A different voice sounds, this one panicked as its owner settles in front of me. They say something—command it of me.But there is no fighting the way death blankets me, its alluring darkness calm and quiet and final.
Chapter Seventy: Xander
“Getthefuckinghealersherenow!” I shout at the men who stumble into the room after the king. All but two go right back out, running to collect the women from the infirmary.
“Use your magic and heal yourself,” King Dolian commands, leaning close enough that his lips brush Rhea’s cheek. I fight back the urge to push him away from her while applying pressure to the injury. “I command you to use your magic and heal yourself.”
Rhea lays lifeless, her lips beginning to pale.
“Move your hands,” King Dolian commands, his eyes feral as he stares at the arrow. “Now!” I slowly lift them, blood staining my fingers as I brace for more of it to come spilling out. The king tugs on the ripped fabric of her nightgown, exposing the wound at the bottom of her ribcage. “Look. She’s starting to heal herself!” He points at her skin that is indeedknittingitself back together.
My relief is temporary as I feel the tip protruding from her back. “We need to get the arrow out before her body seals itin. Otherwise, it could still kill her.” I tell him, reaching for the dagger strapped to my belt.
When the king doesn’t protest, I begin sawing at the body of the arrow.
“You better hope this doesn’t kill her, or your life is forfeit as well.”
“Of course,” I murmur, working faster as I watch the skin around the arrow heal more quickly than before.Shit. I manage to keep my hands steady as the blade finally saws through the wood, and I waste no time pushing it until I can fully grip the shaft at her back and pull it out. White glows at the center at the puncture mark as the jagged skin closes, leaving no evidence behind. My gaze flicks back up to Rhea’s face, and already, her lips and cheeks are regaining color.
“Do you know who did this?” King Dolian asks as he stands up, staring at his hands before pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe her blood off his hands.
“It was a guard, but one whose name I don’t know. Our men were drawn to a commotion on the main floor, and it left Rhea’s room temporarily unguarded.” Anger flushes the king’s cheeks red, but I don’t give him a moment to question who was supposed to be stationed here before I continue. “I was coming up to secure her door when I saw it was open, and heard him speaking to her about his brothers. They were in the guard and died on the beach.” I don’t need to explain which day; it’s burned into the minds of everyone present. Including the asshole in front of me.
“And you didn’t kill him when you realized he was threatening her?” he asks, clenching his fists at his sides.
“I entered the room and stabbed him, but he had already fired. The choice was kill him or save her.” And I had been a step too late. If the king hadn’t arrived when he did—if she hadn’t been conscious enough to hear his command—the outcomewould have been cataclysmic. Particularly when Nox found out. Though, I have no updates on the prince and the Mage Kingdom. I pushthatproblem away to deal with later and look back to King Dolian. “We’ll find him, and I’ll ensure that his heart stops when it meets the tip of my blade.”
“No,” he counters, staring down at Rhea. “Keep him alive. I want his death to be painful. I want it to be drawn out and merciless. I want her to enact her revenge.”
The healers finally arrive, the two best women we have gently pushing me out of the way so they can take a look. But other than the blood left drying on her skin and the floor in front of her, there’s no evidence of the arrow’s puncture.
Stepping back, I nod at the king before heading towards the exit, meeting my personally appointed second in command where he waits in the hall. “Brisk, please tell me you guys fucking caught him.”
“Not yet, Sir, but our men are scouring the castle and the grounds.” Brisk’s strides keep up with my own as we move, guards spilling into every open space as they search. It takes a few minutes in the chaos to cross the castle and reach the King’s Guard’s wing, where we have a command center stationed. Brisk keeps his voice low when he says, “I’m sorry, Xander. I heard screaming and ran. Rhea never leaves her room, and I just—”
“She’s alive,” I interject, my jaw tight. “Let’s hope that means the king won’t request your head.”
He bristles but manages to nod. “I’ll get some towels for you to wash up with.”
“Thank you.” Brisk darts to the right as I continue forward. Tall wooden double doors engraved with the Mortal Kingdom sigil loom in front of me, parting when I near. The command space is like a second home to me and where I spend most of my time when I’m not the king’s glorified errand boy. Five guards are waiting within, two of whom are part of the king’s personalTrusted, still ranking below me. The other three are men I’ve hand-picked as part of my resistance, who I trust implicitly. “Status report.”
“Our men have checkpoints at every castle exit and on the roads leading to Vitour. We’ve identified the guard as Sterling Brown, brother to Rainer Brown and Captain Oliver Brown. All three men were set to leave at the end of their contracts later this year,” Grayson, a guard a decade older than me, explains. White streaks through his beard and the mop of brown hair on his head, but his gaze is just as sharp as ever, and he’s shown his loyalty to me on more than one occasion.
“So I’ve heard,” I respond, leaning against the table that houses a map of Olymazi and wooden figurines representing the beings and different threats each kingdom possesses. Dragons for the fae, random animals for the shifters, a carved sun for the mages to represent their magic, and a fin over the ocean for the sirens. “Tell the men to keep their eyes sharp and their wits about them. Sterling is one of us. He’ll know the tactics we are using to hunt him, and he will try to evade us until he’s sure we’ve given up. Force him out of hiding before that happens.”
“Yes, Commander.” Grayson exits the room, another of my men in tow, and my mind jumps to possible locations Sterling could be hiding. It hasn’t been long enough for him to have exited the castle groundsyet.
“Did he kill her?” asks Jerrick, one of the king’s Trusted and a man I’ve hated since I first met him, crossing his arms over his broad chest. Dark brows draw low over his eyes, his sharp features conveying a permanently disgruntled look. “Based on the blood that stains your hands, I’m betting he did.”
I ignore the urge to look at the crimson staining my skin. “He hit her in the chest, but she was able to use her magic and heal herself before the arrow took her life.” Brisk returns with a pileof hand towels and a bucket of steaming water. “I suspect she’ll make a full recovery.”
There’s a significant weighted pause from Jerrick, a muscle ticking in his jaw before he glances at the map. “Thank the gods for that.”
I begin to clean off my hands. “Indeed.”
But Jerrick’s pseudo relief is easy to see through, as is the pitying look of the man standing next to him. Silas is another Trusted who’s in his third decade and known for the brutal way he battles. He has no problem slicing through another body, innocent or otherwise, civilian or not. While our forces haven’t seen much action since the introduction of the Spell, it doesn’t mean that there haven’t been civil disturbances. Occasionally, a small group of mortals upset with the king will rise up, unaware that a larger group is silently biding their time. Sometimes, my mentryto make them aware, only to be met with incredulous disbelief because of our proximity to the Crown. Our movement is underground, secret to everyone who hasn’t gone through rigorous questioning to prove that they have the same goals. It’s the only way we can protect ourselves. It doesn’t mean we don’t try to recruit everyone that we can, but for the safety of the current members and the overall mission, we can’t beg people who aren’t willing to risk something to join.
“Do we have anyone guarding the lower levels that lead to the wine cellars?” I ask, reaching for another towel and tossing the stained one to the ground.
