19. Chapter Nineteen Xander
Chapter Nineteen: Xander
Returning the bucket and satchel to the hidden room had been an arduous task.
Not because there were many things to carry—if anything, the load was lightened by Bella using the water to wash and emptying the bag of its contents.
I left the shifter with her own parchment-wrapped treat along with a hair brush and a thin blanket, the latter two insisted upon by Tienne.
Bella’s brow had arched when I handed them over, likely because I had watched her finger through her hair.
I shrugged off the look, letting her presume me to be an ass when in reality, I was too enraptured by her words to remember that the brush was in the bag to begin with.
I had bore witness to so much abuse against the princess by King Dolian, yet some small part of me hoped that perhaps his attention was only something that had festered in the last year.
That, prior to me joining the Trusted, he’d never laid a finger on her.
I knew he visited her somewhat frequently, but I stupidly believed him when he said she was a recluse, that she preferred that life.
And when I had seen the truth, when I watched for the first time as she braced for an attack because she knew one was coming, I almost intervened.
I wanted to believe that I and I alone understood the depravity of the king’s thoughts.
His actions. But I was lying to myself. And every trip to the tower after, I needed to temper the urge to step in with the reminder that if I did, everything would be lost. Every sacrifice would be for nothing.
Then I was forced to reconcile the fact that by not acting, by choosing the resistance over her, I had a hand in breaking Princess Rhea.
I saw it the night Alexi died, heard it in the agonizing way she screamed out for him when the sword pierced his chest. In the horrified look she gave me when I callously told her that we were taking his body.
Whatever assumptions I have about the princess, I know one thing to be undoubtedly true: if she were to come seeking revenge for what King Dolian had done, he wouldn’t be the only one who was guilty of driving her to that point.
Thinking about Alexi made me wonder if Bella truly didn’t recognize me.
I thought her agitation and defiance in telling me anything about Princess Rhea was because she knew I was one of the king’s Trusted.
But if she would hide in the tower every time the king appeared, then it is likely she never saw me until the day she and the princess attempted to escape.
I doubt she will tell me anything if she learns the truth of who I am, so I decide as I re-enter the tunnel that in order to gain more of her trust, I will have to keep that fact hidden.
Cold stone bites into my palm, my fingers curling over the hilt of my sword as I stand at the exit of a smaller dining room.
Though King Dolian prefers to eat all meals, whether with his court or alone with Simon, in the king’s dining hall, I had been surprised to learn he wanted this meal taken in the dining hall of the western wing.
This part of the castle is older, the decor that still hangs reminiscent of a different time.
Thick red curtains are pulled shut, gold detailing in the pattern of falling stars embroidered on their fronts.
A large matching rug is set beneath us, while a cloth in coordinating fabric lays over the table top.
It even smells older here, like the remnants of past meals are clinging to the wood.
Simon is reclined against the back of his chair, fingers steepled beneath his chin as if deep in thought.
I look to where King Dolian has an elbow leaning on the table, his upper body draped over his third chalice of cherry wine.
Despite the savory scent of roasted chicken, steamed vegetables, and freshly baked rolls, anger simmers beneath the surface—acrid as it balances on my tongue.
Even if I were not adept at reading the king’s emotions, the fury brimming from him needs no decoding.
“We will get her back, Your Majesty,” Simon offers into the stilted silence, his posture rigid except for the tips of his fingers lightly bouncing off each other, cascading in movement. “It is only time—”
“Time that I don’t have,” the king snarls, tilting his head back to take a large gulp of wine.
“It has been nearly a month of her absence. A month of him having what is mine. A mere guard, a fucking lowly mage! Daring to think he has any right to her!” He slams a fist on the table, rattling the plates and silverware in front of him.
Simon nods, as if the king’s arguments are sound.
“And he will pay for those transgressions, I am sure of it. The Mage Kingdom is not infinite in size, my king. They cannot hide there forever.” The king presses back into his massive chair as Simon speaks, one hand framing the short beard at his jaw.
“What you need now is a distraction. Something to clear your mind so that you may realize the best way forward.”
King Dolian huffs in indignation, lazily tracing the rim of the chalice with a finger. “What I need is new information. Information that my Trusted should be gathering for me.”
I stay still, my gaze focused not on the two men surely looking at me now but a fixed point on the table. If King Dolian demands that I tell him what I’ve learned so far, I will have nothing of value to give him. Not yet.
