The Master Thief

For me there are neither locks nor bolts, whatsoever I desire is mine.

The young woman yearned for the moments she could spend with him. The quick, sudden kisses he gave her when he pulled her out of the halls. Her favorite moments, however, were the ones where he held her against his bare chest and pressed his lips against her temple when he believed her to be asleep.

Moments like this.

Roslyn peered an eye open, watching as the man before her continued to sleep. She couldn't help the smile that played on her lips watching him and the way his walls crumbled down when he slept. Occasionally his mouth would quirk up and Rose would find herself wondering what he'd been dreaming of, perhaps…her? He grumbled softly, and she quickly squeezed her eyes shut, willing her cheeks not to turn a bright rouge. His arm shifted, pulling her closer to him and he buried his face in the crook of her neck.

"Rose," he whispered, trailing kisses along her throat, "Rosie, I know you are awake."

The girl exhaled, opening her eyes and pouting, "I could've been asleep. You could've just woken me."

He chuckled and pulled away, "Well if I did, I'm glad. You're beautiful when you sleep, but even more so when you're awake," Cupping her face with his palms, he stared down at her, his blue eyes still glazed over with sleep. She wrapped her free arm around his neck and pulled him down to her lips.

She kissed him, soft but sure. Willing the court around them to vanish, blocking out the inevitable moment he would leave her to play the dangerous game of being him. His hands migrated from her cheeks and into her hair, then down her spine and hoisted the two of them into a more upright position, he broke the kiss but pressed his forehead against hers, "My arm was starting to grow weary of holding us both up," he explained and she giggled before he reignited the connection. He kissed her again, this time harder and more desperate as he grasped at the love the two shared for strength and Roslyn's heart sank.

She knew what came next.

It always ended too soon for her, and even his, liking.

The man walked off to his wardrobe and Rose fell back down onto his downy bed. She drew the covers up to her neck and just sat there basking in the comforting smell of him. He had already pulled a linen shirt over his head and stepped into his breeches before Rose gathered the resolve to scavenge about for fragments of her own outfit and pull on her shift and stockings.

"There are some of your dresses in the back of my closet," he reminded her and she smiled hurrying to the location he mentioned – one she'd ventured to many times. Pushing back his shirts, and doublets, and jerkins to her hidden wardrobe. Roslyn placed her dress from the night before in with the others, favoring one she hadn't worn for a while. Wrapping the corset around her chest, her fingers fumbled to lace it up the back. "Here," He placed his hand on hers, pulling it away, "Let me."

Roslyn nodded. His hands, skilled after many months of assisting the girl with this very situation, traced down her back, lacing as he went. She drew in a breath and he sighed, "I've never understood a women's sense of fashion. How do you even breathe in this?"

Her chest constricting, she gasped, "You don't." He frowned, wondering if perhaps he should loosen the lace. She rested her head against his chest, and his lips grazed across her shoulder, wishing the world to vanish and permit her to stay there with him.

His hands fluttered down her arms against the fabric of her shift, "You're beautiful…" he murmured, Roslyn's cheeks flushed and she bowed her head. The man turned away, scavenging through one of his drawers only to resurface with an ample wooden box, "I was going to save this for your name day; however, now seems like as good of a time as any," he flicked the box open, revealing a pendant adorned with a golden chain and a massive crystal at the center. The woman's unpainted lips parted in awe, "Would you like me to put it on?" She nodded, and the man brushed her raven hair away, clasping it around her neck. Rose's eyes welled and she spun, wrapping her arms around his waist, "Happy early name day, mia amore."

"I love you," she whispered, her voice muffled by his linen shirt.

"And I you," he inhaled, her vanilla fragrance as addicting as opium, as stimulating as coffea seeds, and even as mind-numbing as bourbon after a long day of politics however contradictory that may seem.

Roslyn reluctantly untangled herself from his embrace, frowning, "I don't believe we can remain here all day, no matter how much I wish it were."

His head dipped and he removed a coat from a hanger, "Must we, though? You know how treacherous Illéan court can be, not to mention, today is only politics."

"Only politics," Rose repeated, the shadow of a smirk twitching at her lips, "I'll probably have to endure the Duchess Empusa's babbling on about the fresh gossip at court, though most I've already heard from Princess Krea while tending to Catrain."

"Your majesty!" Sir Gideon, his personal guard, interrupted frantically, pounding on his door.

"Stay here," he grumbled.

"Wait, Dorian," Rose whispered, placing a hand on his shoulder. Gideon called out to the crown prince of Illéa again, "Be safe," she advised, just as she always did when they parted ways until the next nightfall.

