“Nathanial!” I cried out, breaking into a run. “Markus! Stop this!”
Hands reached for me from the sides, dragging me back by the arms. The King’s Guard. “Release me at once,” I hissed, struggling within their grasp as I watched Markus and Nathanial circling each other like a pair of predators. “How dare you assault me!”
“Forgive me, your grace.” The grip on my left arm loosened, then immediately firmed when I tried to yank free. “It’s by the King’s order. For your protection.”
“I don’t need your protection!” I pulled, twisted, squirmed and kicked out. “You should be flanking your King, dragging him to safety.”
“Our orders are to stand down and keep you out of harm’s way,” the man restraining my right arm said, his voice unnaturally calm.
“A good soldier knows when to disobey a crazed order.” I glared at him. “What happens when your King is dead?”
He slanted his head to look me in the eye. He was middle-aged, a seasoned solider. “The King wields a sword as if he has an angel on each shoulder. He won’t die today.”
“No man is infallible,” I said fiercely. “If the King falls, you will have failed in your only duty.”
“And we will surely hang.” He shrugged. “If we disobey a direct order, we will surely hang. Such is the way of men who serve a King…or Queen.”
A clash of steel shot my eyes to the fight.
Markus lunged, his blade arcing down with the skill and strength to sever Nathanial’s head from his neck. My breath caught. Nathanial slid beneath the slice and parried and I could breathe again.
I no longer struggled or demanded the men release me. They had their orders and they wouldn’t defy their King, that was frustratingly clear.
Nathanial and Markus prowled around each other, flicking and jabbing. Again and again, their blades clashed, locked, they shoved apart and rebounded, swords swinging high and hammering down with blunt force. They lunged and sliced, dived and chopped, spun and shoved, slid in and around each other with lethal grace and brute strength. I didn’t see the blood spill, but too many strikes landed for there not to be any.
The broadside of Markus’ sword slammed down on Nathanial’s shoulder, sent him stumbling back. Markus pressed in for the kill and Nathanial dived into a roll, came out of it on his feet, his blade gliding upward. Markus cursed and jumped back, clutched his arm as he circled wide, then switched his blade to his left hand. My heart crashed, forgot to beat for a ragged second. The third guard stood to the side, his hand hovering over the hilt of the sword sheathed at his hip, but he wouldn’t intervene and he certainly wasn’t there to help Markus.
Nathanial advanced, sword raised high. “Yield.”
“Never.” Markus darted forward, countered the blow and slid, kicking Nathanial off his feet.
Both men rolled and jumped up with their swords slashing, metal grinding sparks. They shoved apart and lurched at each other again.
This wasn’t a fight to draw first blood or even maim, it was a fight to the death. Markus was more than my second-in-command, more than the Captain of my Guard, more than my friend—he was an ever-present constant in my life that I could not bear to lose. And Nathanial…I did not want him dead, and not only because of the bloody rampage General Sunderland would unleash as a result. For that same inexplicable reason that had haunted me for months, I’d never wanted Nathanial dead. I’d wanted him to suffer, I’d yearned to kill him, but I’d never wanted him dead and irreversibly gone.
I couldn’t watch.
I couldn’t look away.
Markus lunged, blade slashing the air as Nathanial spun out of its path and all the way around again with a high, jabbing kick to his opponent’s chest. Markus stumbled backward and Nathanial delivered another spinning kick that took him down. His sword clattered out of reach and he never got the chance to roll toward it. Nathanial stood over him, stamped a booted foot on his chest, gripping the hilt of his sword with both hands as he raised it.
“No!” I screamed. My knees buckled out from under me and I sank to the ground, bringing the men hanging onto my arms to their knees with me. “Nate, I beg of you.”
Nathanial stilled, glanced across to me.
“Have mercy,” I pleaded, and I couldn’t see the cold, cruel intent in his eyes as he looked away from me and down to Markus, didn’t need to. I already knew he was not a man of mercy.
