“I said no. I can’t let you do this.”
“Move, Z. Or else you will be charged and tried with treason.”
“You don’t mean it,” Fey said, though she didn’t look as sure as her words suggested.
“I do,” Jax corrected, voice shaky and fiery with resolve. “And Z better move before we have to prove that.”
“He’s not moving Jax,” Celine’s gown swished behind her as she stood beside the mechanic, blocking the path. “And you’ll have to take me in handcuffs as well, if you want me to move.”
“Me too,” January added, appearing out of nowhere to take the other side of Z.
“Guys,” Jax started, looking between the three determined faces before him, rather hopelessly. He meant it. He realized that he meant that he would actually put them up for treason, because there were certain things that Jax believed in, things that he truly followed, and no one messed with that. But that didn’t mean that he wanted to. Good heavens, he hated the idea of it. “I mean it.”
“So do we,” Jan said, voice wavering.
“Let’s hear them out,” Fey suggested, and her eyes flickered up darkly, not forgetting the argument that occurred earlier that night, “Your Majesty.”
“I don’t owe them anything.”
“You’re right,” Fey agreed, standing up to walk over where the rest of her team was. “But you own yourself that much. To hear out why, because trust me, I don’t believe a word of it either. I stand firmly behind my earlier accusations.”
Jax just clenched his fists, remaining standing. “You have 5 minutes.”
“Floor’s all yours,” Jan darkly murmured, brushing past Z and Celine. “Your explanation better be good; my life depends on it.”
Celine gave Z a look out of the corner of her eye, her hazel eyes frantic. Z just nodded, looking back at Areya, and Jax found his gaze following the mechanic’s to rest on her still struggling figure. No way, was she the spy. Right?
“Alright,” said Z, and he started to explain, Celine swapping in at intervals when the mechanic’s voice couldn’t surface anymore.
It took less than the allotted 5 minutes; 2 minutes, maybe. But it felt like an eon—eras could have passed and Jax wouldn’t have known. Because the world as he knew it was destroyed.
The more Z and Celine explained, the clearer it became. Jax started to wonder how he didn’t see it before. Areya had come before Calix was at his worst. While she couldn’t have administered Scorchen into his system, she most certainly could have given him something that made it lethal. Areya had access to all the information; she had known about this project. She knew as much as January had known, possibly more, with the close confines she worked with Jax in. And during the meeting in which Z started to tap out some code, Areya looked like she had seen a phantom from her past. She knew about Z too, then.
Areya Carson was the spy. She was the one who was killing them all, digging a silent dagger through everything that they had worked for, leaving the nation to bleed.
Sometime—Jax didn’t even know when—the explanation ended, and Areya had stopped struggling sometime when he looked over at his secretary, her once scared expression replaced by a glare. “Is that all true, Areya?”
She resolutely locked her jaw and looked down.
“I asked you if the fact that you are an Immortale spy, was true,” Jax repeated himself, his voice growing in volume, and it was that same desperate anger, bubbling inside of him. It was gnawing at the edges of his cool exterior, clawing for release. Jax stormed over to where Areya was bound, levelling him in her vision. “Are you Arleyene Crawford?”
The eyes that flickered up to meet his were not Areya Carson’s. They weren’t filled with the warmth that comforted Jax in some of his darkest hours. These eyes were shattered and ruthless and spiteful.
“Kill me,” she said, and Jax was shocked by her voice. She had an American Republic accent, her voice quite hoarse and jaded at the edges.
“What?”
“Kill me,” she hissed, her eyes dark and stormy. “I promise you, I will not break my allegiance to my General.”
“What General?” Jax asked, quickly picking up her words, analysing them for any other access information.
Arleyene spat in his face.
Jax quickly drew his body up, pulling out a crumpled handkerchief from his pocket to harshly wipe away the saliva, his eyes still trained on Areya as she called out, “Fey, Jan. I want answers.”
