Chapter Thirty-Two
Rhylen
Sounds of a sword hitting a training dummy echo in the yard. Rage boils inside of me while I swing the blade again and again. I want to tear this kingdom apart, let it burn, leaving nothing alive in my wake.
All night, I plotted and planned my vengeance. Runners were sent in the middle of the night to Dukes and Duchesses. Every person that teeters on the line of the rebellion is now being called upon. This kingdom will fall.
I can feel eyes on my back, watching me as I take out the anger on anything I can.
“Rhylen,” Irric calls out. “Rhylen.”
I stop, turning towards him. Frustration pours off me as my friend rubs the back of his neck. Baelur stands next to him with his arms crossed over his chest. Whatever news they have to deliver, it’s important. I roll my shoulders, letting the tension abate a little bit.
“What,” I snap.
“We’ve found Argus,” Baelur states, interrupting Irric. Hope blooms in my chest at the perspective of getting my revenge and finding out what Oliver’s plans for her are. I move towards them with a jump in my step.
“He’s dead,” Irric utters. The wind is knocked out of my sails. What little hope that I had, gone in a blink. Revenge has been ripped from fingers. I stop suddenly.
“How?”
“We found his body in the grove. His head a foot away from him,” Baelur supplies.
A quick death, too quick for him. Just the idea that Argus didn’t suffer the way he should have or the way he deserved leaves a bitter taste of resentment in my mouth. I turn my back on them, walking back to the training dummies to relieve more anger.
“But there’s something you must know,” Baelur explains.
“What else,” I roar.
Baelur and Irric exchange glances, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Bile crawls its way up my throat. “Tell me,” I growl.
“It’s better if you see it,” Irric says. I sigh and relent, following them back into the estate.
We walk into Amos’ war room. Raia sits in a chair near the fireplace, tears track down her face. A muddy and torn gown lay across the long table. Every fiber of my being screams and my breath catches. The same gown that haunts my dreams is laid out before me. It’s in tatters and bloody.
“Where,” I demand. “Where did you find it?”
Ewan sets a dagger on the table, near the dress. “Above Argus’ head. Hanging in a tree.
I open my mouth to speak, but a loud bang from the doors opening stops me. A runner stumbles in, gasping for air. He has a sealed envelope in his hand, postmarked from the royal family. Apprehension boils in my stomach. I snatch the envelope from his fingers.
“What is it?” Wyll asks, curiosity lining his face.
I break the wax seal, pulling the letter out of the envelope. A simple card, written in elegant scroll. Ewan reads over my shoulder. “It’s a wedding invitation?”
Wyll scoffs. “What? Prickly Philipa finally roped her princey into a wedding date?”
Ewan lets out a soft sigh, looking me in the eye. “No,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper.
“It’s Isla’s,” I growl.
The room erupts in a cacophony of objections, but I can’t help the sly smile that slides over my face. Perfect. More plans start forming in my head, moves that will have to be made, and people who will need to be brought in.
A small voice pulls me from my thoughts. “You can’t go, Rhylen.”
I turn around to find Clarissa at the entrance. “What have you seen?” I ask.
She bites her bottom lip, tears welling in her eyes. “I can’t,” she whispers.
“What do you know, Clarissa?” Irric asks. He looks at her kindly and steps towards her. His hands are reaching out to her, to pull her further into the room. She’s always hated being around so many people. I can tell it is overwhelming for her.
“The Fates are angry,” Clarissa says, shaking her head. Her hands quiver by her side, revealing her nerves. “Rhylen, please.”
“Could be a trap,” Wyll tries to reason. I don’t want to reason though. It’s been five days since I’ve seen her, since I’ve held her in my arms. Damn reason.
“Why would the crown be announcing the captain’s betrothal before the coronation ceremony?
” Baelur asks, his chin in his hand. Raia watches the entire exchange, her head volleys back and forth as the men try to figure out the crown’s plans.
I stare down Clarissa, watching her nervously fidget where she stands.
“You need to tread carefully, Rhylen,” Clarissa warns. “You’re setting yourself up for a trap.”
I scoff at the ludicrousness of it all. “Listen to me and listen well. All of you. I will damn the entire world just to keep her safe. This ends now.”