Elijah, stood a respectful distance away, his hands folded in front of him.
She braced herself and moved forward into the room. Three men stood silently at the front of their cells, hands gripping the bars, expressions hard. They still wore their military uniforms. They appeared clean, pressed, as if there had been no struggle.
Perhaps there hadn’t been.
With cautious steps, still avoiding puddles of filth, she moved forward into the corridor in front of the cells. She peeked into each one as she passed.
The three men standing said nothing, simply stared at her, waiting.
In the first cage she passed, one man sat on a hard wooden bench along the back of his cell, head resting in his hands. No. The next two cells held two of the men standing against the bars. Careful to heed Elijah’s warning, she kept close to the opposite wall. The first man appeared to be older, maybe in his thirties. She quickly averted her gaze. The second wasn’t much older than her. A pang of grief shot through her.
The next cell’s occupant still lay unconscious, his back to her. The dark buzz cut had her passing him by. The last man standing against the bars of his cell held her gaze. Another older man. Hatred shone from his eyes.
She froze. What could she expect? These men had been ripped from their lives and caged. She couldn’t expect they’d be happy to see her.
The intensity of the loathing in his stare held her trapped, unable to look away.
In her mind, she pleaded for his understanding. Yet, she couldn’t ask him to understand something that didn’t even make sense to her.
“Ryleigh? Ryleigh Donnovan?”
A wave of nausea washed over her. A painful reminder of why she’d come here. A brutally forceful intrusion of her new reality on her existing beliefs. The prophecy was real. The stone was genuine. Her gut clenched with the need to deny what was painfully obvious. “Noah.” The name left her lips as barely a whisper. “Oh, Noah. I’m so sorry.” Tears slid down her cheeks. Noah. The only boyfriend she’d ever had. Before Jackson. The boy who’d promised he’d stand by her forever.
Elijah’s warning fled with the recognition. She ran to the bars, grabbed them in a white knuckled grip.
Noah was fast. Faster than she would have expected. His hand snaked through the bars and shackled her wrist.
She tried to pull away.
He held fast, his grip like iron.
“Noah?” She pulled again. To no avail.
His hold stayed strong. “What’s going on here, Ryleigh?” Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, dripped down the sides of his face. Anger poured from him.
“Please. Calm down.”
“Calm down?” His voice bordered on sheer hatred.
Her gaze dropped to the bloodstain on the front of his shirt. Oh. Right. She’d forgotten about that part, about what it must have been like for him. Of course, the memories would haunt him. “Please, let me expl—”
Startled by a hand against her back, Ryleigh jumped. A second hand shot between the bars and grabbed Noah by the throat.
Ah Jeez.
Noah’s grip on her wrist loosened as he struggled to free himself.
She backed a few steps away. “Jackson. Please. Let him go.”
Jackson ignored her. The muscles in his arm flexed. His grip tightened. He pulled Noah’s face against the bars, leaned forward. “Don’t you ever put your hands on her.”
All right. Enough of this. Ryleigh wiggled between the two men, her face an inch from Jackson’s. “I said…Let. Him. Go.”
Noah stopped struggling. He gripped Ryleigh by the throat, pulling her back tight against the bars. “Release me.” His harsh rasp was barely audible with Jackson’s hand around his throat. “Now.”
Ryleigh pried desperately at Noah’s fingers. No use. “Let him go.” A scratchy croak was all she could manage. Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. “Please.”
Jackson looked past her. “I will kill you if you don’t release her.”
“Kill me.”
Oh, for crying out loud. Spots danced in front of her eyes. An eddy of blackness encroached on her vision. Uh oh. If she passed out, these two morons would probably kill each other. And where was Elijah? She gave up trying to remove Noah’s hand and used both of her hands against Jackson’s chest to try and shove him back.
He didn’t even flinch.
“If I let go, will you release her?” Jackson stared past her, the look in his eyes dangerous, deadly.
Noah must have nodded or acknowledged Jackson’s request in some way—Ryleigh couldn’t tell with her back to him—but Jackson stepped back.
