Shadows of Desire Ch. 10

A gay story: Shadows of Desire Ch. 10 1. BROKEN PIECES

Killian had been laying on his bed, staring up at the ceiling for hours. He’d traced the path of the cracks and broken lines in the stone so many times in his head that he had them memorized. Earlier, a spider had crawled across the ceiling, from one wall to the next, and Killian had watched it’s progression with mild interest. At least the spider was free. It was there by choice. Unlike Killian. He sighed and turned to face the wall. The drab, cold wall without even a painting nor tapestry to brighten the room.

The fine furnishings and ample space was but a ruse. It was meant for the confined to feel less like a prisoner locked away in the dungeons and more like a guest with restricted access to the Palace. When you stripped away the illusion though, and were left with the reality of the situation, there could be no mistake. It was a cell. A cage. A well furnished cage, but a cage none the less. Killian often lay on his bed wondering when his confinement would end. Would he be released soon? Or would the Queen finally decide to end his life?

Night after night he wondered this until he stopped. He stopped wondering and he stopped caring. He wasn’t even sure how long he’d been there. Time slipped by unnoticed for him. The only clue that the hours had passed was when his meals were brought. Two plates of food a day and one goblet of blood. He was sure it was more than what the prisoners in the dungeons received but still was only enough to keep him alive and keep him from going mad. He was weak from the lack of proper feeding though he suspected that was what the Queen wanted.

Keep him weak and incapacitated. He’d be easier to control that way and less likely to have another outburst. It was a good plan, a sensible one. The Queen knew his mind well because, when he got out of that room, he was going to find Emilia and rip her throat out. Even if he were killed in the process. Death no longer scared him anyway. Vengeance was all he cared about now. Vengeance, and retribution for what Emilia and the Queen had done to his beloved Rowan. The countless days that he had spent in that room were consumed now with thoughts of killing Emilia. Of watching the life drain from her face as she begged for mercy that would never come. Those thoughts were all he had left. They were the one thing that kept him going.

Killian sat up, startled when he heard the familiar sound of the lock on the only door to the room suddenly click and the door itself was slowly eased opened. It opened with a long, drawn out, creaking, moan. Next he heard the tapping of heels on the stone floor. Killian swung his legs over the side of the bed and leaned forward, listening to the intruder close the door behind them and ease cautiously into the main room of his cell. Killian’s nerves were suddenly on edge as he wondered who this person was coming into his room. Not guards for they would have barged in, slamming the door against the wall, not crept in quietly as though trying not to disturb the occupant.

It wasn’t the servants bringing him food or blood. He’d had his share of blood for the day and the last meal of the day was brought while it was still light out. He looked towards the window with it’s silver bars. The sky was dark, too dark for early morning. The blackened sky told him that it was night, probably close to midnight. So, why was someone entering his rooms now? He slowly pushed himself up from the bed and walked to the doorway that led from the main sitting area to the bedroom. The sight before him gave him pause as he stared at his intruder with surprise, and rage. She was the last person he expected to ‘visit’ him, and the last person he wanted to see. The very sight of her fueled the anger boiling over inside of him and it took all the strength he had left not to rush forward and attack.

Oh, he could just imagine wrapping his hands around her throat, choking her, squeezing harder and harder until he heard the bones of her neck crack and break. Then, when all strength and fight had left her, he’d rip her head from her neck and burn her body to ash. If only he had the strength in him to do it. Alas, the lack of proper feeding had left him barely able to stand let alone kill and, on top of that, the striking glint of silver in her hand had him taking a step back. A silver dagger. So, he thought, She’s come to kill me.

***

When humans find themselves in danger they experience things such as a fast beating heart, heavy, rapid, breathing, or damp, clammy hands. These sensations lead to panic attacks, or even caused one to flee in terror. While Caroline certainly felt the urge to flee, the other sensations however, were dead to her. Her heart did not pound nor did her breathing quicken. She had a heart, but she had never felt it beat within her chest and she had never once needed to breath in order to live. Though Caroline had never experienced these sensations in her life, she could imagine what it felt like for, as she opened the door to the tower room and stepped inside, she felt, in her most primal self, the need to turn and run.

