, but she’s to be called Gwen.”

“Hi Gwen,” the little prince bends toward her like a flower to the sun, saying her name like it’s something sacred. She looks so fragile, so vulnerable in her mother’s arms, and even though he’s just met her, something akin to devotion courses through his veins like fire. “I’m Kieran. I’m going to be your protector.”

        When a red mark appears on his wrist some years down the road bearing the name of one Gwyneira Revenciel, the crown prince is hardly surprised. He’s loved her since day one, it’s about time the mark proving it showed up.

        What Kieran isn’t expecting, however, is for that red mark to ever signify anything more than a secret childhood crush.

          It happened the day her father had left. Henri Revenciel had left the palace under the pretense of buying roses for his wife and daughter, only to never return. Kieran remembers walking out from his last lesson of the day, reveling in the sunlight streaming through the glass windows when he catches sight of a girl’s crumpled form. He immediately recognizes her—he could probably spot her from a mile away—and the shock of seeing her cry causes him to drop everything at once so he can rush to her side.

          “Gwen?” He asks quietly, kneeling in front of her. He’s about to ask her if she’s okay—and it’s a stupid question, she obviously isn’t—when she lifts her head, eyes watery, and instinctively, Kieran opens his arms. She falls into his embrace as a fresh round of sobs wracked her body. He pulls her close, and though they stay like that for a good long while, never does he let her go. Not even once.

          Later that night, after he’s tucked her into bed, Kieran leans against her open doorway, finding comfort in the way the blankets rise and fall in an even pattern. His lips are twisted in a sad smile, and his heart physically aches with the knowledge that the first person to break her heart was not a boy, but her father. He’s tempted to perch himself by her bedside to make sure she sleeps peacefully, and the sudden yearning of wishing she had asked him to stay knocks the breath out of him. He doesn’t entertain the thought—he can’t—but still, he absently traces the scarlet mark he keeps hidden from prying eyes, only to feel a searing pain.

        Frowning, he lifts the sleeve of his silken shirt with a certain amount of caution, and all the blood drains from his face when he realizes that his only red mark is no longer red.

        It’s white.

        And then he’s stumbling away from the doorway, almost forgetting to pull the door shut behind him in his panic. He begins to hyperventilate, the blood rushing to his head all at once. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening.

        Kieran had heard stories about this sort of phenomenon, where red and yellow marks occasionally turned white, an indication that someone you already loved was your soulmate. Part of him always knew that Gwen meant more to him than some silly childhood crush, but this? This was his demise.

        With a groan, the crown prince slumps against the wall, rubbing at his eyes. Well this is absolutely fantastic, he thought sardonically. He was in love with a girl who had no idea how he felt, and to add salt to the wound, he knew for certain that she had no matching marks. It’s then that he vows never to tell her about the bond that now ties him to her, because he doesn’t want to burden her like that, not when she’s only thirteen. So he quickly gathers his resolve and straightens his shoulders, walking down the hall as if each step that takes him further and further away from his soulmate isn’t tearing his heart in two different directions.

          After that fateful night, Kieran purposely avoids everyone in the palace for a good week or so, and since he’s sixteen, most of his family members simply chalk it up to teenage angst.

        Gwen, to her credit, doesn’t believe any of it for even a second.

        When she manages to finally corner him in his office, she places her hands on her hips and glares at him. The sight of it makes him want to laugh, because standing in her pink gown and flowers crowning her head, she looks more adorable than she does scary. He swallows the laughter though, and refuses to meet her gaze.

        “Why are you avoiding me?” Gwen is pouting and petulant. She steps towards him, eliciting a nervous sort of laugh from her best friend, who in his attempt to put distance between them, find himself cornered by the back of his desk.

        “I-I’m not,” he retorts, desperately trying to pull himself together. “I’ve just been…” he thinks long and hard, “I’ve been looking for your father.” There. It wasn’t a complete lie, he had been looking for Henri Revenciel, but to no avail.

        Immediately, her expression both softens and hardens. “You don’t have to do that, Ki,” she murmurs, dropping her gaze, “I know he’s not coming back.” And then with startling defiance Gwen meets his eyes and like every other time it’s happened, he’s electrified by the way her eyes shine like liquid moonlight. “We don’t need him. So stop looking for him, please. I just want my best friend back.” She’s adopted her signature puppy dog look, and damn the heavens, he could never deny her anything.

        “Okay,” he replies quietly, and Gwen’s smile blossoms. With a cry of delight, she launches herself forward and wraps him in a crushing hug.

