Chapter 41
· King Soren ·
Rhett is on the brink of death as I enter the dungeons where he is kept.
His entire body bloody from the relentless torture he has endured, but I need answers, and today I will get them.
Alaric had compelled him good because he hasn’t uttered a word about who the person working with them from my guard is.
However, Damian believes we have broken the compulsion Alaric has over him because he tried to tell Damian who the traitor in my castle was.
We are hoping my added command behind the torture will finally break him.
Blood dribbles from his mouth, his head hangs forward, his chin resting on his chest. Opening the door to his cell, his head rolls on his shoulders to look at me. He whimpers and starts sobbing.
“Please, no more,” he begs.
I do not feel pity for the man, not after what he has done. I move into the cell briskly, leaving the door ajar behind me. The room reeks of sweat and blood, thick in the air like a fog. It sticks to my throat with every breath.
“I don’t care for your tears, Rhett,” I say, my teeth clenched in restrained rage. “I want names.”
A pathetic whimper is his only response, the connection of his fragmented mind barely holding on. But I have no time for sympathy - not for him.
“You can make this stop,” I tell him coldly. “Give me what I want. Who is the traitor?” I move my fingers over the knives on the small table Damian set aside for me.
Rhett’s eyes follow my movements with a sense of dread. His breaths come out in short, ragged gasps as he winces at the mere sight of the sharp edges.
“P-Please…” he chokes out once more, before spluttering into violent coughs that have his body shaking.
“Names, Rhett.” The iciness in my tone matches the cold metal of the blade I pick up. The dull light of the dungeon flickers on its polished surface, and Rhett’s body stiffens.
A shudder runs through his frail body, his blue eyes widening with terror as they dart to the gleam of cold, sharp steel. “I can’t,” he whispers, his voice raspy and barely audible.
Squaring my shoulders and steeling my gaze, I step closer - close enough to pull his head up by his hair and force him to look me in the eye.
“Rhett,” I say his name with deliberate clarity, “You die today regardless. But how you die – whether it’s swift or prolonged by hours – depends on you. Tell me who betrayed me.”
I run the blade across his bare chest. Howling in pain and fear, Rhett clenches his eyes shut momentarily before he pries them open.
His breaths are ragged, tearing out from his blood-caked throat in intermittent gasps.
I wait, holding on to a strand of patience as thin as the very edge of life he clings to.
He tries to stutter out a response, making me realize Damian is right, we have nearly broken the compulsion on him, the fact he is trying to tell us means it’s nearly broken. Making me wonder if it is in this near death state that allows it.
“Speak clearly, Rhett!” I snap, my patience wearing thin.
Moving the blade, I plunge it into the one leg he has left, the other we removed with a serrated bread knife, trying to get answers out of him.
Ripping the knife out, I plunge it into his groin.
He screams and thrashes, his werewolf genes attempting to heal him, however, even that ability is miniscule since his bond was broken.
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, a comprehensible name slips out from between his bruised lips. It’s a name that causes an icy chill to coil around my spine—a name I never expected to be involved in this ploy— “Mavis, she opened the gates for us.”
My mind struggles to accept the information. Mavis has been one of my most loyal staff for years. Her betrayal feels like a knife twisting in my gut and stuns me momentarily.
Rhett gasps as I yank the knife out, trying to work out why she would betray me.
Yet, I know trying to get those answers out of Rhett will be time-consuming when I can go straight to the source.
Suddenly things click into place, like that night I saw her on the stairs was one of the nights a call had gone out.
She has also never been ordered out of the castle, even when security was tightened.
Here I was thinking it was one of my guard, but no, it was someone far more trusted. Someone I trusted my son to, his nanny.
Anger courses through me at the new information when Rhett groans, making me remember he is still alive.
Gripping his hair, I tilt his head back, sawing through his neck with the blade.
His eyes widen, he gurgles and gasps as the blunt blade painfully and slowly cuts through his flesh.
Just before I know he is about to die, I lift the blade and plunge it into his chest. He jerks but dies instantly.
Blood coats my hands, drenches Rhett’s now limp body and the floor.
I barely notice as I stalk out of the cell.
All I can think about is Mavis. How she betrayed Jacinta, and me.
How she betrayed the little boy she has helped raise. How could she?