Dorian staggered out of the closet, tying up his jacket, "Yes?"

"It's your father," Gideon explained, trying to coax him out of the room.

The prince's eyes narrowed, "What about him? I wasn't scheduled to meet with him until midday, the sun has barely risen."

Gideon shook his head, hardly able to form words, "No, Dorian," the other man's eyebrows knitted together at the informality, "You don't understand, your father – the king…he's dead."

Dorian staggered back, his face turning ashen. His hand shot out, latching onto the nearest cabinet for support, "No," he said, shaking his head, "No, he can't be," his voice shook and Rose's heart broke, finding it increasingly more difficult to remain hidden in the closet. Surely the death of his father was reason enough for their relations to be exposed to his own personal guard?

But Roslyn wasn't sure if Dorian felt the same, leaving her unwilling to take that chance.

The Prince tore down the halls, unable to mumble so much as an apology to those he collided with. King Berric Schreave was not dead, he told himself. He said the words over and over again. No, his father was strong, he hadn't even fallen ill. It must be some sort of mistake. With little care for the aristocrat's opinion of his ramped behavior, his lack of boots, or a fully fastened jacket, Dorian barreled into his father's chambers.

He froze.

Maids scampered about the room, refusing to meet his eyes. His younger brother, Terren clutched his whimpering twin, Krea, in his arms. The twin's elder, but his younger sister, Catrain abided with a delicate hand on his mother's shoulder as wept on a human silhouette under a pristine bedsheet. No tears plagued his younger brother, Cassian's, azure eyes. He observed, taciturn as ever, no insignia of emotion plastered his face. The boy was only ten years of age, his father's corpse resting mere feet from him, but felt nothing. Normally, Dorian would blame the eldest of the Schreave siblings for this lack of empathy, but even Loreena's influence couldn't instigate such a callous reaction when she herself felt so vividly. The prince before him seemed crafted of stone, not flesh and blood. Someone sculpted Cassian into a beautiful, heartless shade of a child. They cared not of the love and care they refused to take in building him, but rather what money they could make from him, what political advantages they could obtain from him.

"No," Dorian repeated once more, and the attention turned to him. They evaluated his dark, uncombed curls that still could feel the ghost of Roslyn's fingers weaving through them, his bare feet throbbing from the endless sprint, and his lopsided jacket with a string clasped in a hole below its designated one. Still, no one spoke. Tears ran down Terren's face. It had been years since he'd seen his brother cry. He believed the last time was when the golden-haired boy spooked Loreena's horse nearly six years ago and she broke her knee beyond repair. The embarrassment of falling off her mare in front of the man who would later become her husband was so great that she reprimanded the twelve-year-old for hours on end, her anger a deadly combination with the agony in her knee.

"He's not dead," Dorian griped, "He can't be dead. I'm not ready, I can't be king. I-I've still got so much to learn…" He paused, his heart sinking, and he felt the first tear run down his face, "What happened?" Catrain shook her head, warning him not to tread down that path, but he paid no heed. His desire to know what befell his father, his mentor, his king was insatiable. "He had no illness," the future king pressed, "Was he murdered?"

Queen Lamia swung around, her red eyes bloated, "Keep your voice down," she hissed, "If you think I knew what fate my beloved husband met, I would've been able to begin the preparations for your coronation, but I don't," her voice broke, "I don't know what happened to him. There are no obvious signs of struggles and that damn physician hasn't arrived yet!"

Dorian shut his mouth and instead dashed over to the queen and pulled her into his own embrace, the mother and son wept together, her tears soaking on his shirt, and some of his own falling onto his bare foot. Minutes passed and Lamia, at last, pulled away, her face contorted as if the next words were hemlock in her mouth, "There is still the matter of succession to discuss. Dorian, you are to be the next king of Illéa, but as tradition demands, you must find your wife first, by holding a Selection," Dorian tried to protest but Lamia raised her hand, "You will receive the title of 'king', however, the power that comes with it will not be yours until you are married. Though I beg of you, Dorian, do not disregard the Selection. The woman whom you marry is to be the one you spend the rest of your life with. Take your time, grow with them. Learn from them. The only requirement is that your Selection must take a minimum of three months. The council will appoint a regent," Lamia explained, leaving out the fact that the regent would, in fact, be her, "And your studies will continue," Dorian's mother cupped his cheeks, pressing a kiss to his forehead, "My darling boy, you are to be king now. You must send for your sister, Loreena would certainly wish to be here to assist in any way as you attempt to find your wife. The rest of Illéa will hear of the news by sunrise."