        He’s surprised at how much he’s missed this, missed her. His chin fits perfectly into the crook of her neck when he leans down, and it’s as if their arms were made to hold each other. Kieran swallows. He was going to have to be very careful from now on.

        Months later when she tells him she likes Sterling, he feels what is left of his heart shatter like glass.

        “That’s great,” he croaks when she tells him the big news with that adorable rosy blush staining her cheeks. “You two would make a perfect couple.” The worst part is, he’s not even lying. His brother is a far better match for Gwen than he is; they’re closer in age, and Sterling is the star of Rhozia and the royal family. He was charming and kind and would sweep her off her feet like she deserved to be. They would be beautiful and picturesque together, and he hated himself for being so upset about it.

        At his words, his soulmate beams, and Kieran can’t breathe. He loves it when she looks like that, for her smile could rival that of the brightness of the sun. “You think so?” She asks, blush darkening. “You’re the bestest friend a girl could ask for, Ki!” With that, she presses a kiss to his cheek and spins giddily out of the room, a whirlwind of lace and silk that unknowingly leaves a devastated boy behind.

        Over the course of time, it becomes easier for him to believe that Gwen isn’t meant for him, that she never was. The mark was a mistake. It had to be. How could he be her perfect match when it was so obvious that it was his brother who was her soulmate? Besides, he rationalized, he was the crown prince, and when it was time for him to ascend to the throne, that would mean his wife would have to be queen. Gwen had made it clear she longed to travel the world, and he loved her too much—he would not tie her down. So he began to do anything and everything in an effort to forget her, hoping that in time, the awful white mark would disappear.

        Each weekend found him out at some sort of party; he was addicted to the way it made him forget the heartbreak. The paparazzi always caught him kissing some new girl every week, but not once did he take any of them home. No, even that was a line he would not cross, though it didn’t stop his parents from berating him each morning.

        “Why can’t you act like a prince?” Was a common question his father asked him. “Pull yourself together son, you’re a Deluca.”

        “I’m searching for my soulmate,” Kieran would retort, “Not everyone can have you and mother’s fairytale romance!” He has to force himself to ignore how heavy the lie feels on his tongue, how his cursed mark burns every time he repeats those words. And even then, as the years passed and he watched Gwen love Sterling, and even as he kissed other girls, the white mark staining his left wrist never so much as lost its pearly sheen.

        He doesn’t start to cover up his mark until he turns eighteen. He had never considered it to be an option—the mark was a part of him, no matter how much he hated it at times. But even so, there were days when the white mark seemed to physically cause him heartache, likely due to the fact that it was tied to his soul or some other explanation he didn’t care too much to understand. All he knew was that he was hurting, and the root of it was that damned mark.

        So one afternoon, Kieran dons his best disguise and slips out of the palace, a handful of gold coins weighing down the pockets of his wool coat. He knows where to go—he’s accompanied his sisters to the beauty boutique more than enough times. The shop is painted a pale blue, and the inside is so fluorescently bright that it hurts his eyes. He’s in and out in a matter of minutes though, only grabbing a bottle of thick liquid that matches his skin color and a matching powder. He has only a vague idea of how to use it, but that’s a bridge he’ll cross later. He’s eager to hurry back to the palace, and as soon as he ducks out of the store, Kieran is careful to keep his head low to avoid detection. The last thing he needs at the moment is yet another ‘scandal’ perpetrated by the media.

        In the privacy of his suite, he takes out the bottle and the powder, setting the items down carefully on the cherrywood dresser. He stares at them for a moment, then hesitantly picks up the bottle and twists the cap open. Then, with a deep shuddering breath, he pushes his sleeve up, now fully ready to dip his fingers into the skin-colored liquid to paint over his mark.

        Perhaps he’s not as ready as he believes himself to be, however, because Kieran finds himself distracted with tracing the outline of the mark with his index finger, silently wishing—and not for the first time—that he didn’t have to hide it from the rest of the world. The light catches on the mark, and the way it shines reminds him of the way Gwen’s eyes sparkle whenever she’s happy, and he’s pulled out of his thoughts—he has to, needs to forget her. With a sudden surge of determination, he dips his fingers into the makeup. In his intense focus though, he does not hear the three knocks rapped on the door, or the maid announcing herself right as she pushes her way in with a cleaning cart.

        By the time Kieran realizes what’s happened, it’s too late.

        The maid is gasping, stumbling backward at the sight of the crown prince and apologizing profusely for her intrusion when the light refracts perfectly off his wrist. Her eyes flick towards it, and with the way her sea green eyes widen, he knows his secret is no longer safe.

        She’d seen his mark.