Lucie clung to his arm, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her face was smudged and rash, as she desperately tugged on her husband’s arm.
Richard, spitting at her face, swung his elbows into her chest, sending her rocketing from his path.
Thomas, not too far from them, had his arms reached out. When his eyes saw Lucie, they gleamed with fright. When he stared at Richard, his eyes turned cold, with bubbling hatred.
“He’s trying to save her,” Edward sighed, “He’s so blinded by affection, he’s going to get her hurt.”.
Eliza’s eyes drifted from Richard to Thomas. She realised how, if Lucie had chosen the knight, how simple life would have been.
The knight was an arrogant twit, but there was no denial, he did care immensely for Lucie, in his own strange way.
Both nodding, Eliza and Edward shoved past the people. They fought toward the knight, hoping to save him from making the wrong decision.
Turning to her side, Eliza only then noticed. She and Edward’s hands were tightly intertwined, gripping one another with such intensity, the pain was comforting.
“Thomas!” Edward yelled, ignored by the younger knight.
Eliza watched Thomas get closer to the couple, yelling Lucie’s name. People roared at him, but he had blocked it all out. His eyes were on her, but hers were on her husbands.
The villagers surrounded them, and all Eliza could do was stand and watch, hoping for the best.
Thomas swung his fist out and gripped Lucie’s arm. She looked horrified, flicking him away like a pesky flea.
“Richard, please! They are only a child!” Lucie cried, screaming at the top of her lungs. Richard sliced his sword recklessly, coming seconds away from striking a young boy.
He turned with his sword raised, his eyes landing carefully on Lucie, then focusing on Thomas.
When he saw the knight, his eyes fired with rage. He squinted at Thomas’ grip, clinging to his wife’s arm.
Richard’s sword was propelled high over his shoulder, and Eliza knew what would happen long before it did.
“No!” She screamed, tears welling in her eyes.
A storm was building up inside her. The uneasiness, the iced chill of winter, the frantic screaming, her pounding head.
It made her wish it were all a dream, that none of it was happening.
The harsh reality hit her like a blast of frozen wind; it was happening.
“Lucie, move!” Richard roared, as his sword swung down towards the floor, and he thrust it out to separate the crowds.
Life stopped in that split-second moment, and Eliza felt herself freeze.
There was no stopping it, no preventing. She was too far for that.
Edward’s fingers tore into her skin like burning needles, gripping her hand tighter by the second.
Thomas dived in front of Lucie, his knees bending and launching him over her body. She let out a deafening squeal, clutching onto his shoulders.
Slicing through the air, Richard’s sword aimed for the crowds.
His face fell into utter shock, as instead, the point of his sword swung towards a knight, and his wife.
Eliza’s heart stopped beating, like it ever had.
The sword pierced through Thomas’ knight-wear, and through him. The weapon lodged itself inside his chest, sending him rocketing backwards.
Edward let out a grave roar. His entire body curled, as his fist reached out and he screamed, a throat-ripping scream. Eliza’s hand, in his, numbed. The pain was non-existent, for her.
She was yanked forward, aimlessly pulled along by Edward. She could tell he was not thinking, his only goal to reach the wounded knight.
Lucie ducked, running to Richard’s side. Tears ran freely down her face, as she cuddled it into The King’s chest.
Thomas’ legs collapsed to the floor, his hands shaking and stained in crimson. Hopelessly, he lay flat on the ground, with Richard’s bloodied sword sticking from his chest.
The noise silenced in that second. All to be heard was Edward pushing his way past, and Thomas’ whimpering.
Reaching him, Edward dropped her wrist in the mid-crowd, sprinting over and kneeling at Thomas’ side.
“Kid…” Edward whispered, his hands wavering over the sword.
Thomas lay on the stone, his skin splashed in his own blood. His shirt was stained in scarlet, his eyes had gone dull and dissociative.
“A-Am I—” Thomas voice broke, as his eyes clenched shut. His transparent tears blended with his splattered cheeks, turning red instantly. “A-Am I going to die, Captain?”.
“No, kid.” Edward comforted, tears glistening in his own eyes. “Listen, talk to me, tell me something, anything.”
Edward ripped his bleeding bandage off his own shoulder, tearing it into pieces with his teeth. He shakily wrapped it around Thomas’ wound, as the boy cried in agonising pain.
She watched Edward’s face turn distraught, his face paler than before. For the first time, she saw genuine tears in his eyes.
“I-I want my mother, please.” Thomas begged, gritting his teeth. “S-She will know, she can h-help.”.
Thomas’ hands trembled over his wound; his head tilted back. He groaned, as his shivering fingers tried to pull the handle, to no prevail.
A woman burst through the crowd. She was dressed in a ragged dress and dirtied white apron. Her face was full and red, but her eyes were a piercing blue, alike Thomas’ own. Eliza’s heart tore, as she recognised the woman; Margaret McGlynn, Thomas’ mother.
