Chapter Thirty
Isla
The castle gates are heavily guarded. The streets are lined with onlookers.
They watch as we trot through the city streets towards the castle.
I keep my chin up, looking straight ahead to the doom that awaits me.
It’s ironic — one time, I would have given everything up to see these castle walls with the man who has now imprisoned me.
I wanted every sweet lie he fed me, but now? I want his death. I want my vengeance. I want the crown brought down.
My stomach swirls and flips with anxiety as we trot closer and closer to the gates.
What will we do? What is to come of me? We move through the gates in silence, boxed in by the four guards that have been with us since we left Halstead.
At the stone steps of Eldsford Keep, Prince Cailean stands tall.
There’s a short man to his left and Philipa stands to his right, clinging to him.
A tall, older woman, all dressed in black, stands behind him.
Oliver halts in front of the steps and hurries to dismount. He pulls me off his horse and kneels in front of the royalty that stands before us. I stare straight ahead, focusing on the ornate door that is behind them. I refuse to kneel to a false prince. Duke Amos’ words ring in my head.
Philipa hisses at my lack of propriety, while her betrothed simply chuckles. Oliver jumps to his feet, grabbing my arm. “Kneel, Isla,” he snaps.
I straighten my head, ignoring the pain from his grip, but I say nothing. Prince Cailean steps leisurely down the steps towards me. There’s an evil grin on his face and an excited glean in his eye. He’s come to play with his prey.
“You dare not kneel before your future king?” He asks, softly.
I look him in the eye. “I see no king here.”
Cailean chuckles, a deep, rumbly sound from the back of his throat. “And here, I thought you were loyal to Oliver.”
He’s foolish, teasing me of a time when I was naive, when I willingly believed every lie that was fed to me. Oliver wanted me in his bed, birthing his littles.
He only sees good breeding stock, not a woman to stand beside him. Where his sister tripped herself up over titles and social status, Oliver never cared. I thought he was different, but clearly not. They’re all the same, and for that, they’ll pay.
I ignore whatever commands the Prince gives his dearest Captain.
Still ignoring them talking among each other, I keep my focus on the door.
The regent queen steps down from her perch.
Her steps sound loud. A clicking noise of her heels’ rings in my ears as she makes her way down to me.
She stops right in front of me. The knuckle of her pointer finger grazes my cheek.
“Pretty,” she murmurs. “Pity.”
With that, she turns away from me and stalks towards the door. The Queen Regent looks back at her son. “Let’s bring this inside.”
Prince Cailean looks at Oliver. “Take her straight to the dungeons. We have much to discuss.”
Oliver grabs my upper arm again and leads me into the castle. The stone walls are tall and grand. Tapestries of former kings, of Elven warriors, and family trees hang on the walls. There’s a story behind every one that calls to me.
Images of powerful elven warriors praying beneath the old Rowan trees of the Coarann Grove almost stop me in my tracks. I want to look at it, to soak it in, to glean everything I can from that one simple image, but Oliver shoves me forward.
I lose track of where I am after the third winding hall and staircase.
We move deeper and deeper into the belly of the castle.
One last set of stairs leads us to the underbelly of Eldsford Keep.
One cell, two cells, three cells we pass— full.
Men dressed in rags that hang off their skin and bones watch as we pass.
Oliver leads me to an empty cell. He turns towards me, gripping my chin.
“You’ll be out of here soon, my dear.”
I cringe as his lips touch my cheek. I want to push him away and crawl as far away from him as I can. He gives me a wicked grin, shoving me into the cell and slamming the door shut. “You’ll be sent for soon, I’m sure of it,” he calls as he disappears up the stairs.
The scrawny men move closer to their cell doors. Two of them hang their arms out of the grates, leaning on them as they examine me. After a moment of silence, one of them finally speaks. “How did a pretty girl like yourself end up here of all places?”
I cut my eyes at them, not interested in any small talk.
I sigh loudly, staring up at the stone ceiling.
The cell is dark and musty. There’s a small hay filled cot against the wall, a bucket in the opposite corner, and an incessant dripping.
Lanterns light up the dark hallway of cells.
Every other cell has small windows, barely big enough for a cat to slip through.
They bring in just enough light to allow the guards to see.
“Ach, she’s too good for us, Charlie. She don’t wanna talk to a bunch of ‘nacher’s like us,” a deep voice cackles. He sounds spry for his predicament. My ears perk at his accent and what he called himself. I take a step closer to the door.
“What did you just call yourself?” I ask. It’s hard to imagine that Cailean would keep any Forranach citizens in his dungeon.
“You heard correctly, lassie. We’re ‘nachers, from Forranach. Got in a bit of trouble and ended up here. The name’s Scotty. The other is Charlie. There’s another guy a cell down, but e’s quiet. Don’t talk much. What about you?”
I lean against the bars of the door, allowing myself to sink to the ground. “Isla,” I barely speak.
Scotty whistles in response. “What did ya do, Isla?”
All of the air whooshes out of my lungs in a loud exhale. “That bad, eh?” A voice calls out.
I open my mouth to respond but stop. Loud footsteps sound closer and closer as they take each step down the stairwell.
“Ahh, sweets. We’ll catch up soon,” Charlie whispers as he retreats further into his cell. Everyone shuffles away from their doors, turning their backs. It piques my curiosity, so I stand up, pushing myself off my knees. Until I find a guard staring back at me.
