The Princess In A ‘Prince’ Disguise (Beasts of Wrath and Madness #1)

38. THE TURNING POINT

Chapter thirty-eight

THE TURNING POINT

In the following two days, Emeriel was relocated to Blackstone and Lord VLadya departed on his journey. He was assigned to work in the gardens—a prospect that filled him with unexpected relief.

Emeriel had always envied the slaves who worked in the gardens, drawn to the earthy scents and the quiet rhythm of tending to life. It had been one of his indulgences back in Navia—a haven of peace amid a life of turmoil.

Emeriel couldn't be certain whether it was due to what had happened in court or if the slaves in Blackstone were simply different, but he noticed a change in the way he was treated.

The slavemasters no longer bellowed at him, and his fellow slaves no longer sought reasons to harm him. Even the Urekai maids displayed a newfound respect. They observed him with curiosity as he moved about and generally stayed out of his way.

Aekeira began visiting more frequently as well. Once she had finished her tasks, she would hasten to help Emeriel with his work.

Of course, they had to be discreet about it, as the slavemasters frowned upon slaves aiding one another.

However, yesterday, while Aekeira balanced a brimming clay jug, helping Emeriel soak the thirsty flowerbeds, the slavemaster in charge of their duties caught them. Emeriel tensed, the watering can slipping from his numb fingers, and they sprang upright, rigid as the dried stalks bordering the garden.

Like cornered mice, they awaited their punishment. Surprisingly, the slavemaster ignored them, leaving Emeriel utterly bewildered, and relieved.

Aekeira was overjoyed when Emeriel shared the news of her meeting with Grand Lord Vladya. Tears streamed down her face, hot and unchecked, as she expressed her happiness.

"So we shall remain together now, with you in the neighboring chamber?" she queried, a lingering sniffle betraying her tears. Her wild smile held a flicker of uncertainty beneath its joy.

Emeriel embraced her, nodding in affirmation.

"And the forbidden chambers?" Her smile waned. "Em, I am not pleased with that. I do not want the beast mounting you."

Emeriel held her tighter, his resolve hardening. "Better me than you, Keira. Serving him would bring you far worse harm than anything he could do to me. That beast would never kill me. I am certain of it."

"And how can you be so sure?" she asked, her voice small, worry lacing every word.

"Because he had every chance to kill me, yet he has not. It is not mere luck." Emeriel gently cupped her cheek, his gaze searching hers. "Look into my eyes, Aekeira. You will see the truth. I want to do this, not just to save you, but because...something within me knows the beast will never harm me."

Aekeira's worry lingered, etched in the tightness around her eyes. But a flicker of reluctant acceptance softened her features. She ceased her arguments, her small sigh echoing in the space between them. Her embrace, when it came, was tight, almost desperate. "Very well. I only wish for your safety, Em."

Emeriel noticed a change in Aekeira. She became happier, radiating with joy. Glowing.

Serving the beast had scared Aekeira more than his sister ever acknowledged, and the thought that he'd lifted that burden from her shoulders filled him with quiet satisfaction.

The only time Emeriel left Blackstone was at midnight. To feed his beast. And yes, sometimes, Emeriel could not help but refer to the beast as 'mine', especially in his head. He had stopped fighting that inclination too.

Upon arrival, the guards simply glanced at him before stepping aside. The same guards who had once yelled at him to leave, hurled threats, and shoved him now cleared his path. Emeriel would never openly acknowledge the trickle of satisfaction it brought him.

He entered through the small gate and door, and the beast uncurled itself from the ground as he approached.

One moment it was behind the barricades, the next, it had Emeriel pinned to the wall. Its swift movement no longer frightened Emeriel as it would have before. Instead, he willingly bared his throat to the beast.

The beast took a deep inhale and, as always, emitted a long, satisfying purr that filled Emeriel with warmth and an odd sense of happiness. Twice it licked his throat, its rough tongue leaving a trail of heat.

For a heart-stopping moment, a jolt of fear prickled Emeriel's spine. Would it bite? Would the beast finally drain him dry as the mistress had said?

But then, he remembered that the beast had bloodfed days ago, so the fear eased, and he relaxed.

As Emeriel arranged the feast––slabs of raw meat and steaming bowls of offal––the beast devoured them with guttural grunts. Its yellow eyes never left him, tracking his every move.

