Chapter Twenty-Nine
Isla
I’m sorry,” Rhylen whispers into the crook of my neck. He grips my hips tighter as he tries to pull me in closer. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you.”
I close my eyes for a moment, cupping his cheek. Tears run down my face as I touch my forehead to his. “Don’t,” I whisper.
He was in my arms. He was here. I didn’t want to waste another second on frivolous words. Rhylen looks at me with a concerned filled gaze. “I’m going to find you. I’m going to tear this kingdom apart to find you. I promise.”
A rough hand jerks me, pulling me from my dream of Rhylen’s arms. I open an eye to Oliver’s hatred filled eyes glaring at me.
“Get up,” he seethes, yanking me off the bedroll. “It’s time to move. Today, we reach the castle.”
Oliver throws a brown wool dress and a thin, white slip at me. “Strip,” he roars.
Mortification washes over me. “I beg your pardon.”
“You heard me. Strip. Get out of your dress. I won’t tell you again.”
I look around at his guards saddling their horses. They pack our camp up, dousing the fire, and preparing to leave. “Oliver, I… I can’t change here?”
“You do it, or I do,” he threatens. Oliver bounds towards me, gripping me roughly again. His lips brush against my temple as he seizes me. “Trust me, Isla. If I do it, it won’t be kind.”
There’s a wicked smile on his face as he looks at me. “That’s what your traitor of a friend told me; did you know that? When he almost killed me and Prince Cailean. He ordered us to be stripped, naked and sent on our way.”
He grips the back of my hair, forcing me to look up at him. “It’s poetic, isn’t it? That I’m the one now ordering you to take your clothes off, after you’ve fallen into bed with the biggest disgrace this kingdom has seen?”
I glare at him, ignoring the tightening pain at the base of my skull. “You won’t get away with this.”
“Take your clothes off, Isla. Or I’ll have you parading through the kingdom with your body bare for all to see.” He releases me, giving me room.
I expeditiously strip out of the bloody, ruined lavender dress and pull on the white slip.
It’s a barely-there dress, just enough to be considered undergarments.
The brown dress follows shortly after. Oliver walks to my back, grabbing the laces to tighten the back.
He pauses. I can tell he’s looking at the scars on my back.
“It’s your fathers handy work,” I tell him. It wasn’t a clever idea to goad the man anymore, but I can’t find myself caring.
“I heard,” he snorts.
My heart jumps and rage fills my veins. What does he mean he heard?
He heard that his family needlessly ordered my whipping.
That the scars on my back belonged to him, to his family name, to the very core of what he stands for.
What does he mean he heard? I want to rage, to scream at him, so he can hear the anguish they caused me.
He knows.
He knows they killed my papa, yet he says nothing. Yet, he still stays his course, loyal to the crown and to his family.
A hatred I didn’t think was possible consumes me.
It boils underneath my skin in a fiery heat, and I swear to myself right then that he will die.
His whole family will die by my hand. Oliver doesn’t say anything else.
He lets the anger that pours off of me hang in the air.
He snatches the purple dress out of my hands and walks towards his horse.
Climbing into the saddle, and guiding the horse to a large oak tree, he stabs the dress into the bark.
Oliver looks over at me, with a satisfied look on his face. “There. My betrothed is dressed appropriately. Let this be their warning. Their signal that I’ve had you, that you’re mine.”
My stomach revolts at his words, but I ignore him. I won’t feed into his hysteria. I will get away. I have to keep reminding myself that if I don’t get away, he’ll come for me. I close my eyes, running my fingertips against the wool dress. It’s itchy.
Subtle whispers of old trees lightly prod my skin. It’s hard to understand what they’re trying to say; they sound so far away. A bittersweet feeling washes over me. Rhylen wanted me to push my knowledge of my affinity. Now will I ever be able to?
Within an hour, I find myself back on Oliver’s horse and in his arms. My heart pinches at the irony. I stew in the silence, dreaming of the way Rhylen will filet his skin, as we follow two guards towards the viper’s den.
Once upon a time, I would have loved to see the castle in person with Oliver by my side. Now that I know the lies, the horrors this crown has committed, that he has committed, I don’t want to step anywhere near the castle gates.
The sound of galloping hoofbeats draw the guards to a stop. Oliver tenses behind me.
“Wait, Captain! Wait, please!” A familiar voice shouts. He’s out of breath as he gets closer to our travel group. Two of Oliver’s men move out of the way as Argus trots up. I wish I could see Oliver’s face at the betrayer in front of us.
“I’ve traveled through the night. I was just hoping I’d catch up to you,” he gasps.
“Why are you here?” Oliver snaps. Argus barely holds himself up. His face is swollen from Oliver’s insistence. He shakes his head fervently. “The-there’s been a change of plans.”
“Explain,” Oliver orders. A hopeful spark lights in my heart. Was he coming for me? Did he know I was missing?
Argus drops his gaze, avoiding eye contact with the Captain. He stutters over his words. I try to listen, but I can’t make anything out over his stumbling. Oliver throws his head back, laughing. I can’t concentrate on anything but the hope that he knows I’m gone.
“You fool,” Oliver snarls. His shoulders shake against me. “You expect me to pity you? You change your loyalty as quickly as the tide changes. You had one job.”
Argus drops to his knees. I want to revel in the sight of the traitor and his pitiful existence, but I turn my head. Every time I look at Argus, I see the blade slicing into Wyll. I hear the painful gasps and the screams of terror.
“Puh-puh-please,” Argus stutters. “Have mercy. Let me come with you. I’m begging, sir.” His forehead touches the ground.
I can feel Oliver behind me, mulling over his words.
There’s an awkward silence among Oliver’s men as they watch Argus grovel for his life.
I want to object, to tell Oliver to let him suffer, to let Fate take control.
Before I can utter a single word, Oliver dismounts.
He stomps towards Argus, unsheathing his blade and swinging.
Thwack. The blade hits clean. Argus’ body falls with a loud thud.