Chapter 11 Tobias
Tobias
“Leila?”
She stood across from Tobias, eyes wide and face drained of what little color it usually carried. Her lungs heaved, but She didn’t speak.
“Breathe, darling.” Tobias wrapped an arm around Her, guiding Her to his bed and taking a seat at Her side. “What happened?”
“Flynn.” She gazed ahead, transfixed on the nothingness. “He . . .”
“He what?”
Silence.
Tobias’s nerves spiked. He waited for Her to speak, each passing second fuel for the horrors polluting his mind. Taking Her hands, He forced his way into Her line of sight. “What did he do, Leila? What did he—?” He stopped himself, fighting for composure. “What did he do?”
“I’m so embarrassed.”
“Darling, no, please.” He pressed a hand to Her cheek only for Her to recoil from his touch. Faltering, he slowly, gently tucked Her hair behind Her ear, exposing Her jawline—swollen and red. His stomach roiled. “Did he hit You?”
“He wants to be Brontes.” Leila winced, then shook Herself. “He wants to be sovereign.”
“That won’t happen. I promise. It won’t.”
“He said I belong to him. He . . .” Life flickered back into Her gaze, and Her voice came out fast and unsteady. “I was just so thrown. I didn’t expect—”
“He hurt You?”
“I shadow walked away. I didn’t know what else to do.” She held Her face in Her hands. “I’m so sorry.”
“Stop it. You did nothing wrong.”
“Everything’s ruined.”
“You did nothing wrong.” Tobias scooped Her into his arms, and She sank into him, Her fingernails raking his back.
It was only then he noticed his wild heartbeat like a war drum in the thick of battle, and the tightness of his lungs, limited by his far too restricting rib cage.
Something feral burned within him, a spark lighting the weeds that had sprouted in his hollowed chest.
A knock sounded at the door, and a servant wafted inside with a tray in her hands. “Sir, your meal.” She stopped short, eyes flitting from Tobias to Leila. “Apologies, I didn’t mean to intrude.”
Tobias glanced between the woman in the doorway and the one in his arms. “Leila, darling, are You all right?” Leila nodded against his neck. “Good. This woman is going to care for You for a moment.” He beckoned the servant closer, casting her a knowing gaze. “I’ll be back shortly.”
He kissed Leila’s forehead before heading off while the servant gazed back at him, confused. “Sir?”
He slammed the chamber door and charged down the corridor.
The fire was spreading, crawling up his throat and blazing down his limbs, consuming everything dead and dry within him.
As he quickened his stride, his heart matched his pace, coalescing with the primal roar in his belly.
He’d known this beast before. He craved it.
A door appeared ahead, and he threw it open. Flynn stood in his chamber rifling through his desk, and he spun around when Tobias headed his way.
“Artist—”
Tobias pounded Flynn in the nose, collapsing him to the floor. Blood spattered the tiles and dotted his knuckles, a meager start to a long-coming end.
Clutching his face, Flynn scrambled to his feet. “What the hell?”
Tobias’s fist went flying, slamming Flynn in the mouth, the eye. Flynn stumbled across his chamber, crimson dripping from his lips. It wasn’t enough.
“Are you mad?” Flynn barked.
Tobias grabbed the front of Flynn’s tunic and lurched him close. “Who the fuck do you think you are?”
“I’m the Champion.” Flynn spoke through gritted teeth. “She’s mine.”
“She is not property to barter over. She is flesh and bone.” Tobias released Flynn with a shove, sending him staggering into a wall. “If She doesn’t want you, you hear Her, and you stand down.”
Flynn struck Tobias’s jaw, leaving behind a throbbing that faded into a beautiful numbness.
Tobias dodged the next blow, wrenching Flynn by the tunic and punching him across the chin, using the red stain as a target.
Flynn tumbled backward, and Tobias tossed him against the door, sending it swinging open and Flynn toppling into the corridor.
Servants shrieked and scattered, but Tobias was unfazed.
Instinct had taken over, a brutality he’d been fighting for days, and for what purpose?
Tobias grabbed Flynn by the roots of his hair and slammed his face into the wall, hoping the man’s bones would shatter against the surface.
Flynn spun around, striking Tobias in the nose, his dark gaze ripe with rage.
“I won Her hand!” He spat blood onto the floor. “You’re common. You’re nothing.”
He swung and missed as Tobias darted out of the way, striking Flynn in the jaw. A jab landed in the pit of Tobias’s stomach, crumpling him to his knees, but he dragged Flynn down with him, the two men collapsing in a pile.
“You’re a fucking traitor,” Flynn spat.
