Lost Princess (7 page)

Knowing she was about to hurt him brought a dull ache to her chest, but it didn’t stop her. It couldn’t. “I order you to take me to those men. Immediately.”

Elijah’s eyes widened in shock. His already thin lips pressed together in a tight line and almost disappeared. When he simply stared at her for a moment, she held her breath waiting to see if he’d refuse.

He bowed his head. “Very well…Your Highness. Follow me.” He turned and walked silently from the room.

Great. She’d hurt him. Ryleigh lowered her head and followed the prophet, his slumped shoulders stabbing through her. “Look, Elijah…”

He held up a hand but didn’t stop walking. “It’s fine, Your Highness.”

“It’s not fine. I’m sorry. I must see them, Elijah. Please understand.”

“I understand perfectly.” Except his attitude said he didn’t.

Men. Why did they have to be so difficult? She fisted her hands at her sides. Then gave up and trudged behind Elijah in silence.

They crossed an open area she’d never seen before at the back of the castle. The spires and turrets of the white stone castle tipped with dark green roofs were more stunning than anything she’d ever seen. Even in the midst of a dying kingdom, its majestic beauty stood out. She tried to imagine how it would look amid a sea of colorful flowers and green trees. Maybe one day. Although it would probably take a better queen than her.

Elijah stopped at a large, dull, metal door. He contemplated her for a long moment before sliding a stone aside and removing a key from the small, carved out space. He opened a chamber filled with weapons, chose a small dagger and tucked it into his waistband. His let his robe fall closed, effectively concealing the weapon, before closing the chamber door and placing the key in the big metal door’s lock. When he turned it, the door swung smoothly inward. Elijah took a lantern from the wall, lit it, and plunged into the darkness without a word.

Hmmm…she would have a lot of work to do to repair that relationship. If she even could. She followed on Elijah’s heels, gripping the railing tightly so as not to slip down the steep, stone staircase slick with mold.

Dampness and the smell of mold nearly overwhelmed her. These tunnels were nothing like the others she’d seen in Cymmera. The walls were built from stone, as was the floor. Puddles of what appeared to be dirty water—but who really knew—dotted the uneven floor. She carefully avoided stepping in those, since she hadn’t taken the time to put her shoes back on. Another door stood at the end of the tunnel. A solid door, with no windows, so she couldn’t see past it.

She gripped Elijah’s arm with a feather-light touch.

He stopped but didn’t turn to face her.

“Elijah…” Even her soft whisper echoed through the tunnel. “Why are these men kept down here…like this? I thought they would be offered the opportunity to be warriors?”

He finally turned to face her. His eyes kind in the soft flicker of the lantern. “My Princess…” The title held none of his earlier sarcasm, only genuine compassion. This was the man she knew. “The prisoners will be offered every opportunity. We’re a dying kingdom, yet each of them will be offered a small home and the chance to fight for Cymmera. They may become part of our…family, if you will.” He took Ryleigh’s hand in his as if hoping to soften whatever he was going to say next.

She held her breath. Waited.

“Some men realize their situation immediately and choose to join us. Others…Well, others don’t. They need to understand their fate if they choose to remain…untrustworthy.”

“So, they really are prisoners?”

“Yes. But, once they pledge their allegiance to Cymmera, they will be released. Revered even, as our people know they are here for a reason.” He squeezed her hand in his delicate fingers. “Please. Can I talk you out of this? They are caged, but they could still be hostile. They are not yet aware of their predicament. They would not have been conscious when they were brought here, have not yet been…enlightened, shall we say. Perhaps the pris—”

She pinned him with a glare.

“Men…would be more receptive to your visit once they understand what’s happened.”

“I’m sorry, Elijah. I know you only want what’s best for me, but I must do this now. It’s quite urgent.” Elijah was the last person she wanted to hurt. She swallowed her disbelief in the stone’s accuracy, her uncertainty about her role as queen, her skepticism about prophecy being real. “When I returned to my room earlier, the stone…” She shrugged, unsure how to explain the powerful lure she’d felt from the inanimate object. “It called to me. When I lifted it, I saw something. Something I’m not sure is accurate, but I must check.” She searched his eyes for understanding, for forgiveness. She forced a whisper past the pain gripping her throat. “I need to know.”