“You wouldn’t dare, King Jaxcon,” Arleyene taunted from her position. “When you put me up for trial, I assure you, the king conducting unlawful torturing won’t sit well with your people. They already hate you.”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Arleyene.” The name felt foreign on his tongue, tasting bitter and wrong as the syllables danced in the air. “I could put you up for trial for regicide, treason. But I am but a marionette on your General’s fingers; your trial would be annihilated to dust before justice could be served. So, I’ll seek out justice for myself,” Jax concluded, feeling grim satisfaction when Areya—Arleyene—paled slightly.
He turned to January and Fey, one looking relieved and the other conflicted, both betrayed and dour. “I want you to get answers, no matter how.”
“Jax, maybe we should go for trial,” Fey started, but Jax brushed her off.
“I wasn’t putting that up for debate, Downcley. Do whatever it takes, but I want answers,” he growled, letting that fire within him rise with each heavy breath that he breathed, letting the undeniable thrill in satisfying his quench for liberation consume the thoughts that he had tried so hard to keep level and steady.
“How far, is whatever it takes?” January asked, and Jax noticed that there was something glimmering in his eyes; fear and respect. It had taken this much to get that out of him. It had taken Jax to be unmerciful and cold for January Kurata-Tormont to respect him and see him as his king. The part that got Jax though, was the fact that this unmerciful and cold side of him, was what a king was supposed to be; him at his weakest, was his nation at its strongest. And that’s what it always would be.
Jax couldn’t bring himself to look at Arleyene again, so he just gave the rest of them a dark, grim look instead. “The walls are soundproof.”
And he left.
King Jaxcon, House of Gallagher, left, because he always ran, didn’t he?
…
Jax didn’t know what brought him here. Standing in the middle of the royal graveyard yet again, without an occasion. But there was an occasion, because it was his funeral, wasn’t it? A full circle, Jax thought bitterly. The beginning of his death was here, the minute that King Calix was pronounced dead, the minute that the splinter of hope that had dug into his mind—that maybe, maybe, he wouldn’t have to bear the responsibility of NNR on his shoulders—was gone, that the life of Prince Jax started to end. And here he was again—full circle—when that part of him truly died, because Areya was all he had left of a time when the world wasn’t as bleak as it looked upon a throne, but that all was a lie too, wasn’t it?
Areya Carson was never there for him. Areya Carson was a lie. Areya Carson didn’t exist.
And so Jax was really dead, wasn’t he?
Dead, dead, dead, dead. (the word could never quite escape him, could it?)
Tears pooled in his eyes, blurring together his sight, and the truths and lies, and Jax allowed himself—just this once—to accept it all.
“Jax? Are you okay?”
“Not at all,” he croaked out, (because truths and lies were all blurred together because of his damned tears) though he added, “But for ceremonial sake, I’ll go with I’m just peachy.”
Although Jax didn’t turn around, he could hear the sound of her feet and gown brushing past the grass. “I’m as good as anyone can get in this situation, Hollingsworth,” he amended, still stubbornly staring at the tombstone in front of him through blurry hot tears.
“Then stop pretending as if you’re alright, Jax. No one ca
n be peachy in your current situation. I would be in hysterics right now, so I’d say that you’re managing pretty well.”
Jax made no move to answer, and she drew in closer, standing beside him.
“And,” she continued, “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that people who look like they’re managing in these kinds of times with your sort of responsibility, are hurting the most. Do you want to talk about it?”
“Sure,” That response wasn’t supposed to be encouraging, but the blonde forged on.
“Good. Because yes or no, ceremonial sake or not, we’re talking about it. If I had manners and high-breeding, I would have dropped it. But you helped me when I needed it, and now, I’m going to help you. Hash it out, right now, right here. Before you break beyond repair.”
Jax stayed still for a moment, deliberating answering or not. “It’s been a lie,” he whispered, more to the wind than Celine, after many seconds of silence had passed. “When I knew there was a spy, I not for one second considered her. I trusted her, Celine. With everything I had, and she betrayed that trust, not any of you. The entire time-” his voice broke, and he felt the slight breeze on the wet trail left from his tears that had silently pooled over.
