by Kyra Dune
“This is a serious situation, Prissy.”
She wrapped her arms around his waist and rested her head against his shoulder. “Serious is so dull.”
CHAPTER TWENTY FIVE
A rough hand grasping Charles’ arm roused him from sleep. “What? What?” He thrashed his feet, panic surging up in his chest. A dark figure barely outlined in the glow of the lamp stood over the side of his bed.
“Get up.” Victor’s face loomed into view as he leaned closer. “We’re under attack.”
“Under attack?” Charles tried to wrap his sleep fuzzed mind around the words as he threw back the covers and swung his legs off the bed. “What do you mean? Who’s attacking us?”
Victor thrust a pair of pants into his hands. “I don’t know, but they mean to kill us. That’s enough for me.”
Edward entered the room carrying one of Victor’s dueling pistols. His tousled hair and fear widened eyes made him look half his years. “I’m ready.”
“I can see you are.” Victor took the gun from the boy’s hand. “But you won’t be needing that.”
“I have to fight,” Edward protested.
“No. You and Lord Charles are going to escape the castle.”
“What?” “No!” Charles and Edward spoke simultaneously,
Victor smiled with a father’s kind of indulgence. “You both heard me right. I want you out of this place as quickly as is possible.”
“I can help you.” Charles reached for his sword. “I’ve never faced a man in true combat, but I’ve been well trained.”
“I believe you can handle yourself,” Victor said. “If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be trusting you with the most precious thing I have.” His face was filled with emotion. “You are Edward’s best chance.”
Charles nodded as he cinched his scabbard around his waist. Much as he hated the thought of leaving Victor behind, the man was certainly more than capable of fending for himself. And he understood how important Edward was to the Duke. As important as his sister was to him. Maybe even more so.
“I’m not a child.” Edward’s lower lip quivered. “I can fight. Let me stay with you.”
“Edward, my dear boy.” Victor knelt in front of him and grasped his thin shoulders. “I would have preferred to tell you this another way, but there may be no more time for it. I want you to be my heir. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to know you will be Duke of Monroe after I’m gone.”
The boy’s mouth fell open. “But my father, he’ll --”
“Forget Armand.” Victor laid his hand against Edward’s cheek. “You may be my brother’s child by birth, but in my heart you are my son. Thus it is your duty to care for my people if I no longer can. I need your word, the word of a man, that you will do your duty. Do I have it?”
Edward gulped. “Yes, sir.”
“Good boy.” Victor kissed his forehead and stood, his eyes dark with unshed tears. “Charles, I assume you know the way to the escape tunnel.”
“I was shown the way as a boy,” Charles said. “I’ll see him to safety. I promise.”
Victor nodded. “Then go. Quickly.”
Charles took Edward’s hand and together they hurried out into the hall. It was dark and silent, save for the faint echoing sound of voices from some other part of the castle. Charles was grateful they needed to go in the opposite direction.
They went toward one of the three entrances of the escape tunnel with as much haste as they could muster without running. Charles didn’t want to risk drawing the wrong kind of attention, better to be as silent and stealthy as possible. He drew his sword, feeling better to have it in hand in case trouble found them.
Charles worried over his aunt, but to seek her out would take them well out of their way and might prove futile if she was already headed toward the escape tunnel herself. Such thoughts of Jana soon fled his mind however, as the sound of clashing steel and shouts reached his ears. Flickers of red light shone down several halls they passed and faint tendrils of smoke moved through the air. The castle was on fire.
Charles’s palm grew sweaty against the handle of his sword. His heart beat out a heavy rhythm against his chest. How he wished Simon were with him now. Not because of the stunning revelation that he was actually an archangel, but because he was Charles’ best friend and could always be counted on to have his back in a bad situation.
They rounded a corner and nearly collided with a mountain of a man whose skin was so dark he was nearly invisible in the gloomy hall. Charles moved in front of Edward, his sword at the ready.
The other man’s hard gaze quickly slid from Charles to Edward, who was peeking around the side of his arm. The man’s expression softened as his gaze returned to Charles. “I will let you go for the boy’s sake,” he said, “but my brother is no more than five minutes behind me and he will not be so gracious. I suggest you use the time well.”
Charles was shocked, and yet he felt no fear the man meant to wait until his back was turned to strike him down. “I thank you, good sir. Go, Edward.” He pushed the boy ahead of him. Taking the stranger’s advice to use their time well, Charles urged Edward into a run. This particular hall would carry them past the hall down which Daniella and Richard had their chambers. This would cost them precious seconds, and yet to pass them by seemed wrong. He had only seconds to decide.
Charles muttered an oath under his breath as he caught Edward round the collar and steered him down the side hall. They reached Daniella’s door first. Charles pushed it open without bothering to knock and headed straight for the bedchamber. He found the room empty and the sheets pulled up neatly on the bed.
“Daniella?” He called his cousin’s name as loudly as he dared in case she was hiding somewhere. No reply was forthcoming. “Well, I tried.” He turned for the door. “My conscience is clear on that.”
