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

50. ALL OUT

Chapter fifty

ALL OUT

Grand Lord Zaiper hummed a tune of triumph as he glided along the labyrinthine corridors. The cool stones beneath his feet echoed with each step, carrying the promise of a future hewn to his will.

All the hard work he had put in would finally pay off, and he would ascend to the grand throne of Urekai.

"My lord," a passing laborer gasped, bowing so low his sweat-slicked forehead nearly touched the floor.

"Good day to you as well," he replied, his grin stretching really wide.

Their flinches, the way their heads snapped back to their tasks like frightened sparrows, were a satisfying tribute.

On this blessed day, his heart was filled with sheer delight. Once he became the grand king, his next agenda would be to eliminate the law of the four rulers.

He would be the sole ruler of his people.

To achieve such a goal would undoubtedly take years—perhaps even centuries—as the people would resist him tooth and nail.

But Zaiper had all the time in the world. That was one of the perks of living a long, long life.

Eventually, they would submit. They had no choice; he would be their undisputed ruler, his word their unbreakable law.

Rounding a corner, the rhythmic clash of the training grounds abruptly ceased.

They were his finest warriors—his trusted hidden soldiers—specially trained for countless centuries. They stood at attention, their stances as rigid as the ancient stone of the fortress itself.

Their commander, Razarr, broke formation and stepped forward.

Zaiper gestured, leading him away from the others. When they were well beyond earshot, he turned. "Mobilize a select few of them. Tonight, we hunt to kill."

"Your command, Majesty. The target?" Razarr's voice was steady.

"The boy, Emeriel." Zaiper said. That wretched boy must die. The beast's rampage last night... the way it protected the boy... fueled him with unease . Something was just not right.

The beast had torn the slavemaster to pieces for molesting the boy? For his scent lingering on the boy's body? Zaiper had tortured the information out of one of the southern wing’s slaves.

"Forgive me for prying, but won't the beast be killed tomorrow? Is there still a need to eliminate the boy?" Razarr asked cautiously.

Zaiper's eyes narrowed. "My instincts are rarely wrong, Razarr. There's something going on with the feral, something inexplicable, and it’s all connected to that boy. It makes me uneasy. Before whatever that is goes any further, that boy needs to die." He took a step closer, his voice dropping low. "I need him gone."

"Very well, Your Highness. I will assemble a squad for tonight." Razarr inclined his head.

Zaiper nodded, and smirked. "Choose our finest, commander. The best of the elite."

Confusion flickered on Razarr's features. "For a mere human boy?"

"Not exactly. The slaves convene at the square outside Ravenshadow, this evening. Strike after, when he makes for home. The forest offers perfect cover. If all goes according to plan, he should not be difficult to eliminate. However, have the elite soldiers on standby in case complications arise…as they did last time."

"You mean Lord Vladya? Even if we combine the prowess of all our men, they would still be no match for him," Razarr stated bluntly.

"I am aware. That is why the arrows will be coated with dragonblood." Zaiper smirked. "It may not kill that stubborn beast outright, but it will weaken him significantly. If he is struck by more than a few, it will surely be fatal. Hence, I require the elites for this task. I am not willing to take any chances. One of those arrows aimed at the boy will undoubtedly end his life."

The evening painted the sky in streaks of molten gold and fiery rose as the sun slipped behind the gnarled trees.

Lost in thought, Emeriel trudged along the familiar path back to the fortress, his footsteps soft on the packed earth.

That bloodfeeding... it had seared itself into his very being. Now he understood the mistress's reaction to it. Her desperate, insatiable thirst.

Emeriel doubted he could survive a real feeding – those tiny, little sips from the beast had been so overwhelming it created a wildfire of sensation inside him.

Even now, he could scarcely believe he had fed King Daemonikai, although the beast had taken barely a sip.

But that hunger... Emeriel had practically felt its strength when the beast's body began to shake, yet it restrained itself.

As if being careful not to drain him.

A sharp sting snapped him back to the present. His foot had caught on a root, sending his body stumbling forward with a surprised cry.

Damn!

His muscles screamed in protest, still tender from the previous night. Emeriel pressed on, each step sending a fresh jolt of pain through Emeriel's sore body.

He longed to sink back into the comfort of his bed, but such luxury was not an option for a slave like him.

"There he is," a voice echoed up ahead.

Emeriel stopped in his tracks. Two Urekai came out of nowhere, clad in the outfit of assassins.

Hoods masked their faces, arrows nocked and aimed. His heart pounded like a drumroll before battle.

His gaze darted around. Another came into view, then another. His gut twisted as he spun, counting at least ten assassins closing in on him. Maybe more.

"Shoot him!"

Instinct surged through Emeriel. Sore muscles were forgotten. He couldn't fight, but maybe, just maybe, he could outrun them. He bolted.

The assassins, with their bestial pace, closed the gap with terrifying speed. Arrows whizzed past, their sharp tips a breath away from tearing his flesh.

A surge of adrenaline coursed through Emeriel - thank the gods for those harsh days in Navia, spent training hard in his attempt to gain muscles.

Who knew it would actually come in handy someday?

Every sense flared alive; his ears twitched, straining for the near-silent hiss of arrows in flight as he twisted and juked around trees with the fluidity of a cat.

"The little shit runs as fast as a cheetah!" The assassin's snarl cut through the air, his voice uncomfortably close now. "He must not escape! More arrows!"

Emeriel pushed himself harder. The woods, so familiar from a life spent hunting and scavenging to feed himself and Aekeira, were now his sanctuary and his weapon.

