Chapter Text
The soft clinking of ice cubes rob the frigid stillness of the master suite; the blaring sirens of intoxication pierce his vision. The decorum of a king flees his broken body, leaving him in a desolate crumple on the floor next to his marriage bed. His fatigued head frantically searches for understanding, reaching for some inkling of logic for his recent tumble into despair. Poisoning himself with cognac and cigarettes, he's alone--just like that. In a matter of hours, his happy life, his undying love dismantles into nothing. With a dark void in place of his heart, he begs for an end to his sudden hopelessness, to his unwanted misery.
"Liam." Her voice rings delicately like tinkering windchimes, swirling in a soft Mediterranean Sea breeze. His senses saturate with soft notes of rosebuds as he remembers the soft, perfumed skin of her graceful neck. His memory dashes through the forest of her brilliant dark russet waves, each cascade dancing seductively through his fingers. His queen, his whole world, rivals the most elegant of wonders, the most exquisite of masterpieces.
"Liam." Her voice softly and melodically interjects again, gently strumming his heartstrings.
"Riley." He lifts his head from his cold hands, searching the darkness for the depths of her blue eyes, searching for the joy that plunders his soul when she offers him her petal pink lips. "My love." He stretches his arms into the dark abyss, pleading to feel even just a waft of her passing near him.
"Liam. Please." The concern in the tranquil echoes rattles his raw nerves. He shoots the rest of his amber drink, appreciating the deep burn warming in his belly as a cold sweat gathers across his forehead. He fumbles onto his knees, desperately crawling closer to the bed.
"Riley. Riley, my love. I'm here." He hungrily hunts the winding sheets for her hand. Oh, to feel her warmth against his arms, to feel her breath against his face. He becomes frantic in his stupor, unable to find the woman who beckons for him.
"Liam. Please. Don't let me die." In a sudden fit of rage, the king tears into the blankets like a wild beast. His breathing quickens as a deep, painful ache grows in his chest. The room violently spins as the haunting screams of his laboring wife devastates his quaking body.
"Riley! I'm here!" His trembling fingers crawl across the sheets until they stumble upon vast amounts of bone-chilling, drenched fabric. The storms in his eyes pour torrentially down his ruddy, swollen cheeks as he frightfully stares at the crimson stains that cover his hands.
He gasps for air as he slams his fists onto the firm mattress; guttural groans spill out from the depths of his grief. His wails rattle the sturdy walls of the room as he is consumed by a hurricane of turmoil. His heart and soul shred like paper; the darkness threatens to overtake him as his vision burrows into an empty abyss.
His screams are momentarily interrupted by a wrapping at the door.
"Li? It's me." The husky, baritone voice of his best friend is unmistakable. "Have you showered yet?" Drake's words fall on deaf ears as Liam remains silent, engulfed by agony and phantom visions of his queen. "Um, Li? Can you hear me?"
After several moments of torturing silence, Drake slowly and cautiously allows himself into the living quarters. Waves of nausea threaten his stomach as his heart sinks from the disastrous scene. The normally pristine, decluttered home boasts the remnants of the most terrifying night of their lives. Nothing has been moved; nothing has been cleaned. Broken glass litters the rugs. The metallic odor of blood is thick; he can almost hear the ghastly cries from Riley echoing continuously through the halls.
The only thing different in the vicinity is the inebriated man that resembles the King of Cordonia, rumpled on the floor. His wrinkled, unbuttoned white Oxford is speckled with bloody fingerprints. His blond hair is unkempt while his face boasts a boozehound shadow. His baby blues clearly sparkle amongst his swollen, blood-shot eyes.
Drake gingerly crouches next to him. "Hey, man," he nervously runs his fingers through his carelessly tousled hair. "Let's get you showered."
Gentle streams of grief course down Liam's face as he stares absent-mindedly at a framed picture on Riley's nightstand: a peaceful still-shot of her rounded belly with Liam's hands forming a heart. They must've taken over 200 photos on the beach that day, but this one won over his bride's heart. He had it framed, and gave it to her when she went on bedrest a few days ago. It was meant to encourage her, but now it seems like an awful joke.
"C'mon. She--She needs you." Liam firms up his quivering lip as he nods in agreement. Drake offers Liam his calloused hands, assisting him to his feet and into the bathroom suite. He provides Liam a plush maroon bath towel; the name 'Rys' is embroidered with brilliant gold threads. "Do you," Drake clears his throat, "need any help? I mean, do you need anything?" Liam chews on the inside of his lip as he stares at the plastic infant tub that resides next to his vanity sink. He meekly shakes his head as he begins to peel off his soiled clothes.
Drake slowly retreats, but quickly stops in his tracks as he remembers his original mission for the interaction with the mourning king. "Oh, um, Li?" Liam's back is to him, but he subtly turns his ear towards the familiar voice. "So, um, we are getting everything done. Y'know? Taken care of."
Liam fixes the towel around his waist, as he turns to face his childhood friend. He shakes his head in confusion as if to remove scales from his eyes. "I'm sorry, Drake. What are you asking?" he responds in a gravelly, hoarse tone.
"I--err--we just want to make sure we have the spelling right before we process these papers."
Liam clears his throat. "I don't understand. What papers?"
Drake feels his cheeks redden; the discomfort from the pinpricks in eyes are almost unbearable as he refuses to shed any tears in front Liam. "Um, they're final disposition papers."
Like a punch to the gut, the words knock the wind out of Liam. Two prominent veins appear furiously on his temples. "Oh. Of course." He sniffles to clear the remnants of tears as he fixes his jaw, faking a brave, diplomatic face. "The royal registrar needs to process these things, so we can make proper arrangements."
Drake purses his lips together, letting a sigh escape through his nose as he mindfully nods.
Forcing himself to take a few deep breaths, Liam finally answers. "It's spelled the usual way.” His voices cracks as he bites back a sob. “E-l-e-a-n-o-r."