Margaret flew onto her knees, clutching hold of her son’s hand. She cried along with him, her face paled and lost for words.
“My boy—” She croaked, pressing her free hand against his cold face. “Please, Captain, help him.”.
Thomas’ eyes flickered, as his head began to slowly tilt to the side. His face turned a sickish grey, and his arms started to fall limp.
“M-Mother,” He croaked. The boy reached a trembling hand to his mother’s face, stroking the tears away with his thumb. “I-I.”.
“Shush, it’s alright.” Margaret whispered, her voice breaking. “L-Look at me, Thomas.”.
“Please, please,” Thomas cried, straining his high voice. “C-Captain make it go away, make the pain stop.”.
Eliza’s eyes floated to Lucie, who stood with sticking tears on her face. Her hands clutched her mouth in shock, as she clung to Richard.
Her crystal gown was covered in muck, while her blonde hair had been loosened out of its tie, leaving only rough waves.
“C-Clara.” Thomas croaked; his face stretched out in pain.
The boy shook his head, like he was fighting for life. Every second, his chin sat up again, as he tried forcing himself to live. Clara, Eliza knew, was Thomas’ younger sister, who followed him everywhere.
“Clara will be fine,” His mother soothed, rubbing gently on his hand. “She’ll be proud of her brother, and the hero he was.”.
“I-I want to stay,” Thomas cried desperately, clinging to his mother’s hand. “I don’t want to d-die, please.”.
“My boy,” The woman wept. She placed a shaking hand to Thomas’ grey cheek. “Your father, he’d be so proud, Thomas. I promise he would.”.
Thomas’ head fell to the side, his dull eyes resting at Lucie’s feet. His mouth croaked open to speak.
“Lucie, I know you d-don’t love me…” He whispered, his eyes slowly closing over. “But I love you, from t-this life to the next, I w-will.”.
With a final cry, Thomas froze. His chest fell limp, and slowly, his eyes dulled. When the boy’s hands fell flat, after clinging to his mother with every piece of fight he had, everyone knew he was gone.
They knew that all the fight Thomas McGlynn never showed, the courage he never unveiled, was building for that moment.
Margaret’s face fell to her son’s chest, as she sobbed into his lifeless body. Edward knelt with a look of disbelief, struggling for air.
Eliza’s heart had its first beat, after Thomas had
his last. The truth took a moment to sink in, to strike her.
Thomas McGlynn had died that day, killed by the monarchy he swore to protect.
She averted her eyes to see Richard and Lucie, to see how the self-righteous king would react, to killing a boy in cold blood.
He was not there, but Lucie was. Eliza shifted her gaze, watching for Richard, who was gone from the scene. Turning fully, she saw a sight that made her blood boil.
Richard stood on the castle steps, watching. His robes were worse than Lucie’s, and the crown tilted on his head. It was obvious, the so-called brave king had run away.
In that moment, as Eliza watched him, the two locked eyes.
The King, the murderer; her uncle. He stared into her soul.
The crowd were oblivious, watching the dead boy in the centre of the town, weeping and mourning.
Yet, no one noticed the gaze shared by the two.
The gaze of the murderer, and the murderous.
19
Vivat Rex
In a short-sighted blur, King Richard ran like a coward.
The sky had a peculiar darkness, laying shadows over all the lost citizens, burying them in its shade.
Eliza’s eyes flickered from the people, cowering over the corpse of the knight, and the doors that The King had escaped through.
There were two options that day, and she chose in a heartbeat.
She felt her legs start to move, as she sprinted across the ground. Her hood remained over her hair, but the people gasped and cried, watching her run through them.
‘I d-don’t want to die…’.
Those words rang through her head, whilst her mind ran faster than her legs did.
She was never athletic, until a surge of blood came through her, that made her feel like she could crush the world if it were not beneath her.
“Wait!” Edward yelled, his voice booming from behind her. His face was cold, as he shakily stood to his feet.
Her footsteps gave a snap against the stone floor, as she reached the entrance to the castle. Edward shook his head, specks of blood spotting his face.
Her legs wobbled beneath her, and there was the urge to go back, to give up the strength she was not sure she had.
Yet, the death of the knight made her realise; she needed to do what she was there for, for what she was still alive. She understood her own father’s motives then.
The best outcome would be to stop Richard, or make him realise what he had done, even if it took forceful convincing.
‘You know that will never happen,’ Her mind intervened, ‘The good can turn bad in a second, but the bad cannot retreat.’.
Opening her eyes, Eliza darted through the doors. She stumbled into the central hall, mesmerising her eyes.
The same nostalgic gold, glimmering lining of the palace throne ran ahead of her.
The brick walls surrounding, and a red carpet leading up to where The King would be seated.
There were doors to the left, hallways to the right, crimson banners lining the brick.
She realised, since she had always entered from behind, she was unsure where each hall lead.
She flinched as the door slammed behind her, locking her into the castle. No turning back, and no road ahead.