That burning gaze sent shivers down Emeriel’s spine. Made him feel like a rabbit trapped before a wolf. As if he was eating the wrong food, Emeriel was the one he wanted to eat. As if he wanted to bend Emeriel over and mount him.

Emeriel was getting wet thinking about it too, and quickly dismissed it.

Yet, when it concerned the beast, not thinking about him was an illusion. Emeriel found himself thinking about the creature more times than he cared to admit.

Grand Lord Zaiper grew increasingly frustrated and angry. With Vladya away, this was the perfect opportunity to rid himself of the bothersome little fly that was the little prince and be done with it.

However, Vladya had unexpectedly assigned the boy to Blackstone, and as a result, Zaiper had not caught a glimpse of him the past two days.

Summoning the boy was out of the question. Doing so would attract the attention of the fortress to the fact that the boy was with him. Now that the boy had gained some level of fame among the people, Zaiper did not want his death to be traced back to him.

Then, some might speculate Zaiper killed the boy because he felt threatened, a desire to prevent Daemonikai from regaining his sanity, or a craving for the throne. He needed none of those rumors to spread. So, no, Zaiper did not want the boy's death linked to him.

So how could he bring the boy to Greyrock without summoning him?

It would have been simpler if the boy were still in the southern wings, but Vladya had relocated him. The mere thought infuriated Zaiper.

Footsteps interrupted his thoughts. "My Lord, as you requested, I have sent a message to Lord Gaff. He will respond by morning," Razarr, his head of soldiers, spoke behind him.

Zaiper turned his head towards Razarr. The male was incredibly handsome, and Zaiper was well aware of Razarr's fierce loyalty to him. How could he not, when Razarr had loved him for centuries?

Zaiper simply pretended not to be aware, even as he occasionally took Razarr to his bed. It helped that Razarr remained highly professional and committed to his duties, possessing the same level of resilience as Zaiper himself.

"Razarr?"

He straightened and met Zaiper’s gaze. "Yes, my Lord?"

"If I desire to end a human's life without summoning them, as I intend to avoid any connection between their demise and myself, how might I bring this individual into my presence?" Zaiper inquired in a bored tone.

Razarr pondered the question. "May I ask a question, Your Highness?" Zaiper gestured for him to proceed. "Could this human be the human prince?"

Zaiper displayed no surprise at Razarr's knowledge. The male had an uncanny understanding of his thoughts, which Zaiper found appealing. "Indeed, it could be."

"In that case," Razarr proposed, "permit me to eliminate him discreetly and bury him in Blackstone. No one would ever trace it back to you."

"A commendable idea," Zaiper acknowledged. "However, I am intrigued to observe the boy more closely. I wish to uncover what makes him tick. Besides, that charming little backside of his..." Zaiper tilted his head to the side, his words trailing off. "Daemonikai's beast had the boy once, and for some reason, it’s fixating. I want to mount him, too. I need to understand what the fuss is all about, before I dispose of him."

Razarr remained stoic, offering no visible reaction, but Zaiper knew the wheels were turning in his mind. Zaiper allowed him the time to think; after all, Razarr had a capable head attached to his shoulders.

Eventually, Razarr broke the silence. "You could summon his sister. It is no secret how close the siblings are. If we bring the sister here, the boy will undoubtedly come running."

Zaiper mulled over the idea, his interest piqued. "Go on."

"We shall go to the southern wings and forcefully bring the girl to Greyrock. Outsiders need only know that you requested the princess's presence. I will dispatch a slave to inform the boy that his sister has been forcibly taken. This news will surely prompt the boy to come rushing to his sister's aid. Once he sets foot in Greyrock, his fate will be sealed.” He paused. “With Grand Lord Vladya away and Grand Lord Ottai preoccupied with his ailing bondmate, no one will be able to save him. Once the prince arrives, you may release the princess,” Razarr concluded. “What are your thoughts, my Lord?"

"I must admit, Razarr, that you are a genius," Zaiper commended. "Secure the princess, and the prince shall undoubtedly follow. Why had this plan not occurred to me before?"

Drawing closer to Razarr, Zaiper slid his hand behind the male's neck, pulling him in for a passionate kiss born out of sheer happiness.