Catrain scoffed at her mother's lack of knowledge of her eldest child. Loreena's duty in France as Queen for the past six years left her a stranger to her own family, but she's Queen Lamia's little girl, one who could seemingly do no wrong – something everyone saw, but Loreena herself. The shrewd Queen of France would not return to Illéa for her father's funeral, or her brother's Selection – no. She would return if there was some benefit of her own, say: the crown of Illéa, the very thing the woman had wanted since the moment she was born, yet never obtained due to the law that states that the crown was first to be passed down to the first-born son.

"Long live the king," Terren muttered, causing a chorus of repetitions from each of his siblings.

Within the hour, his mother, the twins, and Cassian abandoned Catrain, Dorian, and the lifeless carcass of King Berric Schreave. The princess watched in pain as her brother rested his head on his knees, wishing she could say something to console him, but none of her words seemed right. She tried, and tried, and tried, but hardly got the word "Dorian" out before her throat caught and she could speak no longer. The king himself could hardly look his sister in the eye without a nagging guilt in his chest. The girl knew not of his affair with her beloved lady-in-waiting. She believed them to be nothing more than close friends, not lovers.

Dorian hauled himself to his feet only once the court physician, Tertius, arrived. Lumbering over to Catrain, he said nothing as he pulled her in for a quick hug before leaving. In a matter of hours, the whole court had turned black. Women wore their soberest, but still fashionable black dresses, mourning a king the whole country adored. The king responded to none of the courtier's condolences, none of their pity. He didn't want their pity, no, he wanted his father back.

He stumbled past Gideon, collapsing onto his bed, now cold from neither him nor her resting there. Time passed and Dorian just felt numb. Perhaps this was why Cassian didn't cry, perhaps he merely skipped past the sobbing face and delved straight into the empty feeling where there were no tears left to shed, no words left to say. After a long while, he discarded his jacket, favoring his simple shirt. Perched at his desk, he started writing on a piece of parchment paper.

My dearest sister.

Dorian almost laughed at the words, he and Loreena both knew that neither was certainly dear to the other any longer. Without much more progress, a knock reverberated against the door, "Enter."

Roslyn curtsied, clad in a black gown with lace sleeves, much different from the one she'd chosen earlier, "How are you?" She asked, no apologizes for his loss, no pity. Rather concern. Genuine concern.

Dorian set down his quill and gazed up at her, "Fate or a man has stolen my father from me, my hearts desires are no longer what is permitted, I am the king of a country that I'm not ready to rule, and my sister will be returning once she's caught wind of the situation, though first I must write a letter to her. I am not okay, Rose, I'm not okay."

She nodded, slight confusion displayed in her eyes, but she spoke nothing of it, "You still have me. I'm not going anywhere."

Dorian shook his head, "That's the thing, my father is dead. Per tradition I am under an obligation to hold a Selection that must be held for a minimum of three months," he stared at her, defeat devouring him, "I thought I had another year."

Roslyn's face fell, but she hurried to his side, kneeling before him. She clutched his hands in her own and kissed his knuckles, "Do not worry about me, my love," she assured, though sounding rather dejected, "You've worried about me for far too long, let me worry about you for a change," Dorian paused before nodding and the woman's eyes glanced over the letter for Loreena, and she giggled, "Is this really what you're planning on sending to the Queen of France, the eldest Princess of Illéa, and your older sister?"

The king frowned, "Yes?"

She sighed, pulling out a new piece of parchment, "Oh what would you do without me?"

He chuckled, while his heart may not have been fully there, at least it was a start, "I'd burn here in court," he admitted, pressing his lips against the crown of her head.

HEYOOOOO WELCOME TO THE REVAMPED VERSION OF BEFORE MY WORLD CRUMBLES! So I'll admit, I haven't read over most of this, so I apologize for any mistakes. I'm not really expecting characters like now, now because I told the people already planning on submitting that I wouldn't start this for another month, but I got too excited.

HUGE HUGE HUGE thanks to wolfofstark who was once again the midwife of this story like she was for Before My World Crumbles, you're amazing

Few things I'd like to clarify:

The form for the SYOC is on my profile because this is, in fact, an SYOC

Roslyn is not my own character, but her relations with Dorian will not hinder your girl's chances with him should you choose to submit

Right now, I don't really know if I have like any spots left…due to the fact that I came up with this idea like a month and a half ago and there have already been several people asking to submit

Please, if there are open spaces, don't use characters you've already used in other stories. No Mary-Sues either please, I like characters with more depth than just the nice ones. DORIAN LIKES GIRLS WITH MORE DEPTH

When filling out your form, please title the Message: Toy Soldiers: Name, Age, Class, and Occupation (or their father's occupation)

I'll use Roslyn as an example: Toy Soldiers: Roslyn Clarke, 21, Upper Class, Lady-In-Waiting

Info for the royals is also on my profile and if you have a Pinterest, go ahead and look up the account "toysoldiers0346" I have aesthetic stuff for characters on that account and then on my main account (mtjastory) I have like chapter inspiration stuff.

