A very, very belated birthday present for Megan :) Set in Evil Darkness World Seven Year Later. :P Inspired by 'Broken Crown' by Mumford and Sons.

Cat

Broken Crown

trust (trst)

noun.
1. Firm reliance on the integrity, ability, or character of a person or thing.

Trust is a strange thing. Trust is placing your soul in the palm of someone's hand and hoping that they don't crush it in their fist. She'd never trusted anyone, not really. Not for a long time, anyway. Not since Steve had left. That was the thing about trust. It took lifetimes to build, seconds to disintegrate, like ash on the wind. She hadn't even completely trusted her father, even though she'd worshipped him for so long. There were still those niggling doubts, the screams she'd heard behind closed doors, the bruises that had blossomed on her mother's arms like poppies, red and purple on white. Of course, she deserved it, that's what he had always told her, and she'd trampled down any doubts she'd had like weeds underfoot. But there was still that little twisted feeling that she got every time she saw the tear stains on her mother's face, that little sick feeling in her stomach whispering "But what if?" That was one of the reason's she'd fought Steve's accusations so vehemently, to crush down that stupid little voice, one the reasons she'd been so furious when those words spilt out of his mouth, helping those weeds to grow stronger, to start smothering the belief she had in her father's words. She found herself torn between the two of them, brother and father; and found herself unable to trust either.

So why..?

safe (seɪf)
adjective.
1. Protected from or not exposed to danger or risk; not likely to be harmed or lost.

There was no safety in trust. Any second the rug could be pulled out from under your feet, any moment the hand would close, and there would only be pain and misery and the all too familiar sense of betrayal. So why did she feel safe with him? This boy –man, now- who she trusted more than her father, more than her brother? Why did she feel protected, away from danger or risk? Why did she feel like with him, no one could ever harm her, that she would never be lost?

safety (seɪfti)
noun.
1. The sound of Adrion breathing softly next to her through the night.
2. The touch of his skin when her cheek rested on his shoulder.
3. His arm around her, encircling her, making her feel wanted.

Maybe it was the way his eyes softened whenever they met hers. Maybe it was the sound of his laugh whenever she cracked a dirty joke. The smell of his skin whenever she laid her head on his chest. That little noise he made when she kissed the hollow where his collarbones met. There were a hundred, a thousand tiny things which all added up to make one. To make a whole. And that's what he was. Her whole. Even in the state she was in now, she knew that. She didn't know how to tell him, how to make her fumbling tongue find the words which would convey to him all that he was, all that he shouldn't be.

Because he shouldn't.

She grappled with the thought.

He should be nothing to her, no more than an ant beneath her feet. She should be strong, invincible, side by side with her father, beautiful, powerful, majestic. Unstoppable. That was what she'd trained for her whole life, wasn't it? To rule alongside the man she idolised, to govern the lands they'd conquered, to wear the crown she'd craved for so long?

But now…

The crown was broken. Twisted. The dream was irreparably soured.

The look on his face when he'd held her mother's corpse in his arms, the knife still in Cat's hand's dripping warm, fresh blood…

The coldness, the empty detachment in his eyes when he looked at her.

She'd been the chosen one. Not Steve. Her. She was special, he'd told her so. He'd been so proud of her. But then the bitch had left and the cracks had started appearing. Why did he even need her mother when he had her? Her childish mind had been unable to comprehend it. The woman was a wreck, her very existence an insult to their master. He had Cat to love and be proud of, and any woman he wanted to fulfil his other needs. That woman should have been nothing to him.

And yet…

Those years had been some of the darkest of her life. And now, thinking about it, she blamed him. Her father.

Her mouth twisted slightly as she thought it.

Hypocrite.

How dare he rage over her relationship with Adrion when his coldness had sent her straight into his arms?