This time, Celine stayed quiet.
“And even with knowing all that she’s done to me, and my people, I still feel so guilty for leaving her in that room with Fey and Jan under the strict instructions of torturing her, until she gives up information.”
“And that’s because you have morals, Jax. And torturing people goes against it. It isn’t that it’s Arleyene in there that’s making you feel so bad, it’s the fact that this is now what you have to do,” she said, sniffling, “Even if it goes against your basic principles.”
“But I could have put her up for trial. I could have, there was nothing stopping me. But I chose the immoral way. Some sick part of me, for all of its morals and principles, chose that way.” Tears, once more, brimmed his sight, though Jax suspected it was more out of fear this time than anything else. Fear at that feeling that had curdled up in his chest, that unquenchable rage and undying inferno that burned in him. Vision red and thoughts hazy.
“Your country needs justice, and you knew that it wouldn’t be served if you put her up for trial. It was for your country, Jax.”
“How many things can be done in the name of your country, before you have to actually acknowledge the fault in them?” Jax lifted his left hand to harshly wipe away the tear that had fallen, trying to prevent the flow of tears. “She was always so much more suited to being the ruler. Mayble should have been queen,” he choked over her name, and because the night wind was intoxicating and he was in a moment of weakness, he added, “It’s officially been 14 years. On what some might call a day of peace or even my own birthday, I call the day that that true carefree part of me was slaughtered. Because the day that she left, that was the day that I was resigned to this burden of a crown, wasn’t it? But more importantly, it was the day that I lost faith in natural justice, because she was 8. Mayble didn’t deserve whatever she got.”
“Mayble? As in Princess Mayble?” Celine asked, and Jax only nodded, not trusting his voice. “I thought she was just a myth,” she muttered, looking pensive.
“Oh no, she was real. Very, very much real. She was my older sister by 4 years, and Crown Princess. She would’ve been the queen.”
“What happened?” she asked, gently.
“She disappeared. Abducted. Kidnapped. Just gone. One hell of a birthday gift, if you ask me,” he commented bitterly through stinging eyes, looking down, not able to look Celine in the eye anymore. “My parents chose to keep the entire thing as quiet as possible, and soon, May became a fable.”
“Why keep that quiet?”
“Because,” Jax started, voice breaking, looking up at Celine. “There are many rumours surrounding the crown—don’t think I haven’t heard them-” Jax added inconsolably, laughing mirthlessly, and Celine looked down. “My mother was foreign, and god knows what atrocities swirled around that fact alone. I’m a bastard king to some. We could take anything, anything at all, but when it came to Mayble,” a tear fell, “We couldn’t do Mayble. My life ended the day she left. After that, it was my mother. Then my father. One by one, they all fell. I don’t care if I’m next, but this wait—that’s tearing my body inside out.”
Jax sunk down to his knees, not caring what would happen to his dress pants, tears running freely now. He kneeled over, burying his head into his hands. “Watching everyone just go. Waiting every day to see if you’re the next victim of this curse of life, and—god. What did I ever do? What sins have I lived to deserve this? I can take pain, but suffering for this long? You were right, Celine. People like me might smile, but I assure you, I’m screaming. I’m writhing in an unspeakable agony, because it’s not my body that’s in pain. It’s my head. It’s all in my head,” he repeated, rocking back and forth as he hiccupped through his tears.
Celine didn’t say anything, though she sunk down beside him, and he could see her hand hovering over his shoulder, as she looked as if she debated what to do next. Her hand dropped down, but her presence itself was a comfort. “Hope isn’t gone for her.”
“You’re right, it’s not. She could be alive,” Jax wiped the tears from his face. “But hoping can only hurt me, because what if she’s not?”
“Jax.” Celine said. “You said you can take pain. Then I promise you, hoping might give you pain, and that’s only at its worst. But you won’t suffer; hope would never do that to you.”