As she pulled the door closed behind her, Caroline’s own mind was telling her stop, turn around, danger! Her instincts were seldom wrong and the further into the room she crept the more her brain screamed at her to leave but, she refused to listen. What was the greater danger? Killian, in his weakened yet deranged state, or the council learning of her role in Emilia’s death? Caroline didn’t blame herself. She had been tricked by those devilish specters, led to believe that her very life was in danger. The fault was theirs and theirs alone but, how could Caroline explain that to the council? They would think her mad. If they didn’t choose to have her executed they would most certainly lock her away for the rest of her life which, for a vampire, could be an eternity.

For a vampire, death was not the worst punishment that could be given. For a vampire, death was a small mercy in comparison. The worst punishment ever given a vampire was an eternity of darkness, locked away in a crypt, bound in silver chains, with no hope of escaping. Years of confinement without the ability to hunt and feed, no contact with another living creature, and no concept of time…that was a fate worse than death. Eventually the vampire would go mad, becoming unhinged, delirious with hunger, and more beast like. It is a torture more viscous and cruel than any other. Even if, by chance, they were released centuries later, by that time, they would be more monster than man (or woman).

For her sake, Caroline had to ensure that her daughter’s murder was not connected to her. Emilia would understand. She would not want her mother punished for something that she had no control over. After all, Caroline was as much a victim in this as Emilia had been. At least, that’s what she had convinced herself of. No, her only chance of escaping such a cruel fate was to place the blame on another and, who better than her daughter’s maniac of a husband who had already loudly, and in the presence of multiple guards, threatened to kill Emilia himself. Caroline knew that once Killian was captured there would be questions. How had he escaped the tower in the first place? Where did he get the weapon? Those answers could be answered later and, if it came down to it, Caroline could always feign ignorance. It had always worked for her in the past.

Caroline glanced around the outer room and, not seeing Killian anywhere, assumed that he must be in the bed chambers. She sighed a breath of relief but then internally scolded herself for being such a coward. What had she really expected? That he would leap out at her, fangs bared, ready to rip her to pieces? The memory of when he’d attacked Emilia came to Caroline and she was momentarily consumed with rage. The way his eyes looked, dead inside and filled with rage, as his hands squeezed around her throat and the look of terror in Emilia’s eyes was enough to make Caroline want to drive the dagger she held directly into Killian’s heart and watch him suffer and bleed the way Emilia had. It should be Killian laying dead in the hall outside the Queen’s chambers, not her precious daughter.

It should have been Killian but it wasn’t and Caroline couldn’t allow her emotions to to dictate her actions now. She needed Killian. As much as she despised him, she needed him if her plan was to work. His end would come soon enough but for now, he had a very important role to play and Caroline couldn’t lose sight of what was most important. She couldn’t very well blame a dead man for Emilia’s murder now, could she?

Caroline took another hesitant step into the room, ever vigilant and cautious of her surroundings. One wrong move could mean her death. She gripped the dagger tighter in her hand, holding it against her breast as she moved towards the bed chamber. A shadow moved across the opened doorway and Caroline froze. Her hands shook and her head snapped up as the looming figure of Lord Kilian slid into view. He stood, leaning against the door frame, watching her with narrowed eyes and a scowl upon his face that sent slivers of ice through her blood. His eyes drifted to her bosom, to the dagger she held in her hand and then, he grinned. He grinned like a mad man. There was no reason behind those black eyes of his, no sanity. Killian had truly lost his mind.

Killian took a step towards her and Caroline tensed as she watched him move, slinking forward, like a cat stalking a mouse. The grip on her dagger remained firm as she raised an eyebrow and stared at him. She straightened her back and held her head up high, not allowing herself to seem intimidated by this man. No matter what she felt on the inside, it was important that she not show any weaknesses. The smallest hint of fear on her part and Killian would have the upper hand.

“What a pleasant surprise, your Majesty.” Killian bowed to her in mock respect. “To what do I owe the honor?”

Caroline gulped, then pursed her lips as she watched him. For the next part of her plan to work she had to sound sincere, earn his confidence, and make him really believe that what she was about to tell him was the truth. For that she had to spin her tale as though her actions benefited her in some way. Killian wouldn’t believe for a second that she came to him out of some sense of loyalty or affection. Caroline was a shrewd and self serving woman and Killian knew that. There was nothing that she did that did not have her own interests in mind.

“I’ve come to…warn you.” Caroline said, choosing her words carefully.