Noah’s hold on her throat loosened immediately.
Her hands flew to her throat. She sucked in a deep breath, the cool air chasing back the blackness.
Jackson didn’t even give her a second to compose herself before pinning her with a glare. “Explain. Now. Or he dies.”
Ryleigh lifted her head. “It’s all right, Jackson. It’s my fault. I got to close. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” She fought to catch her breath, and stutter some sort of explanation before this situation spiraled any further out of control. If that was even possible.
Jackson gritted his teeth together and clenched his fists.
She would have to stop rambling if she was going to calm him down. “Please. Jackson. It’s okay. I know him.” She held his gaze, determined to make him understand. “He’s…a…uh…” She glanced back at Noah, haunted by the past. “A friend.”
* * * *
Jealous rage tore through Jackson, shattering whatever tentative measure of control he’d managed to attain. He launched himself at the cage. The other man backed away, a knowing smirk plastered across his face.
Jackson altered his course, moving to the far corner of the corridor. He pulled a lever and the bars began to lift. The grinding of the gears drowned out any other sound as the front of the cage began a slow ascent into the stone above it. He returned and stood in front of Noah, held the soldier’s gaze as the bars lifted. Waiting didn’t lessen his fury. If anything, having to control his temper only increased his agitation. At least watching that smart-ass grin disappear brought some small degree of satisfaction.
Instead of fear settling in the other man’s eyes as they held Jackson’s, eagerness flared as he chanced a quick glance at the ever increasing gap at the bottom of his prison. Didn’t this guy realize he didn’t stand a chance against a Death Dealer?
No.
Reality sucker punched Jackson in the gut. Of course he didn’t. The other man had no idea where he was or what had happened to him.
Silence echoed in Jackson’s ears as the bars abruptly stopped. He didn’t dare turn his back on his prisoner, not even for a second when the bars reversed direction.
“King Maynard.” Elijah’s voice held a stern note of warning.
Jackson ignored it. He locked eyes with the prisoner, sensing the man’s decision in the instant before he acted.
The prisoner dove. No way was he fast enough. The bars hadn’t lifted far enough to allow him to roll through, but he did give it his best shot, coming to rest on the ground against the front of the cage. Frustration pulsed with the vein at the side of his head, colored his cheeks as he lay limp against the bars.
Jackson checked the urge to tear the bars apart and pounce on him. He might not have acknowledged Elijah’s warning, but he wasn’t foolish enough to ignore it. Fine. So be it. “Elijah, escort the prisoner to the throne room.”
“Sir?”
He pinned Elijah with his hardest stare.
“I mean, of course, sir.” Elijah didn’t even wince, his gaze rock steady as it held Jackson’s.
“Let’s go, Ryleigh.” He turned and started toward the door.
“Go where?” The anger in her voice brought him up short.
He stopped in his tracks and turned slowly back toward her, struggling valiantly to subdue the rage. And failing miserab
ly. He gritted his teeth, bit back the fury. “Does it matter?”
She lifted her chin, defiance evident in the gesture. “Jackson…don’t…”
Was that a warning? His fist tightened. He raised his hand, the movement abrupt.
Ryleigh flinched, eyes wide as she lifted her arm in defense.
He froze, his clenched fist hanging in the air between them. A tidal wave of emotions slammed into his chest, shredding the last bit of control he’d held onto.
Shock and fear battled for a place in her expression. “I—”
“Save it.” He lowered his hand and turned away, effectively dismissing her. “Bring the prisoner.” He stared straight ahead and strode from the chamber, somehow managing to keep from killing anyone. No easy task.
Jackson pressed his fists to his eyes, moving blindly through the narrow corridor. How could she think he would ever strike her? How could she have reacted that way? It had been pure instinct, obviously, had happened too quickly to be anything else. The knowledge didn’t lessen the pain.
“Jackson.”
Her voice burned through him, like salt in an open wound.
He didn’t even slow his stride.
“Please, Jackson. Wait.”
