Chapter 47
J
ayce had a firm grip on her wrists, keeping them securely behind her back as they emerged from her quarters.
Time lost its relevance as he guided her across the hull, and the busy crew kept their eyes focused on their tasks.
Although she hesitated to look at them, she knew that stealing one last glance before leaving would serve her well.
Their faces would be a reminder of what she needed to come home to.
As Carmen, Rowlin, and Alyse came into view, she witnessed their resolve breaking, glossy eyes meeting her own.
Her strength to withhold a smile or offer reassurance seemed boundless.
Xol, busily tying a rope near the deboarding dock, didn’t lift her gaze.
However, the visible strain in her clenched teeth and the struggle to contain her emotions sent a pang straight through Azahara’s heart.
This was the painful side of love that remained unspoken, the aspect everyone preferred to ignore; it wasn’t always sweetness and roses.
Itotaki appeared veiled in a darkened aura for her, and it wasn’t because of the absence of sunlight but rather the solitary figure at the end of the dock. A familiar rippled portal stood behind them.
Jayce forcefully moved her in front of him, nearly causing her to stumble. With a quick recovery, she steadied herself.
“You know how to walk,” he remarked, his voice devoid of warmth.
She bared her teeth and hissed through them, “I told you I’d come willingly.” She attempted to shift, but his grip on her wrists remained unyielding. “Is the grip on my wrists really necessary?”
Closing the distance between them and Jaakobai, Jayce chuckled without humor. “Can anyone truly trust anything you say?” They both knew Jaakobai could hear them, and though hearing Jayce speak to her in such a way wasn’t ideal, the necessity of it kept her tongue sharp.
“You’re just sour because you failed in getting into my bed,” she added, feeling his hand twitch. “Now you’ll never get the chance.”
“I’m sure the last several months have been quite fun, Commander Latimer,” Jaakobai said with a throaty laugh.
He wore their signature gold and white fitted armor, featuring a compass on its chest plate.
His hair was braided into a half bun, exposing his face without obstruction.
The singular scar across his nose was his most recognizable feature, and she couldn’t help but despise how similar he looked to Illyan.
While all Fae were beautiful in their own right, he was hard to look at.
“Insufferable,” he thrust her forward, causing her head to bow and her arm to nearly pop from its socket. When she looked up, Jaakobai was hovering over her. “Hello, Princess.”
Her nostrils flared, “Hey, Jaak-ass.” Seeing his eyes widen, she relished in his surprise and fury.
“Miss m—” The slap was so strong that even Jayce was taken by surprise and unable to keep her from falling to the ground with a loud crack.
Her entire face went numb, and she felt like her vision was going to give.
Jayce remained unmoving, showing indifference in her struggle to rise. A soft groan escaped her lips as her hand instinctively reached for her face, the lingering sting palpable.
“I’ve been waiting to do that for fifteen days,” he declared, crossing over to her and seizing a handful of her hair.
“Get up.” She staggered to her feet, still reeling from the impact.
“It seems Ilkiz didn’t yield what you sought,” his opposite hand finding the freshly struck cheek.
A cruel combination of a slap and a pinch made her inhale sharply.
“Good, because that would have made things a bit more difficult, and whilst I do enjoy a challenge—”
“Elder Fae,” Jayce cut him off, “I appreciate you showing dominance, however, I’m sure the King is waiting. I have also been away for some time, I would like to go home.”
Jaakobai shot his eyes at Jayce, and she hated the way he was looking at him.
Those eyes would suffer the same fate as his tongue.
In that moment, a calculating expression flickered across his small-minded countenance, his grip on her hair unyielding.
“You are right, the King is waiting.” He tapped at her cheek, the pain blinding—he had to have put Magic behind that slap.
It lingered far longer than it should have.
“I’ll take her,” Jaakobai asserted, his arm encircling her shoulders as he guided her toward the portal.
With Jayce at her back, they traversed the wether.
“Tell me, Princess, feeling as strong as you did in the winnox?” Upon emerging, she was caught off guard to find themselves not within the King’s palace but standing at the entrance of the Kingdom, ascending from the Port.
Jaakobai observed her bewilderment and chuckled. Surrounding them were numerous guards, one of them holding chains in their hands.