He and Edward hurried done the hall, risking their lives for a man who would as happily see Charles dead. He’d have killed Richard himself if he had to in order to protect his sister, and yet now he had a chance to leave his cousin to die he found it impossible to do so. He wasn’t sure if that made him the better man or merely the bigger fool.
Again, Charles charged through to the bedchamber without giving warning of his arrival. This time, he found the bed occupied. “Richard.” He rapped the butt of his sword on the doorframe. “Get up.”
Richard rolled over and sat up. He squinted at Charles in the scant light, his gaze inexorably drawn to the sword. Something like panic flickered through his eyes. “What are you doing in my room?”
“The castle is under attack. Edward, fetch the prince some pants.”
The boy scrambled to do as he was told and Richard eyed them both warily. “How do I know this isn’t some plot to lure me outside to my death?”
“I only wish,” Charles said. “Sadly, I find myself unable to abandon you to your death, much as it would benefit all who have the misfortune of knowing you. Now get up. I risked much to give you warning but I don’t intend to stay here and die for you.”
Hesitation lingered in Richard’s eyes, but he did get up out of the bed and when Edward brought his pants he snatched them from the boy’s hands. “Who are we under attack from?”
“My best guess is it’s our own people.” Despite the exotic appearance of the man he’d run into in the hall, Charles deeply doubted some far flung kingdom had sent warriors to overthrow Hyacinth. More likely the rumors of a brewing rebellion were more than mere conjecture after all.
Turning his back on Richard was far harder for Charles than doing the same on an armed rebel, but as he was the only one with a weapon he felt no choice but to go in the lead. He only hoped his cousin had enough pure survival instinct to set aside his hatred for so long as it took them to escape the castle.
Richard surprised Charles by pausing outside Daniella’s door. “What about my sister?”
Charles glanced around the corner. The sounds of battle drew near, but he thought they still had a fairly decent le
ad time. “I already checked her room, she wasn’t there. If you want to go looking for her your more than welcome to do so. Edward and I won’t be helping you.”
“She’s probably already gotten herself to safety,” Richard said with a sneer in his voice. “How like a woman to think only of herself in a moment of crisis.”
Charles moved out into the hall, making sure Edward was close behind but giving no care as to whether or not his cousin followed. He’d done his duty by giving the man a warning, if he fell back now and got himself killed so be it. Charles would shed no tear for the loss.
At the end of the hall was a grand library. An enormous, two story room overflowing with thousands of books, most of which had likely never been read. Like all common rooms in the castle, the library was lit with a few well placed lamps on the off chance a member of the royal family should waken in the night with an urge for literary adventure.
Once inside, Charles shut the door behind them, sheathed his sword, and then strode over to the nearest divan with the intention of using it for a barricade. He pushed, but the divan, which was solid oak and far heavier than it appeared, refused to move. So he pushed harder, gritting his teeth against the strain. The divan slid perhaps two inches before coming to a dead stop. At this rate the castle would have burned down around their heads before he accomplished his goal.
Charles stepped back, took a huffing breath, and glared at Richard. “Care to lend a hand?”
“Not really.” Richard crossed his arms. “Princes are above manual labor.”
“You best get below it and help me barricade the door,” Charles said. “Unless you want to be left behind to create a diversion while Edward and I escape.”
Richard made a face as he joined Charles. “I do this under extreme protest.”
“Duly noted. Now push.”
Together, they managed to push the divan in front of the door. As they stood gathering their respective breaths and eyeing each other, they came to silent accordance regarding this temporary alliance. They would work together as a team in order to get out of the castle alive.
Charles again took the lead as they wove around the towering bookshelves whose contents filled the air with a dusky musk. On the far end of the library was another open space occupied by several divans, and small table, and a fireplace. A heavy, ornate, golden grill covered the mouth of the fireplace but with Charles on one side and Richard on the other, they managed to move it to the side without too much effort.
“I’ll go first.” Charles got down on his knees. “Edward, you follow me. Richard you can bring up the rear and shut the door after us. I can’t recall, where’s the switch?”
“Upper left hand corner,” Richard said. “Third brick.”
Charles crawled into the hearth, grateful to find it spotless. He ran his fingers across the proper brick and heard a slight snick as the wall swung open to reveal only darkness beyond. He glanced over his shoulder to see Edward crouched behind. The reassuring smile he offered the boy was not returned.
Because of the narrowness and low ceiling of the escape tunnel, crawling was the only way to move forward. Not exactly the most dignified mode of travel for members of the royal family, but whoever had constructed the tunnel had clearly been unconcerned with comfort.
Even on hands and knees, Charles’ head brushed the top of the tunnel. Warm air closed in around him. All was silent save for the steady rasp of his own breath and that of his companions, accompanied by the soft scrape of his scabbard dragging across the floor. In order to stave off a growing sense of claustrophobia, he focused his mind on thoughts far removed from his current situation.
Time seemed to crawl, but eventually the ground beneath Charles’ hands shifted from stone to damp earth and the air grew cooler, suggesting to him they had left the castle and were now somewhere beneath the surrounding forest. For the first time since he was so abruptly woken from sleep he began to let himself truly believe they could make it through the night alive.