He studied her for a fraction of a second, then nodded. “Of course, Miss Ryleigh.” After one more reassuring squeeze, he released her hand and unlocked the door. He held it open but leaned close to her ear as she passed. “Do not get too close to the bars.”

She hesitated, a moment of intense fear almost making her turn back. Almost. Lanterns lined the wall opposite a row of cells, bathing the chamber in dim light and shadows. Maybe twenty cells, made completely from stone except for the front walls, which were made of thick, black, metal bars. She couldn’t make out any sort of door or opening. The bars extended in one full piece from the floor to the ceiling. She had no clue how they got the prisoners into the cages.

Elijah, stood a respectful distance away, his hands folded in front of him.

She braced herself and moved forward into the room. Three men stood silently at the front of their cells, hands gripping the bars, expressions hard. They still wore their military uniforms. They appeared clean, pressed, as if there had been no struggle.

Perhaps there hadn’t been.

With cautious steps, still avoiding puddles of filth, she moved forward into the corridor in front of the cells. She peeked into each one as she passed.

The three men standing said nothing, simply stared at her, waiting.

In the first cage she passed, one man sat on a hard wooden bench along the back of his cell, head resting in his hands. No. The next two cells held two of the men standing against the bars. Careful to heed Elijah’s warning, she kept close to the opposite wall. The first man appeared to be older, maybe in his thirties. She quickly averted her gaze. The second wasn’t much older than her. A pang of grief shot through her.

The next cell’s occupant still lay unconscious, his back to her. The dark buzz cut had her passing him by. The last man standing against the bars of his cell held her gaze. Another older man. Hatred shone from his eyes.

She froze. What could she expect? These men had been ripped from their lives and caged. She couldn’t expect they’d be happy to see her.

The intensity of the loathing in his stare held her trapped, unable to look away.

In her mind, she pleaded for his understanding. Yet, she couldn’t ask him to understand something that didn’t even make sense to her.

“Ryleigh? Ryleigh Donnovan?”

A wave of nausea washed over her. A painful reminder of why she’d come here. A brutally forceful intrusion of her new reality on her existing beliefs. The prophecy was real. The stone was genuine. Her gut clenched with the need to deny what was painfully obvious. “Noah.” The name left her lips as barely a whisper. “Oh, Noah. I’m so sorry.” Tears slid down her cheeks. Noah. The only boyfriend she’d ever had. Before Jackson. The boy who’d promised he’d stand by her forever.

Elijah’s warning fled with the recognition. She ran to the bars, grabbed them in a white knuckled grip.

Noah was fast. Faster than she would have expected. His hand snaked through the bars and shackled her wrist.

She tried to pull away.

He held fast, his grip like iron.

“Noah?” She pulled again. To no avail.

His hold stayed strong. “What’s going on here, Ryleigh?” Beads of sweat dotted his forehead, dripped down the sides of his face. Anger poured from him.

“Please. Calm down.”

“Calm down?” His voice bordered on sheer hatred.

Her gaze dropped to the bloodstain on the front of his shirt. Oh. Right. She’d forgotten about that part, about what it must have been like for him. Of course, the memories would haunt him. “Please, let me expl—”

Startled by a hand against her back, Ryleigh jumped. A second hand shot between the bars and grabbed Noah by the throat.

Ah Jeez.

Noah’s grip on her wrist loosened as he struggled to free himself.

She backed a few steps away. “Jackson. Please. Let him go.”

Jackson ignored her. The muscles in his arm flexed. His grip tightened. He pulled Noah’s face against the bars, leaned forward. “Don’t you ever put your hands on her.”

All right. Enough of this. Ryleigh wiggled between the two men, her face an inch from Jackson’s. “I said…Let. Him. Go.”

Noah stopped struggling. He gripped Ryleigh by the throat, pulling her back tight against the bars. “Release me.” His harsh rasp was barely audible with Jackson’s hand around his throat. “Now.”

Ryleigh pried desperately at Noah’s fingers. No use. “Let him go.” A scratchy croak was all she could manage. Tears trickled from the corners of her eyes. “Please.”

Jackson looked past her. “I will kill you if you don’t release her.”

“Kill me.”

