Rymon's head hurt. The pain blasted through his head and sent him spiralling back to reality from a strange dream-like trance. His body convulsed, and his eyes fluttered open. Someone murmured softly to him, and he moaned and grabbed their hand. Whoever it was pulled away gently, and as his eyes returned to focus he saw a pretty little brunette girl holding a cloth covered in warm water and a strange-smelling herb.

She smiled nervously and proffered a mug of water to his lips. It was cool, so much better than the warm, dirty water from the well in his street. It dripped onto his chin and he closed his eyes and sighed sadly. As he lay there it came back to him: the empty stable, the wedding… falling.

"Who are you and where am I?" He asked bitterly, unable to keep the awful pain from his voice. It crept into his throat as it poisoned his mind, filling him with pictures of his beautiful Wren.

"This is Lord Tride's house. I'm just one of his servants." The girl sucked in a deep breath. "Lady Wren watched over you all evening, but she's gone for some rest."

Rymon balled his hands into fists. "Why am I here? I should be at home." He said angrily, though he would prefer to be recovering on the street than in his home or Wren's new manor.

He took a long, ragged breath. Why did Wren have to be so beautiful? If his dear Wren, the girl he had fallen in love with, had been a plain girl, they would not have this problem, they would be together.

"I don't know. Lady Wren said you were a friend, and should be looked after. I sent someone to fetch her when I saw you waking, she will be here soon." The girl stood and brushed little herb leaves from her skirts.

Rymon swore and jumped out of the bed, only to find that he was in snowy white nightclothes. He shooed the girl from the room and dressed hurriedly into his clothes that had been washed for him. The room was a simple guest room, with a wide window overlooking a busy street directly outside the castle.

He straightened himself up and marched to the door. He had to get out, he couldn't see Wren, he had to get away… he had to get far away.

As he reached the door it swung open, almost hitting him in the face. He stumbled to the side, cursing, and froze when he saw Wren. She stood, one hand on the doorknob, the other lying limp at her side. Her hair hung, un-brushed and untidy, at her waist, and her eyes were glistening with tears. She wore a simple yet stunning white dress.

"Rymon." She whispered. She winced, and her face scrunched up as she tried to banish the tears from her eyes. "I'm so sorry. So sorry… he wanted the wedding early, I was so afraid!" Her chest heaved, and she pressed the door shut.

She flung her slight body against him, and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her up to his height and pressing his lips ardently against hers, crushing her against him obsessively. "What are we going to do?" He asked between kisses.

"I don't know." She threw her arms around his neck and twined her fingers in his hair. "I love you. Rymon, I'm going to die if I can't see you anymore." She punctuated every word with a kiss. "If I can't kiss you and hold you like this."

Rymon spoke no more. He lifted her and she pushed her legs around his waist, and her lay her on the bed, still kissing her passionately.

"Tride is at the castle." She murmured.

Rymon grinned wickedly before pressing himself against her.

* * *

That afternoon, when Tride was due to return, Rymon and Wren stood against the back wall of the house, hidden in shadow. Wren was pressed against the wall and Rymon leaned over her, his face inches from hers.

"I don't care if he kills me." Rymon murmured. "I can't be without you."

"He won't find out." Wren smiled. "I just hope you can cope with living with your awful parents."

"I'll manage. I'll have something to look forward to in the evenings, won't I?" He smirked and kissed her softly.

"Tomorrow night. I'll leave the back door open, meet me in the wine cellar." She kissed him once more, then slipped away into the afternoon sun, turning once at the door to grin into the shadows.

Rymon smiled. It wasn't the ideal situation, but it certainly didn't seem as dire as it had that morning. In fact, he found it exciting, though he knew that would not last.

He darted away up the street, and dodged along alleys until he reached his own little house. The door was wide open, and as he stepped inside, he found Mortola washing Asric's filthy feet. Asric was prodding the fire with a hot poker while she did that, and he frowned at his son when he saw him. Mortola froze, she stood slowly and glared at him through her pinched, bird-like eyes.

"Foolish boy." She hissed. "Did you think we wouldn't hear about your actions at Tride's wedding? What were you thinking, incompetent child!"

"I love Wren!" He barked, squaring his shoulders and flexing his fingers into a ball.

Asric staggered to his feet drunkenly. "Bloody boy!" He bellowed, hefting the poker and stumbling forward. "Aint no girl could ever love you, you spineless idiot!"

Rymon shook his head, as he watched the poker steaming, cherry-red, he recalled all of the times when, as a young child, his father would bring him to his work. Asric would show young Rymon the coals, burning white-hot, and Rymon would coo and grin at the bright light of it. Then Asric would throw it at him, and when Rymon caught them to look closer his hands burnt so painfully he blacked out.

After that, whenever Asric tossed coals at him in anger, or as a laugh with his friends, Rymon would have to try to doge, and as a result was covered in scars and burn marks.

Rymon glanced down at the scars and white marks on his hands, and he winced as he remember the pain that caused them. Still, he did not back away. "She does love me. And she's far more beautiful than the foul old hag you married!" Rymon shouted. He spat at his father's feet. "I ardently wish for the day when you both lie dead and I may laugh in your cold, sightless faces!"

His father gave an angry roar and brought the poker crashing down on Rymon's shoulder. It was not as hot as it could have been, but it scorched through his clothes, and when the impact sent him crashing to the floor he writhed in the pain that seared through him.

As Asric descended upon him, he jumped up and landed a heavy punch right on his father's jaw, which sent him stumbled backwards.

Asric brought the poker over the shoulder, then slammed it forward with all of his might. It clipped Rymon's shin as he darted out of the way, and then hit the floor so forcefully it sent bits of the slate flooring flying into the air. Rymon yelped in pain, and spat on his shin to try to cool it down.

His father dropped the poker and slammed a punch onto his son. Rymon fell to the ground, limp, and for the second time that day he was unconscious.