Tobias pummeled him in the mouth. It was an act of God to silence the man’s heinous words, to wash his mouth with blood.
He battered Flynn’s eye, sending his head cracking against the tiled floor, a melodic sound.
Crimson coated Tobias’s fist and dripped from his split knuckles, a work of art.
This, right here, was justice. This moment in its entirety was goodness.
“Tobias.”
The voice was a shadow fading into the back of his mind.
Each blow landed harder, the ache of his knuckles a triumph, the swollen mess of Flynn’s socket a masterpiece.
Flynn fought back at first, then eventually went limp, gasping and gurgling beneath Tobias’s onslaught.
Another jab. Another. It was a glorious sight—the steady progression of death.
“Tobias.”
A hand gripped his shoulder. Raphael’s hand. Raphael’s voice. Tobias gritted his teeth. “I’ll fucking kill him—”
“I’ve gathered the women,” Raphael said. “They’re in your chamber, and they’re safe. But they can hear everything.”
Tobias sucked in sharp, labored breaths. His ribs throbbed, his lungs surged, and a cool sweat dripped down his temples. The fire inside was still burning, but he was consumed by his overwrought body—particularly his fist hovering in the air, awaiting his command.
“He will wear these marks forever. And if you kill him, so will you.” Raphael dug his fingers into Tobias’s shoulder. “He is deserving, but not in front of them.”
Kill him. But his thoughts were overwhelmed with Leila, his mother and sister, their prying eyes and aghast faces—faces like those of the servants who circled him, gaping. His fist trembled, his warm, wet fingers digging into his palms, the desire for violence bubbling in his veins.
Tobias stood, leaving Flynn to moan on the tiled floor, a beaten mound of flesh.
“You’re not worth it.”
He trudged off, the probing stares of servants boring through him, leaving holes in his bruised body.
Footsteps sounded in the distance, and Keene came into view, shoving through the horde.
“What’s going on?” He glanced at Flynn being hoisted to his feet by servants, then to Tobias. “What did you do to my son?”
He grabbed Tobias by the shoulder, who ripped himself free, wiping his stained nose as he trod down the corridor. “What he deserved.”
“You filthy derelict!”
“Your son dared to attack Her Holiness!” Raphael said. “The ultimate blasphemy. The fact that his life was spared is proof of Her divine mercy.”
“Go on!” A weak voice shouted behind them, thick with blood. “Be a martyr.” Flynn stumbled across the floor, flashing red-stained teeth. “Take your commoners, and your widows, and your cripples—”
Raphael spun on his heel and jabbed Flynn in the jaw, sending him staggering into the wall and sliding back to the floor. Shaking out his wrist, Raphael offered Tobias a nod. “I’ll gather our things.”
Keene stood among the servants, jaw slack in bewildered silence.
Such a scene, and Tobias hadn’t the patience for it.
He shouldered through the mass of people, stopping only once he’d reached his chamber.
Four women sat before him—Leila, his mother, his sister, and that servant looking just as confused as when he’d left her.
Their stricken gazes barely stung. He was getting used to the pain.
“We’re leaving.”
Tobias and the others left the villa in haste.
Keene attempted to hassle Tobias the entire time, but Raphael kept him at a distance, spouting off about integrity, blasphemy, and other descriptors that meant little to Tobias.
They packed their things, plus clothing and food that didn’t belong to them, and left without parting, using Leila’s shadow walking to take them deep into the Krios Woods to a clearing the royal guard had perhaps already searched and found fruitless.
Occasionally Naomi or Tobias’s mother cooed some reassurance into Leila’s ear, and Raphael offered guidance that wasn’t requested, but otherwise the remainder of the day was silent.
Tobias washed his hands clean in a shallow pond.
Flynn’s blood was a memory, but the fire hadn’t been snuffed.
It was dormant, locked away in its usual cage, waiting to be unleashed another day.
Tobias wasn’t quite sure whether that was good, or bad, or somewhere in between.
All he knew was that Flynn deserved to die, and he relished the thought of it.
A month ago, he would’ve felt guilty. A part of him wished he were that man again, even if he couldn’t recognize him anymore.
Naomi whimpered. She was curled on her side, breathing through her teeth as she fought past her latest attack.
Their mother had bundled her up in blankets that Naomi stripped away, claiming she felt suffocated, while Raphael prodded at the fire, simmering a pot of herbs that would hopefully lull Tobias’s sister to sleep.
Night had fallen, and their meager group was splayed out around their campfire, their faces lit orange by the flames.
Tobias’s eyes panned between Leila, his mother, his sister. Hopelessness. Misery. Suffering. His fingers curled into fists, cracking open the scabs forming along his knuckles.