Charles knew he’d reached the end of the tunnel when his fingers collided painfully with solid stone. Edward ran into his backside with a soft gasp. Richard did the same with Edward, but expounded on the moment with a string of curses better befitting a gutter drunk than a Crowned Prince.
“We’ve reached the end,” Charles whispered.
“Really?” Richard’s voice echoed faintly. “I never would have known. Would you kindly open the door and let us out of this hole?”
It only took a moment for Charles to feel out a slight depression in the wall. When pushed, the door swung outward, allowing a burst of fresh air to flow into the tunnel. He paused, both to let his eyes adjust to the dim light and to make certain he heard no sounds of danger in the immediate area. Once he felt assured it was safe, he crawled out into the woods.
Charles rose to his feet, then bent over to stretch out his cramped back muscles and wipe his hands along his pant legs. Dawn trimmed the trees in red, but gave him no clue as to where they were or on what direction they should go to seek safety.
Edward let out an indignant cry. Charles turned and Richard’s fist connected soundly with his cheek. It was the shock as much as the attack that sent him stumbling to the ground. He pushed himself quickly to his knees and reached for his sword, only to be felled once more by a strong kick to his ribs.
Richard leaned over and snatched Charles’s sword from its scabbard, then leveled the tip at his throat. “I’m going to repay you for saving my life by taking yours more quickly than I had planned. Watching you suffer while you imagined all the deliciously wicked things I was doing to your sister would have been much sweeter revenge, but this is an opportunity I simply can’t afford to pass by.
“Daniella will approve, don’t you think?” Richard smiled. “She’ll have to admit she’s not the only clever one after I have your death blamed on the men who invaded the castle. And poor Anastasia, she’ll be so devastated. But don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her for you. Count on it.”
Charles braced himself for the blow, comforted only in knowing Simon would take care of Anastasia and keep her safe.
Richard cried out, staggering slightly forward and to the right so the tip of the sword grazed Charles’ skin as it slid past his throat. What followed passed before his eyes in the space of a heartbeat, but seemed to him to last an eternity.
The sword swept up as Richard turned, its ascent describing a silver arch through the air, and the blade sliced through Edward’s leg. Red blood welled in sharp contrast to the sudden sickly pallor of the boy’s shocked face.
Protruding from the small of Richard’s back was the worn handle of a small dagger. Charles didn’t think, he simply leapt up and grasped the handle, giving it a sharp twist. Richard screamed, a high shrill sound.
Driven by nameless fury, Charles grasped his cousin’s throat and pulled his head back to whisper in his ear. “You will never touch my sister.” He shoved Richard forward, kicking him in the back of the knee to knock him to the ground.
Gasping and snarling like a wounded animal, Richard tried to rise. Charles slammed the heel of his boot down on the back of his head. Richard collapsed and didn’t move again.
Charles backed away two steps, panting for breath as if he’d been running. He pressed a hand to his throat. The cut stung and it was certainly bleeding, but didn’t feel deep enough to have caused any real damage.
A soft moan drew his attention to Edward. He knelt beside the boy and looked into his glassy eyes. “Can you hear me?”
Edward’s gaze cleared as he turned his head toward Charles. “Am I dying?”
Charles forced his lips into a facsimile of a smile. “Of course not. You need to rest here awhile is all. You’re going to be fine.” Though he had no experience with battlefield wounds, even he could tell the boy had lost far too much blood to be saved. He saw no reason to say as much, however.
“You saved my life.” Charles rested his hand on Edward’s shoulder. “Victor will be proud to kno
w what a courageous young man you are. He was right to name you his successor. You’ll make a fine Duke.”
Edward smiled. And then he was gone. Charles sat back on his heels. He felt emotionally drained by the events of the night and it wasn’t over yet. Though he had no means by which to bury Edward, Charles did owe the boy his life and leaving him to lie there beside the man who killed him was out of the question. He deserved better.
Charles lifted Edward from the ground and carried him through the woods until he found a place where thorny bushes grew. It seemed a good, safe place to leave the boy’s body. Hopefully, the thorns would deter scavengers and perhaps Charles could even find his way back at some point to retrieve boy for a proper burial.
“I’m sorry it ended this way for you,” Charles said, standing with his hands clasped beside the bush. It seemed only right to say a few words over Edward, in case returning for him proved impossible. “I’m not someone you should have died for. But I will never forget what you did for me today and I will do my best to live out the rest of my days in a way which will honor your memory. Rest in peace.”
He plucked a few nearby wildflowers and scattered them across the top of the bushes before moving on to seek a way out of the woods.
CHAPTER TWENTY SIX
They were nearing the path leading up the side of the mountain when they heard the first, low mournful howls. All the hair stood up along Anastasia’s arms at the sound of it. “Are those wolves?” she asked. She fervently hoped the answer was yes. Much as she didn’t want to run afoul of a pack of wolves, it would be considerably better than meeting some twisted version of the beast. She thought of the oversized bird and shivered.
Simon stared into the distance, absently rubbing the wound on his hand. “It sounded like wolves.”
“Ah, but what kind of wolves?” Brandon asked in an entirely too cheerful tone.
