Chapter 18 Braxton
Braxton
“She’s refusing, your highness.” Gravely stands in front of me. I study his face, wondering when he started to look so weathered and worn.
“What do you mean she’s refusing?” I snap, my jaw tensing.
“She said that if the dinners are not a part of the curse agreement, then she has no obligation to be here.”
My frustration builds. I can’t help but feel I’ve set any progress I’ve made with Azalea back even further than we were only a few days ago. At least when I closed the library, she still came to dinner.
“She has to come to dinner. She—” I stop myself, not wanting to say anything that could get back to her. “Forget it.”
I crumple my napkin and toss it on the table over top of my untouched food. I can’t eat anyway. And I know I won’t sleep. Not while something or someone stalks my castle grounds. I will not be prey in my own home.
“Gravesley, get a group of men together.”
“Your highness?”
“We’re going hunting.”
I stand from the table and head to my room. I need to change if I plan to track down whatever is out there.
My door slams behind me as my mounting irritation feeds the beast ready to rage inside of me.
Irritation at Azalea for refusing to come to dinner.
Irritation with myself for what I said to her at the picnic.
Irritation at whatever interrupted us when I was so close to being able to feel her lips against mine.
I drag my shirt over my head, catching my reflection in the mirror across my room.
My eyes look over the small tattoo on my chest. A small line of numbers.
Numbers that mock me every day now. I turn to look at the insignia on my back.
The beautiful swirling pattern that spreads across my shoulder blade and up my neck.
Make that two markings that mock me every day.
My eyes drag over to the bouquet of forget-me-nots on the back of my right arm.
My most recent tattoo, and the one that’s tied to my most painful memories.
I hastily grab another shirt to cover the traitorous ink permanently etched into my skin.
The sudden urge to hunt something, leaves me with an odd sense of gratitude at the intruder roaming my castle grounds.
By the time I make it down the stairs, there is a small group of men with various weapons standing by the door.
“Alright, listen up. Something broke past the border on the castle grounds, and to keep this castle safe we need to eradicate whatever it is. So, stay alert and prepare yourself for an attack. Pick a partner and watch each other’s backs. Call for help once you find it.”
Not a particularly good speech, but it covers the basics well enough.
“What exactly are we looking for?” one of the burlier men asks. I would send him away for asking such a dimwitted question, but I decide against it seeing as we will most likely need his muscle power.
“If I knew that, I would have shared that information.” I give him an exasperated look. ”Now, go. Call for me if you find anything.”
I take a couple of men with me, and I start where I first heard the creature in the woods.
My boots sink into the muddied ground as we walk deeper into the depths of the trees lining the outskirts of the castle grounds.
While I’ve had the groundskeepers do a well enough job of tending to the lavish gardens roaming the immediate expanse of the castle, I must admit, I’ve let the forest brimming around the borders become heavy with overgrowth.
The dark magic that lines the border due to the curse has made some of the trees become gnarled and knotted together, making it even more difficult to hunt through the lush forestry.
Surprisingly, even with the setting sun taking the daylight away from me, it doesn’t take long for me to find the tracks again, and I can see there are more now. The new tracks are more distinct, making it easy to identify them as paw prints.
As I’m examining the direction of the prints more closely, I hear the low rumbles of a growl nearby.
Making sure not to make any sudden movements, I lift my head and see three large wolves pacing ahead of us.
They’re just barely inside the perimeter of land that I once called home, their eyes fixed on me.
Each wolf has startlingly white fur and blazing pale blue eyes.
Eyes that are trained on me. Eyes that have found their next target and are arguably just as starved for a hunt as I am.
My surprise is due to a number of things. That more than one animal intruded past the magic of the castle grounds, and that it happens to be wolves, which are built for a winter climate.
With the curse trapping us in our own ecosystem, we’re in a constant state of late spring and early summer.
There’s never any rainfall. It never gets cold.
It’s a continuous stream of sunny days with a gentle breeze.
I believe the witch did this to add to the monotony of being trapped within the grounds of the castle.
So, I now know that outside of the curse, it must be winter.
I also now know with more certainty that something has to have weakened the magic of the curse enough that certain aspects and boundaries that have been placed within the magic are failing.
Logically, I know a sense of fear should be trickling down my spine at the thought of facing these three wild animals, but I only feel a pulse of excitement. They aren’t the only ones starved for a little bloodshed.
I unsheathe the two large daggers I have in my belt and spin them between my fingers, acquainting myself with the feel of them.
It’s been a long time since I needed to use a weapon, and my body practically hums to life with the calling to do so.
