A/N:

Lemme give you guys a quick explanation of this before you read.

FIRST OF ALL: THIS CONTAINS SPOILERS FOR KING'S CAGE, SO IF YOU HAVEN'T READ THAT, KNOW THAT I WARNED YOU.

SECOND: I've been practicing my writing in other places, improved my grammar and style and have my own works on Wattpad called REIGN OF ICE and SILENCING SOULS under the account name fictionismysafeplace. Both fantasy because I'm in love with magic. I've also started to write a new fic for Throne of Glass which will be my idea of how the seventh book will go (I have some crazy theories).

THIRD: So instead of continuing Silver Throne, I'm going to try writing how I think War Storm will go—of course, under a new title and cover. But the characters, the POVs, they're going to be resuming from King's Cage. All these characters belong to the wondrous Victoria Aveyard, this is just a fanfic of her works. If you guys want me to continue Silver Throne, please let me know.

Also, MAVEN IS MY BABY BOY I LOVE HIM SM KING'S CAGE HAD ME IN TEARS AND THAT'S WHY I THINK HE DESERVES A POV. And, as always, don't forget, dear lovelies, to favorite, follow, review and share :3

Prologue

Maven

I miss her so much.

Thoughts of her keep me up at night, wondering where she is, wondering if she's thinking of me, wondering if she's in his arms. Missing her, missing her visits, missing everything to do with her. Hating how she does this to me, hating how she makes me feel, hating how she makes these small slivers of the longing pierce my heart more painfully than they should, yet reveling in it all at once. Every passing day, every passing second, I fall deeper into the darkening abyss where I lose touch with reality.

I shouldn't spend my days thinking about her. But I still do.

She makes me feel. She makes me feel more vividly than ever, yet not a bright, happy feeling. It hurts so much, to love her. It hurts. It is the kind of pain that I want to both cherish and burn away at the same time.

Most of the time, I wish that Elara could have taken my love away for Mare. Sometimes, I don't.

She makes me weak. She makes me feel. She is my conqueror.

I feel like such a fool. She used my feelings for her to get what she wanted, she played me for information, and I just opened myself so blindly to her. She knows so much more about me than I've ever told anyone.

I usually find myself thankful that I don't dream of her. That I can't dream of her. I'd go mad if I did. Maybe that's the one thing Elara was right to do to me. If only I didn't feel so strongly around Mare.

Some days, I wander around the palace, searching for her presence. But she's never there.

"My Lord?"

The voice tugs at me, bringing me back from thoughts of Mare to reality and mild chatter surrounding me. It comes rushing to meet me, and the plate of food in front of me comes into focus. I look up, blinking, and right beside me is Princess Iris. My wife. She gestures to the food.

"Eat, My Lord," she says. "You've barely touched anything." She smiles, the corners of her lips rising. Something disgusting rises in the back of my throat, but I hide it, glancing around. There are people watching, sitting all around us, eager, expectant. They're all like hungry snakes hiding in the bushes, waiting for the fatal mistake their prey makes. Waiting for the moment to strike with their poison.

I return my wife's smile with a slight one of my own, hoping to distract her from the way I stab at a piece of sliced meat on my plate. When I finish swallowing it along with bile, the crowd seems to frown without moving their faces in disappointment, turning back to their own conversations. Iris resumes her hushed conversation with whatever lady is sitting beside her, and I force myself to take a bite of a steamed potato drowned in gravy. I can feel the thoughts of Mare creeping back up on me, the way her lips felt on mine when she'd kissed me so, so long ago.

It seems to take so long for the feast to end. I'm the first to stand up, the chair's legs echoing loudly when they scrape on the ground. A few others stand with me, but all it takes is for me to narrow my eyes and they sit back down. I walk away, two guards flanking me, and the hissing whispers of chatter fade away. My pace quickens with each room I pass and each corridor I enter until I finally reach my chambers. I slam the door shut behind me, panting, breathless, and barely make it to the bathroom before I vomit. She does this to me. The way she left me, the way she used to love me, the way she used to touch me. Everything about her does this to me.

Gasping, I sit back up, wiping the back of my hand on my mouth. I push myself to my feet and wash my face in the sink. In the mirror, my own cold blue eyes stare back at me. The bruises underneath are darker than ever, and my cheekbones jut out more than they used to. There's no color left to my skin, only a pale, sickly yellow.

They want to poison me, I think. One way or another, they're going to poison me.

It's the paranoia. It's the anxiety. It's all madness, I'm not going to be poisoned.

I stop attending the feasts and parties anyway.