“Warn me?” Killian laughed at her revelation. “Why, my dear Queen, do I detect a hint of concern in your voice?”

“Not for you.” Caroline told him, her voice sounding cold and indifferent to Killian’s continued suffering.

“Then what is this warning that you’ve risked your life to deliver?” He crossed his arms over his chest as he studied the Queen, his curiosity now peeked. He still wanted to kill her. That thought had not left his twisted mind, but he also found it amusing to play with her. And, of course, there was the matter of the silver dagger that she clutched above her heart. He couldn’t forget that. Even in his deranged state he was aware that, if the Queen so desired, she could easily plunge said dagger into his chest as he was far too weak to stop her.

“I know of what’s been plaguing you.” The Queen said, dropping her voice to a barely audible whisper. “The guards tell me that you scream out in the night. Mad screams. They even frighten some of them. Do the spirits of the dead come to you often? Do they threaten to tare you apart?”

Killian turned his face away from her then, scowling as he stared down at the floor. His muscles tensed and he pushed the claws of his right hand into his forearm as he attempted to calm himself. Attacking now wouldn’t do him any good but her voice was grating on him to the point where he wanted to bash his own head against the grey stones of his cage just to drown her out. “You know nothing.” He hissed, his jaw clenched tightly.

“It’s him, isn’t it?” She persisted. “Does Rowan haunt your dreams? Do he appear before you in the night?”

Killian turned on her suddenly, his eyes red with the rage that was quickly building inside of him. His fists clenched and his muscles tight and rigid as he reached out for her then stopped himself before he could actually touch her. He smirked as she moved away from him, nearly stumbling as she backed against the wall closest to the door. She was frightened. Good. He thought. She should be frightened of him. She should be terrified. If he had not stopped himself when he had, she would be dead now. He wanted her dead. He wanted to wrap his fingers around her slender neck. He wanted his claws to rip through flesh and muscle, and bone. He wanted to crush her. He wanted her to suffer.

“Do not speak his name you filthy whore!” He growled. “He was everything pure and good in this world and you destroyed him!”

“I destroyed him?” The Queen smirked as she watched the man unraveling before her. Killian was shaking, his entire body shook as he leaned against the back of a chair and fought against his own desires to lash out at her. Why he didn’t try she did not know. Perhaps he was still too weak to manage more than hurling hurt words at her. Perhaps he wasn’t as brave as she had once thought. Whatever the reason, he was playing right into her hands. She wanted him angry. She wanted him enraged. She wanted him so out of his mind with despair and desperation that he would be willing to do anything, even battle demons.

“It was you who destroyed him.” Caroline taunted. “You who drove him to want to kill himself. I may have put the poison in his hands but he drank it willingly. He chose death rather than a life as your mate. So, no, my dear Lord Killian. I did not destroy him. His blood is on your hands not mine and it is you he has returned for.”

Killian opened his mouth to speak but his words were choked back as the reality of what the Queen had just said finally registered within his broken mind. His eyes widened as he stared at her and for the first time, she saw real fear in those eyes. Her suspicions had been correct, Killian was in deed being tormented by Rowan’s ghost. Or, rather, the image of his ghost that Killian’s guilt ridden mind had conjured up. Caroline could have told him then that Rowan was alive. That he was being held in the dungeons of the castle. She could have ended his suffering with three simple words, Rowan still lives. But, she did not. Better to keep his ghosts alive than lose her leverage.

“I know.” Caroline whispered, taking a step closer. “I know because I have seen him too.” She lied. “He has come to me with a simple message. Once he has ended you, I am next.” She closed her eyes and shuddered, feigning fear. False tears filled her eyes as she did her best to play the helpless victim. Hoping, not to gain his sympathies but, to convince him that the peril they faced was real.

Killian sighed. “Good.” He said in response as he relaxed into the chair he had been leaning over. Caroline was a bit surprised at his calm reaction to the threat she had just revealed. “He deserves his vengeance.” Killian said, a hint of sadness in his voice.

The Queen had not expected this but, no matter. She was far from done with her manipulation of this broken man. Moving to his side, Caroline knelt beside him and placed her free hand on his arm. “Does he though?” She asked, her voice softer, kinder, and with an edge of mock concern. “What had you done that was so bad except to love him? Is that a crime worthy of a death sentence?”