He couldn’t talk to her right now, couldn’t face her. Would he have struck her? Of course not. He’d only lifted his hand to point a finger in warning. Was that much better? The internal battle threatened his sanity. Was the pressure so great he would lash out in such a way at the woman he loved? The woman he’d fought so hard to keep from claiming? Because she wasn’t ready?
Maybe that was the problem. Once he claimed her, maybe the jealousy would lessen. Maybe the fear of losing her would stop tormenting him.
Her hurried footsteps echoed off the damp stone walls, hammered through his pounding head.
He whirled to face her.
She stopped short, her hand flying to her chest. Her gaze fell on his hardened expression, and she gasped.
He ached with the need to pull her into his arms. To apologize for…well…everything. To claim what was rightfully his. He took a step toward her. Another. He could do nothing to soften his expression or his words, though he desperately wanted to. “I have nothing to say to you, Ryleigh.” He straightened his spine, strengthening his resolve.
“Jackson, please. We need to talk about this…” Her lower lip quivered. “I don’t want to fight with you. Please. We can work this out.”
Regret rode him hard. He inhaled deeply, the moldy odor, the dampness, and his runaway emotions practically choking him. He had to escape the underground tunnel, had to be free, needed air. Sensations he couldn’t understand threatened to suffocate him. They could talk later, once he’d calmed down, when he wouldn’t have to be afraid of saying something that might chase her away. Something he’d regret.
Tears streamed unchecked down her cheeks. Sobs wracked her delicate frame.
He buried the urge to protect her. Maybe she needed protection from him. Turning his back on her and walking away proved to be the most difficult thing he’d ever done. But he did do it. For the second time.
He jogged up the stairs and out into the light, greedily gulping the fresh, clean air into his aching lungs. He whistled, one long, shrill sound.
Ryleigh, Chayce, Elijah…all of them angry with him, judging him, condemning him. They knew nothing of the responsibilities weighing on his shoulders, crushing him.
The familiar black shape emerged from behind the castle and flew toward him. Nika.
Jackson stood still, waiting for the hound to reach him. His rigid muscles would have held him rooted to the ground even if he’d wanted to move. Some king he was.
Nika landed smoothly beside him and lowered his massive head to be pet.
Jackson weaved his fingers into the long, thick mane of black fur surrounding Nika’s head. The comfort was almost immediate, soothing the rawest of his nerves. He buried his face in the hound’s neck.
Nika nuzzled him, almost knocking him off his feet.
A small burst of laughter surprised him. “It’s okay, boy.” It would be all right. Everything would work out. He just had to reign in his temper, gain some sort of control over his feelings. He climbed onto Nika’s back. The giant hound took two steps and launched himself into the air, his giant wings spreading behind Jackson.
Jackson guided Nika toward the fields at the front of the castle, dipped between the spires, weaved between the towers, narrowly avoiding a collision. Adrenaline pumped through him, forcing the tension to recede. They rounded the last tower, and Nika dove. Jackson threw his hands in the air, his stomach lurching into his throat at the steep descent. The wind tore through his hair, whipping it behind him. They hurtled toward the ground, aiming directly for the place where his mother had once stood. The exact spot where she’d given her life to save her kingdom. His kingdom now. Could he find the strength and courage to rule as she had? As his father had? As they would both expect of him?
Nika leveled and skimmed across the field, inches from the barren ground. Circling the Tree of Hope, the last tree in the Kingdom of Cymmera to show any sign of life, brought a rush of pride. They were flying too fast for him to see the precious buds clinging so desperately to one branch, but he knew exactly where they were. The three buds that had held on since his mother’s death, and the three new buds that had emerged at Ryleigh’s touch. A sure sign Ryleigh’s destiny lay at his side.
Jackson guided Nika toward the castle. It was time to take his place on the throne. Time to bury the past and move on. Time to grow up. And once all of that was taken care of, he’d seek out Ryleigh and try to fix the mess he’d made of their relationship.