Oh, for crying out loud. Spots danced in front of her eyes. An eddy of blackness encroached on her vision. Uh oh. If she passed out, these two morons would probably kill each other. And where was Elijah? She gave up trying to remove Noah’s hand and used both of her hands against Jackson’s chest to try and shove him back.

He didn’t even flinch.

“If I let go, will you release her?” Jackson stared past her, the look in his eyes dangerous, deadly.

Noah must have nodded or acknowledged Jackson’s request in some way—Ryleigh couldn’t tell with her back to him—but Jackson stepped back.

Noah’s hold on her throat loosened immediately.

Her hands flew to her throat. She sucked in a deep breath, the cool air chasing back the blackness.

Jackson didn’t even give her a second to compose herself before pinning her with a glare. “Explain. Now. Or he dies.”

Ryleigh lifted her head. “It’s all right, Jackson. It’s my fault. I got to close. I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking.” She fought to catch her breath, and stutter some sort of explanation before this situation spiraled any further out of control. If that was even possible.

Jackson gritted his teeth together and clenched his fists.

She would have to stop rambling if she was going to calm him down. “Please. Jackson. It’s okay. I know him.” She held his gaze, determined to make him understand. “He’s…a…uh…” She glanced back at Noah, haunted by the past. “A friend.”

* * * *

Jealous rage tore through Jackson, shattering whatever tentative measure of control he’d managed to attain. He launched himself at the cage. The other man backed away, a knowing smirk plastered across his face.

Jackson altered his course, moving to the far corner of the corridor. He pulled a lever and the bars began to lift. The grinding of the gears drowned out any other sound as the front of the cage began a slow ascent into the stone above it. He returned and stood in front of Noah, held the soldier’s gaze as the bars lifted. Waiting didn’t lessen his fury. If anything, having to control his temper only increased his agitation. At least watching that smart-ass grin disappear brought some small degree of satisfaction.

Instead of fear settling in the other man’s eyes as they held Jackson’s, eagerness flared as he chanced a quick glance at the ever increasing gap at the bottom of his prison. Didn’t this guy realize he didn’t stand a chance against a Death Dealer?

No.

Reality sucker punched Jackson in the gut. Of course he didn’t. The other man had no idea where he was or what had happened to him.

Silence echoed in Jackson’s ears as the bars abruptly stopped. He didn’t dare turn his back on his prisoner, not even for a second when the bars reversed direction.

“King Maynard.” Elijah’s voice held a stern note of warning.

Jackson ignored it. He locked eyes with the prisoner, sensing the man’s decision in the instant before he acted.

The prisoner dove. No way was he fast enough. The bars hadn’t lifted far enough to allow him to roll through, but he did give it his best shot, coming to rest on the ground against the front of the cage. Frustration pulsed with the vein at the side of his head, colored his cheeks as he lay limp against the bars.

Jackson checked the urge to tear the bars apart and pounce on him. He might not have acknowledged Elijah’s warning, but he wasn’t foolish enough to ignore it. Fine. So be it. “Elijah, escort the prisoner to the throne room.”

“Sir?”

He pinned Elijah with his hardest stare.

“I mean, of course, sir.” Elijah didn’t even wince, his gaze rock steady as it held Jackson’s.

“Let’s go, Ryleigh.” He turned and started toward the door.

“Go where?” The anger in her voice brought him up short.

He stopped in his tracks and turned slowly back toward her, struggling valiantly to subdue the rage. And failing miserably. He gritted his teeth, bit back the fury. “Does it matter?”

She lifted her chin, defiance evident in the gesture. “Jackson…don’t…”

Was that a warning? His fist tightened. He raised his hand, the movement abrupt.

Ryleigh flinched, eyes wide as she lifted her arm in defense.

He froze, his clenched fist hanging in the air between them. A tidal wave of emotions slammed into his chest, shredding the last bit of control he’d held onto.

Shock and fear battled for a place in her expression. “I—”

“Save it.” He lowered his hand and turned away, effectively dismissing her. “Bring the prisoner.” He stared straight ahead and strode from the chamber, somehow managing to keep from killing anyone. No easy task.

Jackson pressed his fists to his eyes, moving blindly through the narrow corridor. How could she think he would ever strike her? How could she have reacted that way? It had been pure instinct, obviously, had happened too quickly to be anything else. The knowledge didn’t lessen the pain.