“Argh!” A voice boomed, and her head shot up to the right. A bang followed, like the person had fallen over their own feet. There was a stone staircase, and the sound of footsteps thundered through it.
Eliza jumped, frantically looking for a hiding place. She clutched onto the door, unable to hide anywhere.
The source of noise got louder, and a banging came from the stairs. That would be it, she would be caught the minute the person saw her. A thud came from the bottom of the staircase.
‘This is it,’ She thought, ‘I’m done for before I began.’.
Nothing happened, as she awaited what she did not know. A voice, a pain, a feeling; anything.
She turned to the stairs, only to sigh heavily in relief. The footsteps she heard was the echoing of a large barrel, tumbling down the stairs and emptying at the pit.
She stared from the barrel to the stairs, wondering. The person at the top of the stairs had tripped over the bucket, which was what the yelling was.
Then, it had fallen and tumbled down the steps. Eliza pitifully laughed at the thought.
Then, her mind sharpened. The yelling, the voice; she knew who that was. Richard had run up the staircase, and obviously fallen over an unseen barrel. That meant he was near.
Eliza ran over to the stairs, gently pushing herself up them. The stone clicked beneath her, as her feet took one step at a time. A soft firelight was her only source of lighting.
As the short stairs reached their end, there was a light at the top. Eliza’s feet sped up, whisking ahead to the end.
A hallway at the top revealed the same tone, with pinpoint light. An emerald carpet lined the hall, and portraits accompanied the brick.
As she took a step out, the floors creaked beneath her. Eliza swallowed a breath, her heart racing. The icy metal of the sword hit her leg.
‘The sword,’ She thought, ‘Use that for protection.’.
Gently, Eliza held the waistband of her skirt out, and untied the sword from its unsecure hold. The rope-tie spun through her fingers and carefully loosened.
She gripped the hold and pulled it out, raising the sharp point to her nose. Eliza recounted all the lessons her father gave. She skilfully raised the sword in the air, both hands gripping the hold.
Eliza continued walking on, satisfied that if any dangers came, she could at least move the sword. A crack came from above. The sound of concentrated footsteps came, agonisingly slow.
Her feet moved efficiently across the hall, searching for the noise. The banging above grew louder, like a person, quickly pacing the room.
She spotted a glimpse from the dead-ended hall, another daunting staircase leading upwards. Wherever she was in the castle, Eliza could tell she was getting increasingly high up.
Up the second staircase, her steps echoed like clinking coins. The child inside her wanted to run far away, into the woods, or her father’s arms.
That child inside was long gone, tickling her mind as a memory.
Crackling pieces of stone pressed underneath, as the noise from above came closer. Her heart knew before she did; this was the end, or the beginning, and there were no second options.
The staircase made a turn, and only a few steps separated her and whatever lay within that room. Tightening her grip, Eliza stared up.
The new room was lit by fires, adopting the same dark atmosphere. There were ill-decorated, rough brick walls, and a glimpse of raw light shone in.
If she were not careful, her trembling hands would easily drop the sword. The smell of coarse wood and an eerie, acidic scent came from above. Staring to her feet, she noticed the spots of crimson on the stone stairs.
‘Please, not another dead body.’ Eliza pleaded in her head.
Forcing herself to move, she conquered the next few steps. Wooden pillars sat against the walls, scraped with sword marks and splinters.
‘What if he’s dead?’ Eliza thought, ‘Would he kill himself?’,
Her question was soon answered, as her eyes drifted upwards, spotting the figure standing there. To her disgust, he was smiling.
“Well, well…” Richard grinned, with a chilling, low tone. “I figured you would appear, sooner or later.”.
Eliza’s voice stuck in her throat. In that moment, it all became a reality.
She no longer had the security of being the well-respected, darling maiden that was Lucie. No longer owning that authority, she was only Elizabeth.
That was all she could be.
Richard’s white robes were drenched worse than before, splattered in crimson. Strands of hair dangled over his face, and the crown has tilted.
“You figured?” Eliza said, taking a step into the room. “Strange, considering I was rotting in a tower.”.
“Yet, you are standing here.”.
Internally, she shrunk underneath his gaze. It frightened her, but she would rather die than let him see it.
“What do you want from me?” Eliza whispered, shaking her head. “Are you just desperate to watch me lose it all, and still continue walking?”.
Richard scoffed, turning his back to her. A force urged her to run and kill him while she had the chance, but her heart denied it. She needed answers first.
“You truly are, clueless.” Richard murmured, skimming his hand over the walls. “It is quite apparent, where you got that from.”.
“My mother?” She raised her voice, loud and clear, “The one you stole from her own home? Your sister?”.
He froze, his eyes darting to her. His eyes went wide, but his stern chin held face.
“You do not understand.”.
“I would not wish to.”.
Richard glared across the room, plummeting his hand into the wooden barrel. He pulled out a shining, intimidating sword and aligned it at his side.
Eliza’s heart skipped a beat, as he swung the sword the same way she did, through his fingers and in the air.
Bewitched Page 24