Jessamine
“I didn’t do it,” Killian growls for the umpteenth time. His gaze darts to me. “She did. This is her attempt at trying to get rid of me. Tell me what motive I would have to set the freak free. I’d gain nothing from it. I wasn’t even in the castle!”
His argument would seem solid enough to Atticus if he wasn’t also accusing me of framing him. Darrock got out last night. Kier didn’t. When I heard the news, I bawled for hours in the bathroom, keeping the water running to drown out the sound. Why didn’t he leave? Because he’s mad at me? He claimed that I destroyed him last night. His eyes were hurt and broken. Why didn’t he just fucking leave?
Atticus’s head tilts left. “Where were you last night?”
Killian hesitates, his jaw grinding. I ponder on his reluctance to tell Atticus where he’d run off to. The bonfire. His gaze cuts to Raya and his fists clench. “The queen informed me of Raya’s plans to leave. I had to go bring her back.”
Raya gives me a look that is equal parts betrayed and confused, but I ignore it, bracing a hand on Atticus’s upper thigh, dangerously close to his groin. “I was worried for her and the human company she keeps. I am very fond of her, you know this. I merely told him to watch out for her, not to leave the castle.” I meet her gaze. “But Killian is lying. Raya was in fact in her room last night, not so?”
Having the full weight of Atticus’s attention on her makes her nod swiftly and I don’t think I’ve ever seen the captain of Atticus’s guard look so…hurt. His hurt transforms into a deep, growing anger, one he directs at me, of course. The veins in his face are so close to popping as he snarls, “I know what this is. You stole the keys. You set him free and killed the guard in the process. Knowing you couldn’t get rid of the body, you sought to frame me. You set me up, putting the keys and the dagger in my room. You see this as an opportunity to get rid of me because I don’t buy your act. You know that without me around, it’d be easier to kill him.”
It really is unnerving, hearing how Killian’s pretty much unmasked my plan. This morning, when the keys had gone missing and the body was found, he’d pointed fingers at me, much to Atticus’s displeasure. He demanded my room be searched. He still had on the same clothes from last night, seeing as he returned home to find a mess to clean up, and I figured he hadn’t even been to his room yet.
Nothing was found in mine, and it was so easy to feign anger and say, “You have disrespected me, invaded my privacy! I understand that you do not like me, but accusing me of conspiring to betray my husband? This has gone on too long and I am fucking tired of it! Who’s to say you didn’t do it? Why does my room only have to be the one searched?!”
It was the first time Atticus had seen me distressed in a long time, and point to be noted; he doesn’t like me crying unless he’s the reason behind it. It’s sick, and twisted, but it helped greatly and in seconds, there was a troop headed to Killian’s room, tearing it apart until they found the keys and dagger.
And now, he’s only worsened his case by insinuating that without him, Atticus would be an easy kill—which is true, but Atticus is too proud a man to let the insult to his person slide.
A sound of disapproval rumbles in his chest and he leans back against his throne, dropping his head against his fist. A semblance of boredom, but I’ve come to learn it is but a farce. He was always thinking, worrying, agitated, restless.
“Killian.” His voice booms across the room, silencing every, and I try to keep my heartbeat calm. “I prided in you as my captain, my friend. My most trusted companion. You deny this conspiracy so blatantly, yet, everything points at you being guilty.” He cocks his head gently. “Are you trying to make a fool out of me?”
Killian’s eyes widen. “That’s not—”
I reach over, taking Atticus’s fingers in mine and I squeeze tightly. He lets me, which speaks volumes. He’s chosen sides. Mine. Happiness flits through me for different reasons. All the guards deferred to Killian. He has a hold on them that surpasses his station. It was born from respect, fear and admiration. With him gone, most of my problems are solved.
“Silence,” Atticus rebukes, his blue eyes narrowing. “Until it has indeed been proven that you are innocent, you are relieved of your duties and will be placed under watch. In the dungeons.” I am surprised Killian doesn’t cross the space and snap my neck. He looks like he is seconds away from doing that.
His mouth thins. “Why not ask the prisoners? The door was unlocked. Surely, they must have seen who—”
Atticus waves him off. “Take him. I weary of his yapping.” But I see it in his gaze. His uncertainty. He’ll try to find out from them too, I realize, and they’ll most definitely tell in hopes to get in his good graces.
Fuck, I’m royally screwed. Here and now, I decide it has to be tonight. That I leave this place. That I kill Atticus and get Raya and myself out. Kier…I’ll figure out how to get him to listen to me later. Surely, me killing Atticus will make him rethink his notion that I have fallen in love with the enemy.
When Killian leaves, oddly silent, Atticus points at the nearest guard flanking my right. “What is your name?”
“Easton,” he delivers, surprised at the sudden attention.
Atticus nods. “I heard the reports on your progress. You will take over as captain until the investigation is over. Question the prisoners and report back to me on their response. Replace the guards with the newly recruited.” He pauses, his brows pulling together. “Move Kiernan Tanner to the lower, more secure levels of the dungeons. It goes without saying that if he escapes your life will be forfeit.”
My heart kicks into a frenzy. Lower levels? How will…no. I’ll deal with it later.
Raya stiffens when the guards flank Killian, leading him away and she tosses me a teary-eyed, angry and hateful glance before following behind him. Just what is going on between those two?