My vision washed with grief as Nathanial plunged downward. Time shattered into a million painful shards and I couldn’t draw breath, couldn’t sob, could only feel the million stabs of loss.
Then Nathanial stepped away, left his sword rooted in the ground where the blade had stuck inches from Markus’ head. I blinked, not trusting my eyes as Nathanial approached and his men rushed to haul Markus to his feet. Markus wasn’t dead. At the last second, the man who knew no mercy had spared him.
Nathanial held a hand out to me. Sweat slickened the strands of hair that had fallen loose against his temple. A long slash gaped open where his jacket had been sliced, dirt and streaks of what could be blood smeared the white shire beneath.
“Get up,” he said, neither harsh nor kind.
A sob shook loose from the ache in my throat. I bit my lip, refused the offered hand as I pushed off my knees.
“Thank you.” I looked up into his eyes, renewed strength seeping into my bones. I didn’t understand, but I was eternally grateful. “Thank you for sparing Markus.”
“Don’t thank me.” He squared his shoulders, his gaze sweeping from me to watch as his men marched off in the opposite direction, leading Markus off between them. “I didn’t spare him, Rose, I only delayed the inevitable.”
“Where are they taking him?”
“The dungeon,” Nathanial murmured. “Markus Forrester will be tried and judged. He will hang for treason before the next sunset.”
I swallowed hard. “He should never have drawn his sword on you.”
“He should not have.”
“It doesn’t have to be treason, Nathanial. He could be punished for a lesser crime. You could pardon him.”
“I could.” Nathanial glanced at me, the look in his stone-cold eyes flat. “But I will not.”
“You know there are extenuating circumstances,” I said. “What must I do? I’ll drop to my knees again if that’s what you want. I don’t mind begging for a good man’s life.”
He looked at me for an age, his jaw hollowed and strained. “That will only cost you pride and time,” he said at last, his tone pre-empting further argument, “and it will do neither of you any good.”
I stared into the flat wasteland of his eyes. He hadn’t spared Markus. He hadn’t shown any mercy after all. My spine stiffened and I clamped my lips. Pride cost nothing, but I didn’t have the time or energy to waste on a useless cause. Before the next sunset. If I were going to do anything, if there was anything I could do, it would have to be tonight.
“The carriage is waiting for us around the front,” I informed him. “I just want to go home and put this night behind me.”
- 19-
While Nathanial instructed the driver to carry our excuses to a footman, I pulled David aside to briefly explain the situation and give my own instructions. The King’s Guard had gone with Markus, which meant David would be our only rider. No one would question when he diverted to the herbalist’s cottage as we passed through town. If Nathanial noticed when we arrived at the castle, I’d make up some good reason.
“Tell Jamison I need something to knock a grown man out for a couple of hours, but don’t say anything about what has happened. I don’t want him more implicated than necessary.”
“What’s the plan?” David’s eyes were as wide as a stricken deer, but his voice was firm with commitment. “How do we save Markus?”
“I’m still working on it,” I admitted.
The long carriage ride home gave me ample opportunity to do just that. We travelled in silence, Nathanial staring out his window, me staring out mi
ne into the blackened miles that jogged past. I had a plan…of sorts. There were too many variables. Too much to go wrong.
I pulled my gaze from the window to stare at Nathanial’s inky profile, wondering if I’d missed something, some small chance to appeal to his better nature. He doesn’t have a better nature!
“Why did you bother to spare Markus at all, if you were just going to have him executed?” I said thickly.
His gaze remained fixed outside the carriage. When he finally spoke, there was a weary drag to his voice. “Because you asked me to.”
“And now I’m asking you to pardon him.”
“We live, and sometimes we die, by the consequences of our actions.” His head turned toward me. The carriage was too dark to see his eyes, but I imagined they were as soulless and empty as his words. “Markus knew that well enough when he decided to draw his sword on me.”
“He didn’t decide to do anything, Nathanial. He saw my torn dress, the scratches on my face, and he simply reacted.”
“What happened to you, anyway?”
“I fell into a bush,” I clipped out, aware I wasn’t getting anywhere with him.