The three wolves stalk toward us, spreading out so as to attack us from a variety of angles.
I have four men with me, making us outnumber them five to three.
It would hardly seem like a fair fight, except that the closer each wolf gets the more I realize exactly how large these creatures are. Their hackles are raised, their teeth are bared, and their eyes are still locked on me. Well, this should be fun.
The one in front, clearly the leader, leaps at me, but I dodge out of its way. The idiot standing behind me clearly wasn’t paying attention or doesn’t have very good reflexes, and I can hear his tortured scream as the wolf’s teeth sink past his flesh and muscle into his leg.
It’s both a physical and mental effort not to roll my eyes. We now only outnumber them four to three. I partially wonder if I should throw one of my daggers at his neck to put him out of his misery, but I figure the healer’s in our infirmary will mostly likely be able to patch up his leg.
Instead, I leap onto the wolf’s back right as it begins to buck back and forth, never releasing its grip on the man’s leg.
I sink both of my knives into either side of the wolf’s neck.
With a whimpered cry, the wolf releases the mans leg before its heavy body hits the forest floor with a satisfying thump.
I don’t get to relish in my victory because I feel the full weight of one of the other wolves slam into my side and knock me to the ground.
One of my blades slips free of my hand from the brute force of the attack, but I thankfully am able to keep a grip on the other one.
Before I have time to react, the wolf is lunging at me, mouth wide open, ready to strike.
My arm goes in front of my face to defend myself right as the animal clamps its jaw down, its ruthless canines sinking into my flesh.
I clench my jaw so tightly to keep from crying out in pain that I hear a pop.
My warm blood begins to dribble down the wound, staining my shirt and the ground beneath me.
The dagger that was clenched in my hand slips through my fingertips, as my muscles begin to spasm from the intensity of the wolf’s bite.
When the beast yanks me off my feet and begins dragging me, I push past the pain ricocheting through my body and clear my mind.
My eyes scan the forest floor, desperate to find a new weapon I can use against this overgrown mutt.
As the wolf tugs me further, I feel a large rock scrape against my shoulder, and immediately reach my hand out to wrap my fingers around the lifeline that Mother Nature provided me.
With a deep breath, I use all of my strength that I can muster and smash it across the animal’s face.
It instantly releases me from the shock of the blow, and I waste no time striking one of its paws with the same rock.
I hear its pathetic yelp of pain as I roll myself away.
Gathering its wits, it readies itself to launch at me again, no doubt wanting to sink its teeth into another bit of my flesh.
I scramble to my lone dagger resting just out of reach in a pile of leaves.
Wrapping my fingers around the weapon, I swiftly spin around ready to face my attacker, but it’s gone.
My eyes are meticulous in scanning my surroundings, but all I see are two dead wolves on the ground: the one I killed, and another one my men must’ve handled. The third wolf, the one that specifically bit me, is now gone. It had to have run off when it realized it was out-numbered.
“Fuck,” I curse, sliding my dagger back into the leather sheath on my belt. “We lost one of them.”
“I’m sure it ran off when it realized it didn’t stand a chance, Your Highness. It won’t be back,” The servant, I think his name might be Adam, states.
I stalk past him and grab my other dagger before putting it in my belt.
“Monsters always come back,” I spit out.
“Someone get him to the infirmary before he dies of blood loss.” I nod my head toward the man who’s nearly passed out, the wound on his leg profusely leaking a deep crimson that has now formed a puddle around him.
I begin my trek back to the castle, stopping by the infirmary only to grab some healing paste and bandage wrap before going straight to my room to clean up.
I don’t realize how much blood and muck I’m covered in until I wash it from my body.
Once the water cleansing my skin is no longer tinged with color, I step out and begin sewing the bite marks littering my forearm.
I apply some healing paste to the wounds before wrapping my forearm tightly in a soft bandage.
As I’m lying down, I find myself unable to fall asleep.
Every time I begin to drift closer to slumbering, I see that beast’s giant crystalline eyes glaring at me.
As I look down at the wrapping on my arm, where the shredded flesh from the animal’s teeth resides, I ponder how something was able to break past the castle grounds.
What we killed wasn’t some kind of indescribably strong animal, or a magically crafted beast. It was a normal pack of wolves.
There was nothing remarkable about them.
The curse is very clear in shutting Azalea out from the world. She can’t leave, and nothing can come in.
Does this mean she will be able to leave? The question strikes me like an arrow to my chest.
No. I won’t let that be an option. She can’t leave. No matter how weak the curse becomes.