Nika landed smoothly, and Jackson patted his head before climbing down. He ran up the stone stairs and down a narrow corridor to the throne room.
The guards bowed in acknowledgement before pulling open the massive wooden doors.
Jackson hesitated only a moment, offering a small plea to his father for guidance—his gaze fell on the prisoner—and patience. Jackson entered the throne room, his stride purposeful. Although his footsteps echoed loudly through the stone chamber, the soldier only stiffened his spine and remained still.
Two guards stood beside him, one on either side.
Elijah stood before the throne facing the prisoner and Jackson.
At Jackson’s approach, Elijah lowered himself to one knee, folded his hands over the other, and bowed his head in the traditional greeting for the king.
Jackson usually waved off such formalities, but this time, he bowed his head in acknowledgement and ascended the throne. Only then did he turn his attention to the prisoner.
The two guards bowed. One of them, Lucas, put his booted foot to the back of the prisoner’s knee, and together the guards forced the soldier to his knees in deference. No easy task considering the extensive way in which the man was shackled. Or the ferocity with which he fought back. It didn’t matter, though. The guards may have been able to force him to his knees, but they couldn’t wrestle the defiance or the fury from the gaze he pinned Jackson with.
“King Maynard.” Elijah faced Jackson with the prisoner behind him staring daggers at Jackson.
Jackson held the prisoner’s gaze.
The man didn’t even flinch. He knelt, back straight, chin lifted in defiance. His hands were shackled together, as were his feet. A chain ran through both sets of shackles and around his waist, then down through an iron ring secured to the floor. This man’s would not be an easy spirit to break.
Jackson would have had so much respect for the soldier, even though he’d tried to use Ryleigh as a bargaining tool…if the other man wasn’t Ryleigh’s friend. That changed everything.
“You are dismissed, Elijah.” He allowed his gaze to shift toward Elijah.
The prophet’s eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. “I beg your pardon, sir?”
“I said, you are dismissed. Thank you.” He turned h
is attention to the two guards. “Leave us, please.”
Lucas and the other guard looked at each other over the prisoner’s head, then looked to Elijah as if seeking permission.
The seer nodded once, and the three men turned and left.
When this was over, Jackson would have to establish more firmly who was in charge, though he couldn’t really blame the men for turning to Elijah for guidance. Jackson hadn’t been much of a leader since his father’s death. Well…that was all about to change.
The clang of the heavy doors falling shut jolted Jackson from his reverie. He focused his full attention on the task at hand. “What is your name?”
The soldier’s expression hardened, but he remained silent.
Jackson lowered himself to the throne, weary from shouldering the burden of his responsibilities. Or maybe just tired of trying to avoid them. “Look…” He rubbed a hand across the back of his neck, hoping to ease some of the strain. “I…uh….” The words stuck in his throat, but he forced himself to choke them out. “I apologize.”
The prisoner’s eyes widened. He cocked his head to the side and studied Jackson.
“I should have explained immediately. Forgive me. My temper got the better of me.” That was all the explanation the soldier would get. He should count himself lucky he’d gotten that much. “Why don’t we start over from the beginning?”
The soldier climbed to his feet, the shackles clanking loudly. He stood, feet planted wide—as far apart as the chains would allow, at least—hands fisted in front of him. His stare defiant.
When the man said nothing, Jackson continued. “I’m sure you have questions, and I will answer them, but I’d like to explain where you are first.”
The prisoner nodded once. Finally, an acknowledgement.
“You are in the Kingdom of Cymmera.”
The irritating smirk returned. “And you are the king?” He lifted a brow, the skepticism unmistakable.
“Yes. I am King Maynard.”
“You’re barely more than a child, and I’m supposed to believe you run a kingdom?” Derision dripped from each word.
This kid couldn’t be more than eighteen or nineteen himself. Who was he calling a child? “My father was killed in battle recently.” No point in lying. If the prisoner agreed to join the Cymmeran Guard, he would soon find out the truth anyway. They’d already started off on the wrong foot. No sense compounding the issue with a lie.
Lost Princess Page 6