Her mother had been gone for almost eight years and she, Cat, had suffered for it, and it wasn't fair! She had been loyal, she had stayed, but he never smiled at her the way he used to, never gave her those words of encouragement that she'd come to expect. She worked harder than ever, determined to dredge up the old Zeb, to make him proud of her once more, but she saw less and less of him as it became clear that her mother wasn't coming back, and although he ran the county as usual she sometimes caught him staring into nothingness, as if reliving the past.

Of the women that frequented his room, the most common hair colour was red.

The only person she had left was Adrion. Was it any wonder they grew so close?

Her friend. Her best friend. Her only friend.

How she'd hated him for that.

For being her only friend.

How she'd loved him for that too.

She'd played the game the only way she knew, with ruthless determination, intending to take sadistic pleasure in capturing his heart. But there were two players in this game, and before she knew what was happening…

Pawn takes queen.

Checkmate.

She was his and he was hers.

Her heart was weak and flawed, but he took her hand and suddenly that didn't matter anymore. And suddenly, she didn't want to be consigned to Darkness, she turned her face towards the light and it was like she could breathe for the first time, fresh, clean air, and she gasped it in like a drowning girl who had never tasted air before.

And for a moment, she wanted to take the broken crown and the road that her father had laid out for her and fuck them all away to hell.

But it wasn't that simple. Not with her mind shattered like it was.

How could she trust him when she didn't even know who he was? Didn't even know if he was real? When she didn't even know if she was real?

Waves of memories roiled and crashed inside her head, changing and mutating until she didn't know what was real. He didn't even exist in some of them, and sometimes when she looked up she was in the arms of a stranger. Other times, he was the man she loved with all of her heart. But most of the time she wasn't sure and she hated him but loved him, but who was he and it was all too confusing, too painful, and she thought that she would shatter, shatter and break and fly into a million tiny pieces because her mind was on fire and the waves were stormy and her thoughts were descending into a whirlpool and she didn't know who she was or where she was or what was happening, and she couldn't feel her body anymore, she was too wrapped up in her mind and everything was cracking and she was falling and falling-

But his arms were around her, anchoring her-

But who was he, who was this ma-

He was safety.

And suddenly she could breathe once more and feeling spread back through her body and she would kiss him just to feel alive again.

And she would drink him in hungrily, like a shipwrecked sailor finding fresh water, filling up the emptiness inside, soothing the dry, angry thirst and washing away the bitter taste in her mouth.

And she wouldn't care, in that moment, whether he was real or not, because for a second it felt real, and good and he was everywhere and nowhere and for a moment she couldn't think and couldn't dwell on the broken, insane mess that was her mind, all there was were him and his lips setting her on fire.

Her knight.

She never thought she would need one.

In the stories she'd read as a child, there was always the knight, the brave, dashing knight who would defend the poor, trembling, weak princess.

And she had laughed, because she herself was a princess, or as good as, and she didn't need anyone to protect her, anyone to defend her because she was the fighter, she brought death to those who would harm her and she didn't need anyone to do that for her.

And she had protected him, in the past, when she'd needed too, and he'd protected her. Watching each other's backs, the perfect fighting partners.

But now…

She hated this, this weakness, when she wanted to fight.

And she'd fight him when she was angry, when she was hopeless, when there seemed to be nothing to do but lash out again and again and scream and scream and make someone hurt the way she was hurting, as if that could take away the pain.

But he would fend her off and hold her until she calmed down, until she could only shake and sob in his arms, to her eternal shame. But he would stroke her hair and whisper softly to her until she was calm again, still in his arms. Because he understood her, more than anyone else. More than her father. More than her uncle. More even than Steve, whose mind she had shared for the first ten years of her life. He saw the ball of hard anger and self-loathing that was lodged at the centre of her chest, saw the wild animal who wanted nothing more than to run and, and keep running without cages or bars, who would lash out at anyone who came close.

And he didn't care.

He didn't think her a monster.

And she loved him for it.

She loved him because he made her feel…

Human.

And that, in turn…

Made her feel safe.