“You fell into a bush,” he dead-panned.
“My heel sank into—Oh, for goodness sake, what does it matter? The point is, Markus thought you were somehow responsible for the state of me. It was an honest mistake.”
“Did you not set him straight?”
“I tried to.”
“Let me guess, he wasn’t listening.” Nathanial rolled his head back against the seat. “There are no degrees of treason, Rose.”
“Why do you have to be so hard?”
“Perhaps you are too soft.”
I ground my teeth in frustration. This conversation had gone about as badly as I’d expected.
If Nathanial noticed David’s absence when we arrived at the castle, he kept it to himself. “Stay in my shadow,” he said, putting himself between me and the footman at the main door as we entered to shield my state of disarray.
I averted my face and padded silent as a mouse on my bared feet. I didn’t give a fig about tomorrow morning’s gossip, but I needed the obscurity for the rest of this night. Thankfully we made it up the marble staircase with little fuss—most of the staff had retired early on the expectation we’d be out until late.
Nathanial said nothing until we’d paused in front of my bedroom door. He looked at me, his gaze settling like a man reluctant to take his leave.
I met that gaze with a frozen stare. “Unless you’ve changed your mind, we have nothing more to say.”
He scrubbed his jaw. “Rose, I truly am sorry.”
I gave him another moment, another long moment to change his mind, before I let myself into the room and closed the door—a soft, firm click—in his face. Sorry? Seriously? Anger pulled at me, but I couldn’t let it take hold. I felt for the light switch on the wall, flicked it on and shoved Nathanial and his useless apology from my mind.
Pacing deeper into the room, I stilled when I caught sight of my reflection. The ashen-skinned, bare-footed urchin looking back at me was a far cry from the smoky-eyed seductress who’d last stood here, both strangers to me. I was no skilled seductress who could melt a man with smiles and witty words, but I wasn’t a confused, scared little girl either. Nathanial had taken so much from me, he wasn’t getting Markus.
I stripped the ruined dress from my body, left it to puddle on the floor and went to the bathroom to repair some of the damage.
The scratches on my cheek barely broke the skin, just enough to draw pale white trails. I splashed water on my face to wash away the black kohl that had smudged below my eyes and looked again. Passable.
I unthread the daisy chain from my hair and knotted a low ponytail, changed into black leather pants, a crisp white shirt, boots. I was throwing my forest green cape around my shoulders when my gaze landed on the inter-leading door to Nathanial’s bedroom.
No lock, not on my side anyway.
Too many variables, but I didn’t think that was one. As much as he liked to barge in unannounced, he’d never yet disturbed me once I’d retired for the evening.
I’d just sunk into the cushioned armchair by the window when a soft knuckle-rap came at the door. David. I let him inside, squeezed the door quietly closed behind us, a finger to my lips to indicate we should speak in hushed tones. “Do you have it?”
He produced a small brown vial with a rubber stopper. “There’s a guard stationed outside the dungeon door,” he said, his whisper tight with nervous energy. “Is this for him? Or do we fight our way through.”
He looked so earnest, so impossibly young but not wet behind the ears, not anymore. He’d fought in, and lost, the Battle for Grodden River. He was the only fully-abled man in the Queen’s Guard for now and the responsibility straightened his shoulders despite the crushing fear.
“Drawing more blood is not the solution here,” I told him. “Besides, there’s another dungeon entrance through the service halls. That’s the one I intend to use.”
He frowned, his eyes narrowing. “There’ll be a guard there, too.”
“Possibly.” Probably “I’ll take care of breaking Markus out, I need you to get him well away from here. Follow the base of the mountain about a half mile past town. There’s a trickling waterfall, you’ll have to look out for it, but wait there for Markus.”
The same waterfall where I’d split my knee open on the moss-covered rocks and Nathanial had had to carry me home. If there were such a thing as cosmic irony, this would be it. Only, I wasn’t laughing.