My blood is still boiling as I storm through the halls of my castle, Rhett’s final words playing on repeat in my mind. Mavis. It doesn’t make sense. I trusted her. She cared for Jacinta, cared for Max, and was a part of this family. How could she betray us? And for Rhett? For Clyde?
My mind is racing with questions. My body is still slick with Rhett’s blood, the smell of it lingering on my hands, and a few maids shriek upon the sight of me as I stalk up the stairs to Max’s room where I know she will be.
As I approach Max’s room, my keen hearing picks up the soft sound of his laughter. It’s innocent, untainted, oblivious to the danger I’ve unknowingly put him in. But it’s not the laugh that makes my pulse spike—it’s her voice.
Mavis.
I push open the door without knocking, the scene before me stopping me dead in my tracks.
Max sits on the floor with a handful of toy soldiers, his little brow furrowed in concentration as he arranges them in a perfect line.
Beside him, Mavis kneels, her hands resting in her lap as she watches over him.
She’s smiling down at him, her eyes warm and soft.
For a moment, it almost feels normal. Almost.
“Mavis,” I say, my voice low and cold.
Her head snaps up, and the warmth in her eyes is instantly replaced with confusion. “Your Majesty?” she asks, her tone cautious as she rises. Max peers up at me, his innocent blue eyes wide with surprise.
“Step away from my son,” I command, my voice sharp and firm as my aura rushes out.
Her brow furrows, but she obeys, slowly stepping back. Max looks between us, his small hands clutching a toy soldier as his confusion turns to fear. “Daddy?” he asks softly, his voice trembling. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t have time to explain, not now. I point to the door. “Max, leave the room. Go find Uncle Damian.”
“But—”
“Now, Max!” I command, harsher than I intend, but I need him gone. His safety comes first, and I can’t deal with this while he’s here.
Max jumps at the sharpness in my tone, his little face crumpling in confusion and hurt at the command. Tears well in his eyes, but he doesn’t argue. He scrambles to his feet, clutching the toy soldier tightly as he rushes out the door.
The room feels too quiet now, the tension thick enough to choke on.
Mavis sighs and I drop my aura watching her as she moves about the room and stands by the window, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, her posture tense.
She doesn’t look at me, her gaze instead fixed on the open window behind her. She peers out at the forest.
“You figured it out,” she says as she peers out the window, she has a vacant expression on her face.
“How could you?” I ask, my voice low but trembling with barely contained rage. I take a step closer, and her head snaps up to meet my eyes. “How could you betray Jacinta? Betray me? Betray Max? She was your sire!”
Mavis flinches at the last word. Her eyes turn glassy. “I didn’t know,” she says, her voice trembling, but her words ignite something dangerous inside me.
“Don’t you dare lie to me, Mavis!” I snap, my voice echoing off the stone walls. Her eyes widen in horror, but before she can respond, the door bursts open, and my mother storms in.
“What’s going on?” she demands, her sharp gaze flicking between Mavis and me.
I don’t answer immediately, my jaw clenched so tightly it aches. Mavis shifts nervously, her gaze darting toward the door, but before I can speak, a small voice breaks through the tension.
“Why are you yelling at her, Daddy?”
I turn to see Max standing in the doorway, tears streaming down his face. He clutches the toy soldier tightly to his chest, his little hands trembling.
“Max,” I start, but he shakes his head, his sobs coming in short, frantic gasps.
“Don’t hurt her!” he cries.
“It’s okay, Max, go find Aubrey. You don’t need to see this. I did the wrong thing, sweetie,” Mavis tells him.
“What? I don’t understand?” Max cries.
“She let Rhett and King Alaric in on the day Jacinta was killed,” I tell my mother and the look of shock on her face is evident.
“It wasn’t her! It wasn’t Mavis! It was the bloodsucker! The one from the news! I remember his face; I saw him before Mavis took me away,” Max says.
I freeze, his words slamming into me like a physical blow. My heart stutters in my chest. The bloodsucker. He said something similar when I was searching for Aubrey; we just thought he was talking about seeing Alaric on the news. I didn’t realize he actually saw Alaric that day.
Mavis’s face pales, her hands trembling as she presses them to her mouth. “I didn’t mean to,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I swear to you, I didn’t know!”
Max looks at her confused.