He fumbles with his iron keys, trying to shove a key into the lock of my door. “Your presence is requested,” the guard informs me.
“But I just got here?” I question. It’s only been a few hours since they’ve left me down here, surely, they weren’t thinking.
The guard grips my arm, yanking me into him. “Prince is a busy man. No time to waste. No funny business, got it?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” I snap. I resist the urge to pull myself out of his grasp.
He doesn’t say anything else but leads me out of the dungeon.
Up the winding stairs and down the long hallways, we tread in silence.
There's an odious feeling that hangs in the air.
Every wall is decorated with a tapestry that sings the praises of the crown.
I find myself wanting to walk slower so I can look at everything.
The guard cuts his eyes at me when I slow down, making me pick my pace back up.
Eventually, we walk to a room with double doors.
They open at our arrival. The prince and two men, including Oliver, gather around a desk.
There’s floor to ceiling bookcases along the walls.
The sight of them makes my fingertips itch.
I long to look at every inch of this castle.
“Ahhh, there she is,” The Prince greets me. He nods to the guard, dismissing him at once. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
Prince Cailean slightly dips his chin and ushers to the chair. I look at it and back to him. Suspicion climbs up the back of my neck, prickling my skin.
“Sit, Isla,” he chides as he grits his teeth. Everything in me wants to rebel, to tell him no, just to gain a semblance of control back. The dark look in his eye keeps me from doing so.
I plop down unceremoniously into the chair that I was led to. Oliver and Sheriff Coley stand off to the side while the prince hovers over me. His hands are behind his back while he studiously paces in front of me.
“We have a lot in common, Isla,” he tells me. I resist the urge to snort. He waits for me to say something, but I refuse. I don’t want to entertain his notions that I’m here for him and his pleasure. “The Hood. Tell me about our friend.”
I look away, pretending I don’t hear anything.
There’s a huge fireplace on the western-facing wall.
A massive portrait of the former king, his second wife, and a baby hangs over it.
I want to walk over there, examine the painting closer.
Cailean follows my gaze. “Ahhh, I see my parents have caught your eyes.”
Again, silence fills the air. The two men near the prince shuffle. Coley clears his throat, and Oliver narrows his eyes at me. They weren’t expecting my silence and that sends a bout of satisfaction through me. Little did they know, I’m not buckling.
Cailean reaches his hand out for me to grasp it.
I’m hesitant but take it. His skin is smooth, so much unlike Rhylen’s.
He leads me over to the painting. There’s a familiarity to it.
Something that speaks to my soul. It tickles the back of my brain like a distant memory.
I’ve seen the King somewhere, somewhere I can’t place.
“Come now, Isla,” the prince interrupts my train of thoughts. “Help me, so I can help you. So, I can help our kingdom.”
He says “our,” like everyone has a fair say, like I’m talking to a just and fair leader of the kingdom. I turn to him, anger loosening my tongue. “I have nothing to say to you. Nothing to say to the one who’s destroying this kingdom to begin with.”
Annoyance flits through Cailean’s eyes, but it’s gone in a flash. “Don’t make this difficult, Isla. This can get a lot worse for you.”
I jut my chin out in defiance and stare him down. My voice is barely above a whisper when I speak. “Then do it.”
I had nothing else to lose. They killed my friend. They took me from my home, from my heart. A scoff sounds behind us, reminding me of the other men in the room. Oliver looks at me as if he were about to scold a small child. “Islabelle,” he starts.
“Don’t,” I snap. He has no right to call me whatever endearing term he can come up with. Oliver rolls his eyes and tries to placate me.
“Surely, you don’t want to spend another minute in the dungeon with the rest of those criminals,” Coley tries to reason with me. Oliver nods along in agreement. Fools. They’re fools if they think that’s a deterrent. I simply stare at them, a blank look on my face.
Oliver groans in frustration. He runs a hand over his face and for the first time, exhaustion settles clearly on his face. I know it’s an act, an effort to make him seem more personable, more human.
Too bad for him, all the love I had for him died in a fiery flame the night we rescued Baelur. How many times has he spent warming the beds of whores when he was promising everything in life to me when he returned? How many times did he get a chuckle out of the naivety I had?
I have nothing to give these fools who are dead set on tearing everything apart.
Prince Cailean sighs. He rubs his temples in frustration.
“Fine,” he grumbles, exasperated. “We will try again later.”
He waves me off, turning his attention back out of the window. Oliver grips my arm lightly, much lighter than he’s done previously. Gone is the anger and meanness, and in its place is a kind and weary smile. Back is the Oliver from home, here to play his wicked game of lies and deceit.
Oliver leads me down the winding halls and the narrow stairs, back to my cell. He opens his mouth when we arrive at my new home. “It doesn’t have to be this way,” he cups my face.
“Just tell us what we need to know. Tell us what you know about him. You can end this war. You can end the suffering. We’ll get married, just like we always planned.”
I know he expects me to lean into his gentle embrace, but I turn away. The gentle, endearing touch makes my skin crawl in disgust. His words send me into an irate spiral. I take a step towards him. Excitement lights in his eyes. My nose is barely a breath away from him.
“Listen to me,” I grit through my teeth. “And listen to me well. I don’t want you and I will never marry you. You have the power to end the suffering and the war. You created this. You and your false, want-to-be king. Do your worst, Oliver. I dare you.”
I turn my back to him, waiting for him to open the cell door. He wrenches me back to him, gripping me tightly once more. “You’ll regret this.”
“We’ll see.”