I don't really have much else to say on that front, but here is the history of Illéa for Toy Soldiers – it's also on my profile:

History has been written just as the text books say. The explorers discovered the lands later known as the Americas, the new nation revolted against the British in the 1700s and the United States were born. People migrated to the States from countless countries and the nations grew, magical and non-magical alike – covens of witches would flee to the states seeking refuge from the European witch hunts, only to be tracked down later in the Salem witch trials.

Magic effectively vanished and the magical creatures dwelling in the nation – whom the Natives had lived peacefully among, ran into hiding. Though this magical gene continued on, it remained dormant in families never really making itself known without something to spur it on. When World War One and World War Two came about and devastated the nation, the magic began to make an appearance again as witches and wizards discovered their powers and attempted to use them to sway the wars in their nations favor but those people were few and most were discovered and quietly disposed of to prevent an uprising.

The country reigned in peace, the democracy in place until 2050 when the Third World War arose. Unlike the previous two, the third war did not end so well for America. The Chinese army invaded, due to the debt that the States were in for them, yet they'd gone bankrupt and could not return the money. The Chinese nation effectively took control of the nation and despite everything, magic remained dormant. The creatures refused to surface and interfere with human affairs and they let this continue on. Witches and Wizards learned from past experiences and had no interest in involving themselves again.

The United States of America was renamed into the American State of China. The American State of China was merely a facade because the Chinese were coffee, influencing all major political decisions and steering legislation in their favor. The Chinese invasion prompted several countries, particularly those in Europe, to align themselves with one another and make alliances.

The American State of China had not a partner at this time. They tried to fight back, but they were invaded from Russia. Russia tried to expand in both directions and failed miserably. Their failure provided the ASC with an opportunity to rebel. The entire continent of North America banded together to fight against Russia. Fighting against Russia was easier because Russia was being attacked by China, too, as Russia had tried to take over China. Gregory Illéa headed up the assault against Russia. The man soon took the nation back over in Revolution rallying the support after preventing Russia from overtaking the ASC.

But the victory was short lived. In 2143, Gregory took the nation back, establishing an absolute monarchy that would last for centuries to come. He even took the liberty of renaming the nation "Illéa" after his own surname, and the Illéas ruled for several decades until the Schreaves came to power.

The story of America and Maxon and the Selection are well known among the Illéans and that of their successors and the Schreave family has still managed to stay in power despite everything. But four centuries later, in 2562, World War Four struck.

Illéans sought shelter underground as the nation was bombed. Cities destroyed, libraries burned, technology virtually turning back the clock, and the same went for the rest of the world.

It was known notoriously as the single most devastating war ever seen. Lasting for nearly a century before society was forced to revert back to how life was in the 16th century. Radiation sickness spread and the population diminished, and though the caste system was abolished, there was still a great deal of prejudice as well as an instigation of the three social classes. The lower classes of manual laborers, the middle class of the merchants and the other brains, and the upper class that included the aristocrats.

Magic finally started to make its return. People needed it to get by. Life had turned into what it would've been like during the Tudor age and the Absolute Monarchy returned, and without the knowledge from all those years of discovery – all those planes, the cars, the air conditioning – and most of the workers who knew how to create those things, wiped out by this new plague (simply Radiation Sickness), the only development they had were the trains that were used in the 17 to 18 hundreds to travel.

The Schreaves still kept their power. They remained the monarchs but rather than have their Selection at age 19, it would happen at age 23, or whenever their father died and the crown prince would have to take the throne. The rules of the Selection had also become more lenient. Premarital sex was not illegal but frowned upon and those who engaged were often ruined in reputations. Rules of physical harm were also discarded, forgotten, and deemed unnecessary, and the concern for the Selected's safety diminished majorly. Women were once again repressed. They no longer had the same rights as they used to, though they were still more respected than they once were; however, were still seen as property. With new names and locations of the capitals of provinces and the return of corsets and Renaissance dresses some would assume that the whole world has hopped into a time machine and returned back to the European Renaissance.

Sorry, that was really long – so yes there is magic in this story. It's just not prominent within the first few chapters…

I hope you enjoyed!
Bye lovelies!
~Hailey