The snap of branches and the dry rustle of leaves beneath his feet marked his passage. Every step was a frantic blur, leaving behind only the echo of his rapid heartbeat as he vanished into the depths of the woods.

"Bloody hell! Where is he!?" The fading cry marked his progress – for now. But the ceaseless chase was taking its toll.

Unlike the tireless Urekai, Emeriel was only human. He knew, with a chilling certainty, that he wouldn't outrun them all the way back to the fortress.

Emeriel's ragged breaths echoed in the sudden quiet as his heart pounded a staccato rhythm against his ribs. Desperate eyes scanned the underbrush, seeking refuge.

There – a fallen log covered in thick ferns, a sliver of darkness promising concealment. He scrambled towards it, wedging himself into the tight space.

This was it. He could hide, at least for a moment.

A strong hand clamped onto his shoulder, yanking him out of his hiding place.

"Leave me alone!" Emeriel shrieked, flailing, panic lending his blows surprising strength.

"Quiet. It's me," a familiar, deep voice spoke.

Grand Lord Vladya?

Emeriel froze, the surprise of seeing the grand lord almost outweighing his fear. Almost. How had the grand lord found him?

"Save your questions for later. We don't have time. Come on, let's go." Lord Vladya scooped Emeriel into his arms, and ran.

Emeriel held himself still, barely able to breathe. Lord Vladya's speed left him thunderstruck. He moved with the blinding flash of lightning, as quick as the wind.

If the grand lord chased him, Emeriel knew he wouldn't stand a chance.

A storm of arrows erupted, buzzing like angry wasps as they came hurtling toward them. Lord Vladya became a whirlwind, deflecting and dodging with sophisticated grace.

But the relentless onslaught was too much; Emeriel braced himself for the searing pain of an arrowhead.

Then, Lord Vladya's big form enveloped him. His larger body folded over his smaller frame like a shield, protecting Emeriel completely.

Finally, they sought cover behind a massive tree. Only then did Emeriel see it – two arrows jutted from Lord Vladya's left shoulder.

"You've been hit, Your Highness!" Emeriel choked.

Vladya studied the arrows with detached annoyance, as though they were mere nuisances.

With casual ease, he snapped them free, blood oozing from the wounds, then paused to sniff their broken shafts.

"Dragonblood," he murmured, calmly.

"What does that mean?" Emeriel's worry for the grand lord unexpectedly outweighing his own terror.

"Poison," Vladya's response was curt, almost bored. He tossed the arrows aside, then glanced at Emeriel. "Wait here."

And in a flash, he was gone.

The forest erupted in a sound of horror. Screams rose, followed by the snap of bones breaking.

The wetness of flesh tearing, agonized cries cut short, and something crunching beneath a devastating force.

When Lord Vladya returned, his white robe was splattered crimson, the blood vivid against the stark white.

More spattered his scarred face, and his eyes... there was a gleam in them that made Emeriel's stomach twist with fear.

He looked as unbothered as ever, as if killing all those assassins was a mere inconvenience. He lifted Emeriel and began to sprint again.

"We have to be fast before the poison takes effect. It is lethal to our kind,” Lord Vladya spoke in the same casual tone one might use in discussing the weather.

But, by the time they arrived at Ravenshadow, Emeriel could see how true his words were.

Lord Vladya's inhuman speed had slowed, his once-effortless strides now strained, his breathing harsh.

Emeriel, placed back on his feet, instinctively took a step back to put some distance between them.

He was fortunate Lord Vladya maintained a professional demeanor, keeping his arms firmly wrapped around Emeriel's abdomen without any wandering.

His gaze stayed on the grand lord who had saved his life, and a lot of troubling emotions battled within him. Blood from his wound flowed in endless streams. A sheen of sweat beaded Lord Vladya's brow.

"I thought Urekai had self-healing abilities for physical wounds," the question slipped before he could stop it.

Then, he bit his lips, wondering if he had overstepped his bounds.

"We do, and we don't. It's a complicated matter," Vladya’s reply was clipped. "One has to bloodfeed first for natural healing to commence. And for injuries such as this, a healer is also needed."

As they neared Blackstone, its impressive outline loomed against the last rays of the dying sun, a group of soldiers stood waiting.

Their eyes widened with alarm as they saw their ruler, but a sharp shake of the grand lord’s head cut off any offers of assistance Yaz was about to make.

"I am fine," he insisted, and they reluctantly respected his wishes.

They followed behind the grand lord, all the way to the grand entrance of his home.

With a deep bow, Emeriel offered his heartfelt gratitude. "My Lord, I am forever in your debt for saving my life."

"Stay out of trouble," Grand Lord Vladya’s tone was cool and dismissive. "Return to your quarters. Your duties are concluded for today."

Emeriel obeyed, but was worried as he left. Lord Vladya's injuries had looked severe, even if he'd treated them as mere nuisances.

“I still can't believe he saved my life,” Emeriel whispered, feeling grateful and confused.

Emeriel flung open the door of his quarters, took one step inside – and went very still.

A shadowy figure lurked against the far wall, hand darting for a weapon sheathed at its hip. Another assassin.

Fear jolted through him. They were inside.

How many more were hiding in there?

He slammed the door shut with a frantic bang, instantly pivoting into a run. The crash of wood splintering echoed behind him, followed by the thundering footsteps of his pursuers.

He could barely force his exhausted legs to keep up the desperate pace.

The good news is, this group didn’t seem to have the poisonous arrows. But, the bad news?

They were closing in on him. Fast.

Emeriel had a single destination in mind.

Grand Lord Vladya's quarters would have been a shorter journey, but his instincts drove him in one direction. His beast.