“I will be visiting our newest dungeon guest,” Simon drawls eagerly, sending a shiver down my spine. “Perhaps I should see what information I can gather from our shifter friend while I’m there.”
Fuck. If Simon gets involved, any leverage I might hope to gain—any knowledge I might learn about the princess—is gone. I need him to stay far away from Bella.
King Dolian rubs his fingers over his jaw, a low rumble vibrating from his throat.
“No,” he finally says, drinking the last bit of wine from his cup.
“Xander knows what is at stake if he fails to get this done.” He stands, running his hands over his navy vest before sliding one into his pocket.
“I will take that distraction you mentioned in my quarters.”
“Of course. I’ll send her right away.”
Jerrick and I follow the king as he makes his way towards the exit, his steps surprisingly sound despite the alcohol that I know is sitting heavily in his gut.
Simon retreats to grab the king’s distraction, and I bite back the urge to gag at the thought.
I hated that I knew he had various preferred—women he coerced into his bed.
We climb a set of winding stairs to the second floor, hooking right and then left until we finally enter the king’s wing, the guards stationed there bowing.
“Jerrick, you are dismissed for the evening.” His bloodshot eyes then meet mine as he slows to a stop.
I open the door to his rooms, waiting for him to enter.
“Stay at this post for the night, Xander,” he commands, chin lifting.
“And I expect a full debrief of what you have learned from the shifter by the end of the week.”
I bow my head, shutting the door behind him.
Jerrick sends an irritating smirk my way before he leaves, poking at the frustration already hot in my chest. I need more time—time to get Bella to trust me.
To let down the guard she so clearly has built up around her.
Relaxing my shoulders, I inhale deeply and then blow it out, just as a woman enters the corridor.
Her blonde hair is loose around her shoulders, cascading over the purple silk robe she wears.
“I am here for His Majesty,” she says, voice quivering.
Her fingers nervously scrunch the fabric between them, and I swallow the shame that burns the back of my throat as I reach for the door handle, stepping to the side to let her pass.
She murmurs her thanks, looking back over her shoulder at me.
My stomach dips when her blue eyes meet mine, her facial features soft.
Shutting the door, I lean back against it and try to focus on the beat of my heart, the forced steadiness of my breath.
But when noises begin to seep through the wood, I can’t help but tense.
The fact that my own father wanted me to hear this—that he wanted me to know he is forcing a woman to pleasure him.
I’m going to throw up. I search for the reasons why I must stay at this post. Why I can’t walk away—from the king.
From this life. I have a blood vow to him, yes, but it merely states that I won’t strike him down with my own hand.
I could run and be long gone before he realizes where I am…
The thought dies before it’s fully formed.
King Dolian would hunt for me—not because he cares about getting me back but because he would want to watch my demise as if it were a play made specifically for his enjoyment.
He would expend every resource to find me, and good as I may be at masking myself, there are only so many places one can hide before they are found.
I’d be recaptured and then forced to watch as he hurt others in my name.
He had already done it so many times before.
This is why you have your rules, I remind myself, biting the inside of my cheek as my nails dig into my palms. Never show weakness.
Never deviate from a plan. Never let anyone get close.
These rules, this order, keeps me grounded. Keeps me focused.
It’s a while later when the doors to the king’s chamber finally open, and the woman steps out.
Hair disheveled, she avoids my eyes again as she passes me.
Red marks the skin at her neck and cheek, peeking out ominously between the strands of hair that frame her face.
She clears her throat and offers me a single dip of her chin, walking away with a slight limp.
Help her. But I can’t. Not when the king could hear.
Not when he would punish her all the more for it.
When she disappears from view, I work my jaw in frustration, exhaling roughly.
So often, I’ve been forced to choose between what is objectively right and what I must do in order to keep the resistance alive.
Having to choose the greater good time and time again has never felt great.
But it is the burden I chose to bear when I decided that the king’s death was more beneficial than his life.
The scars I’ve earned are different than the ones that have altered my flesh, but the sting of them is no less for it.
A worthy cause, Grayson would sometimes say, when the weight of it all felt like too much to uphold.
When the consequences of my choices would sometimes claim others.
Like it did my mother. With Alexi. Sometimes, I wonder if the cause had ever been worthy or if I just believed that in order to justify what I knew I would have to do.
Do the benefits of a worthy cause matter when murder is the only way to achieve them?