Before I can think much of it, Duke Madoc enters the hall, his son, Heath and his daughter, Penelope trailing behind him and I stiffen. There goes my lie about Raya being at the bonfire. Goddess, this is so not my day. I start to inch out of my chair, desperate for any form of escape before my impending doom, but Atticus stops me with a hand circling my wrist firmly. “Sit.”
Yes. Screwed.
I make a show of looking confused and flustered. It’s really not that hard, considering how close I am to having months of work washed down the drain because of a careless lie. “You rarely let me attend these meetings. What has changed, my love?”
He smiles and brushes a stray lock of hair back from my cheek. “I didn’t trust you then, but after yesterday…” His voice trails and his eyes gutter. “You have my heart.”
But you have no heart, I don’t say, settling back in my seat. Nervously, I rake my fingers over the chair’s arm again and again. There are too many complications I hadn’t accounted for. How do I get Kier out if he refuses to leave? And who the hell is offered a way out of imminent death and refuses to take it because he’s mad? He could’ve left with Darrock and spared me this…this…oh gods. And now, Raya’s mad too and I have no idea how to get the message across to pack up for the journey back home.
What’s worse? The stupid bane has worked its way through my entire body and one morning without the foul mixture isn’t enough to breach through its effects of subduing Nyx. It’d take days, if not weeks to get it completely out of my system and there’s no way I can win a fight against Atticus without her. The safest gamble I can make right now is killing him in his sleep.
And then what? Break into the more guarded levels of the castle, break Kier out, take Raya with me, only to get caught before we even reach the gates? Right. Fucking brilliant.
But I have no choice but to try. Once Easton investigates the prisoners, I am done for.
“Pen,” Atticus says, turning his attention towards the brunette whose gaze is turned towards the floor. Her eyes, grey like her father’s, jerk up and a hint of red stains her cheeks. “Come closer. Let me look at you.”
That, catches my attention. She stumbles forward, nearly tripping on her gown in the bid to obey him, and my brow rises at her eagerness. I cast a look at Madoc who seems far too pleased to have his barely sixteen-year-old daughter showing that amount of cleavage before a well-known rapist. Heath, on the other hand, has the mind to look pissed. Maybe this has nothing to do with the bonfire, after all.
Try all you want, but you cannot take the evil out of a man who has merged and become one with it—well, except the Goddess prevails, but I have an inkling that she has washed her hands off Atticus. He may have told me seconds ago that I had his heart, but he doesn’t hide his interest in Penelope. His eyes linger on her soft curves and the strain of the corset against her small breasts. A sick light shines in his eyes and I instantly know he wants to bed her.
And the girl is completely enamored by him. I don’t blame her for it, not with Atticus’s beauty and the effect werewolves have on humans in general.
He nods in approval. “Perfect. Your groom will be here soon.”
Groom? Even Madoc looks surprised. He steps forward, shielding Penelope. “Sire, you said to bring her when she turned the right age. We spoke of no other groom except you.”
Beside me, Atticus taps his chin thoughtfully. “Well, I changed my mind. I’m afraid my wife doesn’t like to share.” Brilliant, cunning blue eyes turn to me. “Or do you, dove?”
Is he seriously asking me if—
The door creaks and Lloyd struts in, dressed elegantly in white and touched of gold lining his jacket. His hair is pulled back tightly at the nape of his neck and his green eyes stand out as starkly as the anger burning in my heart at the sight of him. He lowers his head, deferring to Atticus, and his smile is diplomatic as he cooes, “You summoned me, Your Majesty.”
Atticus claps, delighted. “Yes, yes. You must meet Penelope. For your show of loyalty, I give you, her hand. Upon marriage, you will take over from her father as Duke.”
Silence. Utter, absolute silence.
The first one to speak is Heath. “What the fuck?” It was supposed to be a whisper, but he seems to have forgotten he is in the presence of beings with excellent hearing. He might as well have screamed it in our ears.
But his sister is staring at Lloyd with open fascination and I can imagine what she sees. Sure, he is no king, but he is easy on the eyes, and the dark edge he earned from months of torture made him seem even more…alluring? If only she knew what lurked beneath his clothes. The scars, the burns, the testament of the monstrosity that resides in the man seated beside me.
Lloyd though, looks very disturbed. I wonder why, seeing as he in cohorts with Atticus now. “I hoped for something…quieter. I doubt I’d make a good—”
“Nonsense,” Atticus’s voice booms across the hall. “Like Nadine, you will make a perfect ruler. I can trust no one else for this, and we are family after all.”
The only sign of Lloyd’s agitation is the clenching of his fists, so hard, his knuckles turn white. But he says nothing else in protest.
Duke Madoc though, doesn’t seem to agree with this. “Heath is my heir—”
The slithery aura in the room spreads so suddenly, I flinch. The humans don’t stand a chance against it and Madoc, as well as his children fall to their knees as Atticus throws an awful amount of his power at them. “I decide who is heir.”
That pretty much did it for whatever arguments they had, and as Lloyd leaves with his…betrothed, I notice the flash of irritation that darkens the edges of his eyes as they lock with mine for the briefest of seconds. His lips move and I wonder what he means by, “Tonight.”