“But-”
“Shh,” she coaxed, gathering his hands in hers, any pretense of a king and commoner gone, because right now, it was more important that he was human and he was hurting. “We’ll get through this. Promise.”
“Yeah,” he stated, not believing a word as he ducked his head away from her impenetrable hazel gaze, cutting through his thoughts.
“No, Jax,” she said, moving her head so that he would be looking at her. “Look at me. We will get through this.”
Hope. How she kept it, Jax would never know. Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, her mouth was trembling, she looked horrible and exhausted, but she hoped.
Jax supposed he could try.
“For the third time this night, you’re right, Celine Hollingsworth.”
She laughed, a watery sound, and Jax soon found that he started laughing too, tears falling out, and he got to his feet and helped her up. He was still hurt. Some wounds maybe wouldn’t heal, and he was not okay.
But maybe he would be.
“Your Majesty, Hollingsworth,” A voice called, and Jax looked up to see Jan, tie unknotted and eyes frantic and hollow.
“January,” Jax replied, suddenly aware of the fact that Celine’s hand was still clutched in his, and suddenly aware of the fact that things weren’t alright just yet, and suddenly aware of the fact that Areya was still another problem he had to deal with. “What happened?”
“You need to come; both of you. It’s Areya, Arleyene, whatever the hell you call her.”
“Shit,” Celine whispered, her hand suddenly out of Jax’s grasp. “What happened to Arleyene?”
“She killed herself.”
…
Jax didn’t know what to expect, but it most certainly wasn’t Arleyene’s lifeless body still seated in the cold chair she was seated in only a few minutes ago. There was no wound, no crimson to stain the floors. Just Arleyene’s body, limp in the grasp of her chains.
Dead.
“What happened?” Jax asked, unable to tear his eyes away from the sight. It was so odd. She was alive, only an hour ago. She was alive and struggling and ripping Jax’s beating heart out of his chest, but now she was gone. Just like that. “How did this happen?”
January had led Jax and Celine to the meeting room where he and Fey had taken up the task of procuring information from Areya—no—Arleyene, by any means necessary (So this was really Jax’s fault, wasn’t it? How many people could
he kill in 19 years of life?). Jan himself wasn’t changed out of his suit, which was cuffed up to reveal his forearms. Fey was standing, her silver glinting blade clashing with her deep blue gown, her eyes full of deep sympathy and something else that Jax couldn’t quite place.
“We got a certain amount out-”
“How?” Jax broke in, cutting Fey off. “There are no cuts on her. She appears to be unharmed.”
“You don’t really want to know, Your Highness,” Jan darkly informed him from behind. “But the matter still stands that we got information out of her. But both of our backs were turned for only a moment, when we turned back to see…” he trailed off, obviously not knowing or wanting to explain the state of Arleyene.
Fey sighed, before moving towards the corpse. “Judging by her ruddy complexion and the slight convulsions she had-”
“-and the fact that she went unconscious, and subsequently, brain dead-”
“-we think that the cause of death is cyanide poisoning,” Fey concluded grimly, her eyes flickering up to where Jax and Celine were standing. “I don’t know how she managed to get cyanide, though.”
Jax felt his brows furrow as he considered the one possibility that he knew wasn’t extremely probably, but still nagged him. He had read about L-pills before—capsules filled with cyanide that should be deployed by biting into them—and how spies across enemy lines were equipped with them when death was the better option than betraying their own nation. Arleyene probably had a pill hidden somewhere and was able to eat it when Jan and Fey weren’t looking. But Jax kept his mouth shut, realizing that the room had gone silent.
“How do you know so much about this?” Celine finally asked, her eyes not once leaving the lifeless form of Arleyene Crawford. “The poisons, I mean.”
“I told you she was qualified,” Jax murmured, closing his eyes. “Learning concoctions and poisons is quite useful when you have an illness no one knows the cure to.”
“Exactly,” Fey said blithely, before collapsing against the wall. “My god, what the hell are we supposed to do?”
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