“Put your hands out,” the guard instructed. She fixed her gaze on the handcuffs, and an instinctual reaction compelled her to take a step back. “If you think I’m removing your restraints, you are wrong, Little Mouse.”
“Your hands girl!”
Please…She couldn’t willingly be locked back up, she couldn’t, I can’t… I can’t—
Strong hands glided down her arms, lifting them into position, and she sensed Jayce pressing against her back.
In their eyes, they’d see a Commander assisting in restraining her, but in her heart, she knew he was taking this moment to remind her that he was there.
No chains could bind her for long, and the unspoken assurance lingered that if she called to him, he would break her free from any constraint.
It still didn’t stop the trembling as the metal locked, and the burden of the chains pulled down on her arms. Jayce distanced himself, leaving her vulnerable as another officer approached.
A harsh shiver ran through her as a cuff encircled her neck, connecting to a chain that linked her wrists together.
“Is this necessary?” Jayce inquired, his voice devoid of emotion.
“Oh, yes.” Jaakobai affirmed, seizing the relatively short chain and tugging her forward. “Let me tell you a story while we take a stroll, hmm?” His words were directed at Azahara, diverting his attention away from Jayce.
As they began walking up the stairs towards the Kingdom, the White Cloak soldiers stepped outward, giving as much space as they could to the two of them. She couldn’t see Jayce, but she knew he was behind her, just unsure of how close.
“I dislike this realm as much as you do,” he admitted, her eyebrows knitting together.
“When you unleashed, whatever that power was, on the battlefield, you made my job so much easier than I could have imagined.” Her gaze swept over the surrounding White Cloaks; there was no doubt they were catching every word.
“Killing my father in the chaos, it was too easy. Pinning it on you, and my son, even easier. The King, pfft—easiest to manipulate.” His admission triggered a full-body tremor.
She turned her head to fully face Jayce, who steadfastly gazed ahead, avoiding her gaze. Was it possible they weren’t registering the gravity of the conversation?
“Princess, they can’t hear me. Only you can, for now.
” Turning back to him, he was smiling down at her, “I just wanted to thank you, and while I had hoped we could have ruled together, watching you die will be satisfying enough. Unless you are having second thoughts?” His hand moved to the small of her back, and across her hip.
“I’d rather give myself to the Yuul,” she hissed, shrugging as far away from him as the chain permitted. When his hand dropped, she asked, “Why? Why are you doing all of this?” They approached an archway, and beyond it, a crowd of people came into view.
“You wouldn’t understand my reasoning, child, so I won’t waste my breath.”
“Where are you taking me?” The ‘why’ of him doing all of this fell secondary at that point. Why was she here? Why were there so many people? Why weren’t they already in the presence of the King?
He looked down at her, “I’m illustrating a point and showing you just how hated you are.
Ripping away any hope you have to be seen as innocent.
” Every bone in her body trembled, and as her gaze focused ahead, she witnessed the White Cloaks moving forward, beginning to part the crowd of people going about their day.
As he leaned in, she attempted to step away, but he pulled the chain, forcing her back toward him, “I do hope you lose control.”
A chilling sensation enveloped her chest, akin to the sharp prickling of needles.
She was hardly aware that he was propelling her forward; all she could sense was an overwhelming wave of fear and anxiety coursing through her entire being.
Ilkiz, now relegated to the deepest recesses of her, hissed and writhed.
Azahara had pleaded with her to amplify her emotions, to appear weaker deliberately, but in this moment, there was no need for pretense—she was weak.
Numerous eyes bore into her, yet she adamantly avoided meeting a single one of their burning gazes.
She felt the intensity of their collective stare, poised to set her ablaze, and she accepted it.
The likelihood that some among them had lost someone at the Battle of Sunfall was so profound that she could practically sense the waves of hatred directed at her.
“Is that her?” “That is—” “That’s the murderer—” “The killer.” The whispers surrounded her like a cacophony, drowning out her own thoughts.
“They got her.” “Justice!” “Kill her.” The crowd was right to be furious, and she couldn’t blame them.
Regardless of whether they would have acted similarly or not, she was the cause of their profound grief and pain.
It wasn’t Jaakobai, Goddrick, or the King; it was her.
They perceived her as the monster, and now they had the opportunity to unleash their pent-up fury.