A soft whine escaped Razarr, his composure crumbling into desire as he melted into Zaiper's embrace. The grand Lord kissed him fervently. Thoroughly. Zaiper explored his mouth with hunger, until the scent of Razarr's arousal filled the air.

Relinquishing the embrace, Zaiper stepped back, satisfaction gleaming in his eyes. "You have served me well, Razarr. Vladya is slated to return in two days' time. Therefore, tomorrow, we shall set our plan in motion. I want that princess brought to me, do you understand?"

"Um, I—I..." Razarr blinked repeatedly, attempting to clear his head.

Zaiper watched, amusement dancing in his gaze. He enjoyed seeing his formidable head soldier, usually so composed, reduced to a flustered and intoxicated state because of him.

"Yes, m-my Lord," Razarr finally managed to stammer.

Zaiper turned to face the window, his voice resonating with determination. "Tomorrow shall mark Emeriel's final day in this world. I shall ensure it, without a doubt."

Aekeira heaved a sigh of relief as she finished her tasks for the day. Every muscle ached; the water drums were heavy even when only half-full, and her hands were raw from hauling the rough new well-ropes. As she returned the last chipped bucket to the dusty gloom of the storage shed, a prickle of unease crawled down her spine at the sight of the slavemaster who often targeted her.

The slavemaster, a bull of a man whose beady eyes always seemed to find her, stalked toward her, his heavy boots kicking up a cloud of dust.

"What are you doing, idling around and dragging your feet, slave? Have you finished your duties?" His sneer twisted his already cruel mouth, his tone laced with contempt.

"Yes, Master Tyke," Aekeira replied meekly, keeping her gaze lowered. It was safer not to meet his eyes.

"Well, there is still more to be done. I want you to clean the water storage areas and the wells to minimize contamination.” His voice held a new, oily note, a threat veiled as a command.

Aekeira thought of the work she had promised to assist Em with, as she was planting new flowers that day. Her hesitation was a heartbeat too long.

The slavemaster's face mottled an ugly red, rage twisting his features. "How dare you stand there silently? I gave you an order!"

"Y-yes, of course, Master," Aekeira stammered, spinning around to hasten to her designated duty spot.

But the slavemaster was not willing to let her off so easily. "Stop right there! Five lashes of the whip for your blatant disobedience!"

"But, Master, I did not—"

"Ten lashes! One of you slaves fetch me the whip!" the slavemaster bellowed, and a nearby slave scuttled off, returning moments later with a sturdy whip, handing it over to the slavemaster. The leather gleamed darkly in the harsh sunlight.

Aekeira’s heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic bird against its cage. Oh stars, what had she done to deserve this?

"Bare your back, slave!" The master's whip hissed through the air.

She closed her eyes, the rough fabric of her tunic suddenly suffocating against her skin. Just as the first blow was about to fall, the crack of the whip was drowned out by approaching footsteps, and a voice that cut through the air like a blade.

"Slavemaster, I am afraid that I must interrupt," a cool female voice interjected.

Hope, fragile as a sparrow's wing, flickered within Aekeira. But as she turned, that hope withered. The woman was undeniably a wealthy lady with her extravagant gown and jewels. She was also heavily pregnant.

A mistress, perhaps? Aekeira's stomach twisted.

Aekeira recalled her encounter with Mistress Sinai and knew well that appearances could be deceiving. Even the seemingly gentlest Urekai mistress could be far crueler than the slavemasters.

Was this retribution? Had she come to make her pay for being the cause of Mistress Sinai’s punishment?

"I hope you don't mind if I borrow your slave?" the mistress added, her voice as smooth and polished as the gems at her throat.

The slavemaster, previously puffed with rage, deflated. The whip fell from his numb fingers. "Of course, M-mistress," he stammered, bowing so low his greasy hair nearly brushed the dirt.

The mistress's gaze landed on Aekeira, heavy and appraising. "Come with me," she commanded, her tone brokering no argument. She turned, her swollen belly shifting beneath the elaborate fabric of her dress.

Aekeira straightened her tunic, the harsh material rough against her fear-slicked skin. She fell into step behind the mistress, her every sense strained. The mistress's maidservants trailed behind, their gazes sharp as needles. The silence between her and the mistress stretched, each unasked question tightening the knot in Aekeira's gut.

Who was this woman? What did she want from her?