Sorry it's been so long since my last update! I've been super swamped with photo shoots and classwork. I'm getting excited for the upcoming chapters. I love these characters and sometimes it frustrates me that I'm not as good as I want to be at explaining their feelings.

I'm also going to change the rating to M. It won't be nearly as bad as some of the M stuff I've seen on here, but just to be safe for future chapters.

Also! REVIEWERS! I'd love some more feedback on the story. How it's going, if anything is confusing, ect. I'm doing my best to keep things straight, but I did start this story a few years ago. It's taking me some time to get back into the hang of things. I hope you enjoy the chapter! Let me know what you think!

Once in the hall, Lochlan paused to breathe. He could feel his blood racing, causing the wound in his leg to throb in time with his heart. With one hand on the wall to support some of his weight, he began walking towards Vivian's room. There was something more to the fear in Vivian's eyes than before. The castle was a strange place filled with cruel and bitter people, but she'd adapted quickly. She knew how to keep her head up.

No, the fear he'd seen in her eyes only moments before was more personal. He'd seen it before. He'd caused it. He'd taken lives with it.

Once he reached his destination, he paused. The door to Vivian's room was slightly ajar. Frowning, he quickly pulled a slender knife from his boot, grateful he had dressed before Vivian's arrival that morning. Henry wouldn't have left the door ajar and it was too late for servants to be tending the fires, too early for them to be tossing the bed. There was someone else in the room.

Lochlan eased the door open, grateful that it swung inward in silence. Quickly, he scanned the room. There was no one in sight. He entered, ignoring the pain in his leg. He'd had worse, he'd finished missions with worse. Working methodically, careful to make no sound, Lochlan cleared the room.

Once sure that no one else was in the room, he stood at the foot of the bed, looking for anything abnormal. Nothing immediately caught his eye, this wasn't his room. He didn't know if things were out of place. He walked over to the wardrobe. Opening the wooden door he searched the dresses. Nothing.

Next he walked to the vanity. Various things were scattered across it. A perfume bottle, a hair brush, lotion. Nothing seemingly abnormal. Slowly he searched the rest of the room. Frustration mounted. There was something. There had to be something! Rather irritated, he searched the table next to the bed. Upon opening one of the drawers, he recognized the journal Vivian had once left inside his study. His irritation left. Vivian probably would have replaced anything this morning before Henry arrived.

He lifted the journal from the side table, wondering if he dared read the last entries. Surely she would have written if something was worrying her. He stroked the book's spine, hesitant.

"Well, I certainly didn't expect to see you here Chael." Lochlan stiffened at the sound of Morven's voice. He replaced the journal and carefully shut the drawer before turning towards the door he had left open. "Pray, tell me why are you snooping around Vivian's room? Aren't you supposed to be in bed? I hear that wound is pretty nasty."

Lochlan knew Morven was trying to goad him, and he had almost determined to keep his calm when he saw the breakfast tray in Morvens hands, three delicate red roses laid across the top. Fury rose within him at the way Morven leaned against the door frame, as if he belonged there. As if it were the most natural thing in the world for him to be there. Morven must have seen the spark in his eyes, because he stood up and took a step back. Lochlan stepped around the bed, stalking towards Morven.

In that moment, watching Morven cower, he knew he couldn't give Vivian to the weak man before him. He would be selfish and take what was not his. Whatever she felt for him would be enough to last him forever. Yes, Vivian would grow to hate the monster that he was, but wouldn't subject her to bearing his cursed children, and Morven wouldn't have her. He would send her to Elsterin with Henry. They would go as far away as possible. If marriage was the only way to save her, they would marry. He would forever cherish the light she had given him, and he would send her way to protect that light. She would be his if only in name.

Morven backed further into the hall, fearing the angry determination in Chael's eyes. He hadn't expected Chael to be on his feet yet. The King had assured him that he would still be abed for the next few days. Long enough for Morven to make his move.

Every morning he had silently snuck into Vivian's room. The first night, he had moved the items on her vanity around. Not much, but just enough to plant a seed of doubt. The next night, he had left a white rose on her side table. The third night, he had taken a dress. It had been an odd request from the King, but he had done it, knowing he couldn't disobey.

This morning, he had hoped to be there to offer comfort, and breakfast. It seemed it was too late for that.

Lochlan stepped into the hall, careful to close the door behind him. He advanced on Morven, half expecting him to run. He glanced at the tray between them, but something on Morven's arm caught his attention. Dread curled in the pit of his stomach. Without warning, Lochlan grabbed Morven's arm and pushed his sleeve up. The tray clattered to the ground, sending the roses and food down the hall.

Morven didn't react, stunned at Lochlan's abrupt movement. "Who did this?" Lochlan was furious. The burned flesh reminded Lochlan very much of his own tie to the King. The symbols were similar if not more gruesome.

Morven pulled his arm from Lochlan's grasp, quickly covering the marks with his sleeve and backing down the hall, "You of all people shouldn't have to ask." He spat, returning Lochlan's hard gaze.

Lochlan growled, before grabbing Morven by the lapels and slamming him against the wall. "What the hell are you planning? What does the king want?"

Morven's eyes went wide and he struggled to breathe. "I don't know!"

"Liar!" Lochlan hissed. "What do you know!"

"Nothing! The king keeps his own! I merely do as he says!"

Lochlan's mind reeled. Judging the age of the burn marks, they were only a few days old. His mind began piecing bits together. The race. The arrow. Vivian's unspoken fears. Morven's presence. The King's twisted sense of humor. His manipulation. The dark magic that bound both Lochlan and Morven. This game to win Vivian's hand. It all clicked into place. He returned his attention to Morven, "So you're a mere pawn? A nearly worthless piece in a game of chess. A sacrifice to ensure the best player's loyalty."

He laughed a dark laugh, void of mirth. "Vivian will never be yours." With disgust, he dropped Morven to the floor.

With a dark anger clouding his face, he walked away, leaving Morven sprawled against the wall, gasping for breath.

He would play the king's game, but he would play it in his own way.