“You’ll have to ride him to safety and return with your horse,” I cautioned David. That was the real problem I couldn’t even think about right now. Markus couldn’t hide in plain sight like we’d done on our mountain all those years. He’d have to remain truly hidden, and he couldn’t do so with a horse.
I fetched my sword and handed it over. “He’ll need this.”
David nodded, took the sword.
My parting words hung in the air for a grim moment before he turned to go. If Markus hasn’t come before first light, he won’t be coming. Return to the barracks and don’t get caught sneaking in.
The vial tucked into a pocket seamed inside my cape, I gave the castle another hour to settle before I made my way down the stairs. Intermittent night lights dimmed to half strength washed the passageways and halls in a yellow glow, keeping the darkest shadows at bay.
There was no light in the dining room, however, and I had to keep one of the doors ajar as I slipped inside. My senses stayed sharp, attuned to my surroundings, but nothing stirred, not even a draught that oftentimes tunnelled through the huge fireplaces.
Easing down beside the drinks counter, I slid the panel aside and ran my fingers over the bottle shapes. I pulled out a corked, clay flask. A quick sniff told me it was red wine. Maybe… By then my eyes had adjusted to the darkness and I saw something better. I grabbed the whiskey bottle by the neck, checked the level, then selected a finely crafted copper mug usually used for ale. Just in case the potion turned the clear liquid hazy.
A few minutes later, I was retracing my steps that had brought me from the dungeon after my own brief stay. Around the cherub fountain, treading swiftly and lightly down the long corridor to the service halls. A short flight of stairs descended into pitch-darkness. Trailing my palm along the roughened stone wall, I followed the turns and twists until flickering torchlight stabbed at the blackness.
I proceeded on tip-toe, listening. No voices, but not silence either. The rustle of cloth. An echo of a nasal grunt. Smiling, I peered around the corner into the squat, stone room at the mouth of the dungeon tunnel. There was indeed a guard slumped on a stool against the wall, a grunted snore escaping each time his head slipped and jerked. Unfortunately there was a second guard, this one leaning a shoulder against the wall, lost in thought but wide awake.
Not ideal, but not unsurpassable. I was the High Chancellor, was I not? High Chancellor and Queen. I tip-t
oed back a couple of steps, then marched in on them with booted footfalls announcing my arrival.
A stuttered snort greeted me, from the sleeping guard as his partner delivered a hard kick to his shin. He scrambled to his feet a moment too late.
I gave him a haughty look, then turned that look on the other guard. “You’re aware who the man being held in the dungeon is?”
“Yes, your grace.” His brow puzzled, unsure of just about everything except that. “Can I be of service?”
“Then you’ll know he is—was the captain of my guard.” I held up the whiskey bottle, my pinkie finger looped into the ear of the copper mug. “I’ve come to share a last drink and final words with him. Step aside please and let me pass.”
“Of course.” He didn’t step aside. He scooted forward into the tunnel and unhooked a burning torch from the wall. “I’ll walk with you.”
“That won’t be necessary. I’d hate to take you from your post and leave the security of this entrance to…” I swept a raised brow over his disgraced friend, cleared my throat and looked back to him. “I presume there is a guard in the dungeon and there are more stationed outside the exterior door. I feel perfectly safe, thank you.”
I was pretty sure my safety hadn’t been the issue, but he was no longer sure of that either. I nudged past him to take the stairs, not bothering to swipe the torch from his hand. The passage was lit well enough with strategically placed torches on the walls. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour or two,” I flung over my shoulder.
As soon as a twist in the dank passage cut me from his sight, I broke into a toe-padded run, slowing only when I came to the arched door of the dungeon cave. It wasn’t locked. I twisted the iron knob, had to give it a hard shove to budge the heavy door.
A boy with red curls watched the door slur against the stone floor, then rushed forward to help when he recognized me.
I recognized him, too, and my heart dipped. Tremaine. Did it have to be you? But his life wasn’t at stake here, I reminded myself. He wouldn’t be hanged by the neck until he gasped his last breath before the next sunset. It was hard of me, maybe even cruel, but I was out of options.
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