“Benedict,” I gasp, unbelieving of who I am seeing as I step from Skarth’s embrace.
He nods, his dark locks falling over his brow.
“It cannot be.”
“It is I, dear aunt. Thanks to your clemency, my life was spared.”
Skarth soon realizes who stands before us. “Aethelred’s son.”
“Yes, Benedict is my nephew. My brother’s eldest son.”
My nephew saved my life…only to take it when he steals my throne.
“What of your brother? Your mother?”
Although born out of wedlock, Benedict is still the rightful heir, seeing as I took his father’s head.
The man who choked to death on his cock before Skarth sliced off his head now seems ironic, considering that's what I did to Aethelred.
I don’t know if my savior is in fact the deliverer of my death.
“Barlow is in the care of the monks. Mother, however, succumbed to a fever five years ago. I came as word of Northumbria’s downfall spread. With you gone, the throne is fair game, and it seems the rumors are fact.” Benedict peers at the deceased men.
“Why come here? What do you want?”
“Only to save Northumbria.”
I cannot believe him as my brother’s blood courses through his veins. But mayhap he speaks the truth. History, however, proves otherwise.
“We save Northumbria with you on the throne?”
“I am a mere child. I do not know how to rule. But I do ask for one thing.”
“Of course he does.” Ulf is by my side, standing close.
“I ask that we no longer be forced to live in secret. My brother and I wish to live with our family. In our home, where we belong. I do not wish to rule, Aunt. I swear it to thee. I merely wish for a normal life. The monastery walls grow old.
“There is much to see. Much to learn. I ask you to show compassion as you always have, as I know you could have killed us. But you spared our lives because you are kind.”
I look for any signs of deceit.
But I can’t see any.
“Emeline, may I have a word?” Skarth gently leads me away from prying ears.
When we are far enough, he shakes his head. “Do you forget who his father is?”
“Of course not,” I scoff. “But I do not sense any malice. Merely a child who wishes to explore the world.”
“Emeline, do not be naive. He will say anything to fool you.”
“He is nothing but a child.”
“A child who knows how to fight,” Skarth counters, his gaze wavering between Benedict and me. “I don’t trust him.”
“You don’t trust anyone,” I reply, touching over what remains of his scruffy beard. “Look at what a mess we are.”
His eyes turn nostalgic. “I am so?—”
