Page 54 of His Dark Delights
“Capture him alive. I want his head for myself,” Soren bellowed the order at the guards. They rushed off, spreading into action without a moment of hesitation. Stationed knights throughout the capital jerked into action as the ringing death-knell of an alarm bell echoed through the streets.
The last ounce of breath in my lungs escaped in a brittle wheeze, leaving me deflated and weak. My knees wobbled and only my fingers tangled in Ren’s shirt kept me upright, even though I wanted to push him away. I watched as everything I’d worked for slipped through my fingers as intangible as smoke, and no amount of grasping at hope would reel it back.
Chapter Nineteen
Lilly
They caught him.
An uproar thundered through the confines of the palace in the attack’s aftermath. The frenzied council members hollered over one another to be heard, so loudly that their voices carried through the sealed doors. The Grand Duchess seemed especially shrill in her complaints. Then the shuffling, scuffing of soldier’s boots and their rattling armor dampened the conversation.
That was when Rhydan appeared, finding me in a state of shock and utterly frozen in the corridor. He breezed around the corner, out of breath, distressed, and jumpy. I couldn’t remember anything he said to me while escorting me back to my room at HisMajesty’s command.
I hadn’t seen Soren since we burst through the palace doors with a barricade of soldiers walling us in—with a fae prisoner bound in iron chains trailing behind our entourage. I would never forget the large nets flung from the rooftops in order to seize him, nor the sickening thud of his body hitting the side of a stone tower as he fell.
Servants and courtiers milling about the castle recognized the urgency of our arrival and the importance of such a prisoner. They watched with curiosity and animosity as the prisoner passed.
“Assassin.”
“Assailant.”
“That savage tried to kill the King,” they said. “Put him in the dungeon.”
“Keep him in irons.”
“Cut off his wings.”
I nearly lost the contents of my stomach on the perfectly polished floor.
Alone in my room, I paced until my heels hurt and chewed my nails down to the nub. Nerves bristled under my skin and my stomach churned, boiling like a hot cauldron of acid. My bones felt as weak as holiday jelly and my muscles weakened by the minute.
The prisoner was fae. The only other one I’d ever met in my life. There were so many questions I wanted to ask him. I yearned to see him, his wings, and to feel the connection of magic again. But he tried to kill the king… He attempted to kill Soren.
A maelstrom of confliction swam rampant in my blood, my guts, my mind. Torn between two worlds and left alone to suffer for it. Alone, unmoored on an endless sea with no staunch ally, no true love, and no home. Ifelt my desire for Ren as a burden.
I had balanced on the precarious edge of changing Ren’s mind about the war. It only took one arrow to shatter my words like sea glass on a rocky shore. My anxiety ran deep and jagged in my chest. As horrible and persistent as a festering, unhealing wound. I didn’t sob or wail from the pressure of my crowded thoughts or my suffering. The well of my tears had run dry, and I lacked the energy to produce more.
Mrs. Gibbons brought dinner to my room. She spoke breezily, only wavering upon the mention of the prisoner in the palace.
“One of those fae,” she said, “down in the dungeon beneath our very feet. Can you believe it?”
I didn’t want to, yet I’d seen him for myself. His wings had hung limp as the guards dragged his unconscious form along the ground. Drops of blood had splattered on the marble, trailing after them like grotesque breadcrumbs showing the way.
“Staff delivering dinner to the King and council say they overheard talk of an interrogation. I’m sure an execution will follow. One more brutal than the burning of Oberyn’s wings, and this one has ‘em too, they said. I can’t watch a display like that, not again. I’m getting too old.” Mrs. Gibbons shook her head ruefully.
Using my meal as an excuse, I didn’t reply. With a mouth full of roast chicken, I couldn’t. That was the only bite I took, leaving the rest untouched when she excused herself for the night. The sky darkened outside the windows and my only light came from the fire. Wrapped in my blanket from the bed, I sat bundled up in a chair by the hearth, desperate for warmth to heat my bones.
I remained alone well past midnight. No cruel king appeared through the secret door to claim his consolation prize—or to relieve himself of the pressure of his weighty crown. If Soren came to me tonight, I would not be his peace.
My thoughts endlessly looped back to the fae in the dungeon. Had they started interrogating him already? Maybe torturing him? When would Soren decide to execute the fae for the attempt on his life?
Was he cold? Was he hungry? Were his wings still intact?
The questions running wild through the garden of my mind swept me to my feet. A new urge lifted my exhaustion laden limbs until I moved forward and reached for the door. I entered the hall, empty and dark, with my untouched leftovers tucked into a parcel at my hip. The blue walls appeared a sparkling black under the dancing wall sconces, like flickering stars in a pitch-black sky. I followed the distant echoes of voices, numbly, mindlessly sweeping through the corridors toward the council chambers.
As if I heard their breath and sensed their presence, I avoided the guards patrolling the hallways. My feet moved on instinct, heart racing, breath shallow, as I snuck through the maze of corridors deeper into the bowels of the palace. With my natural inclination for direction and brief time in the castle, I found the entrance to the dungeon.
Two guards in heavy armor and pikes in their hands marched down the hall. I lingered in the shadows, holding my breath as they turned a corner and vanished out of sight. Then I flung myself through two columns and into the damp hall leading into the pit of the palace.