Killian pulled his arm away and glared at her. “He didn’t love me.” He answered. “He told me so. And yet, I pursued him. I was intent on having him whether he consented or not. Had I respected his wishes and left, he might still be alive today.”

Caroline sighed, looking down as she shook her head. “He was a foolish child trapped in an impossible situation. Even if you had called off the engagement as he wanted, do you think that would have saved him? The King would have killed him himself. Rowan knew this. He had but two options and he chose the one he felt would serve him best.”

“And what of your role in this?” Killian looked at her with contempt, having already judged her in his mind. It was she who he blamed most for what had happened to Rowan. She and her conniving daughter. “Do you think yourself blameless?”

Caroline looked up and their eyes met. Killian expected to see remorse on her face or crocodile tears as she spoke a well rehearsed line about how she was only trying to help him. To his surprise though, it wasn’t remorse, or guilt, or fake tears that he saw in her eyes. What he saw, was the cunning stare of a wicked woman who felt absolutely no regret for the pain she had caused those around her. “Blameless?” Her lips curved into a devilish grin that chilled even Killian to the bone.

“No, I am not blameless. I put that poison in his hand knowing he would drink it. I wanted him dead. He was in the way of my plans. I wanted Emilia to wed you and one day, when my time had come to an end, she would be Queen with you at her side as her King. Your title and influence would have served her well. When you set your sights on Rowan though, it brought my plans to a screeching halt. It’s true that I have never liked Rowan. In fact, I despised him. But I tolerated him when he was nothing more than a nuisance to me. There was no way though that I would ever allow him to become Queen. I would never allow him to take that right away from my daughter. So, yes. I devised a way to get rid of him. I wanted him dead. I acted in the best interest of my child.”

Killian huffed. “And now you wonder why he’s come back, seeking his revenge?”

“No. I know exactly why he’s come back. I just refuse to allow myself to become his victim.”

“So, you’ve come to me for help?” Killian chuckled bitterly as he glared at her. “How pathetic.”

“You talk as though you have given up but I know you, Killian. I know your kind. Not even in your despair would you be willing to just give in and die. You’re a survivor, the same as me. I know you’ll fight to save yourself, even if it is against your precious Rowan.”

The Queen sneered as she spoke his name. Rowan, whom she despised. Rowan who claimed to be a child of the Tuatha. Caroline clenched her hands into fists. She would not let Rowan win this battle. Prophecy be damned. Come midnight, he would die. Killian would take the blame for Emilia’s death, and the rest of the Fae would join them all in death. In one fell swoop, Caroline would eliminate all of her enemies. Not even the vampire council could stand in her way then, Basmorte would be hers.

***

The Queen had left Killian’s cage but not before giving him a sage piece of advice. “Kill, or be killed.” She told him. “Be either the predator or the prey.”

Killian looked down at the silver dagger that she thrust into his hand before exiting his rooms. Was it really that simple? He wondered. Could one really kill a ghost?

For a time, Killian had begin to really think he had gone mad. His rantings and raving about ghosts and phantoms had earned him some pitying stares from the guards and servants that had come and gone from his room over the past few days. Whispers filled the room, commenting on his deteriorated state of mind. Some thought he would be put to death in the days that followed. Other’s suggested that his punishment would be a life imprisoned, chained to a wall in the dungeon where he would scream himself hoarse.

He had almost accepted the fact that his life was over and that the loss of Rowan had caused him to fall into madness. A madness that dragged him deeper into the pit of despair each pathetic night of his life. But, Caroline had seen Rowan. He had come to her, threatened her, and it scared her enough to seek out Killian for protection. Honestly, he didn’t give a damn about the Queen. Rowan could drag her kicking and screaming into the bowels of hell for all he cared. For Killian though, there was no reprieve from his fate. Caroline might have put the poison in his hand, but Killian drove Rowan to death himself. So, if Rowan came for him, when Rowan came for him, he would not fight him, and he would not resist.

Let Rowan have his sweet revenge. Maybe then his troubled soul would find rest. That was Killian’s only absolution, that his death would end Rowan’s suffering. If that is what had to happen then so be it. Killian would gladly give his life for the one he loved. It was the last kind thing he could do for him. Well, almost. There was one thing that Killian planned to do before his demise. One thing that would help ease Rowan’s passage into the next life. Rowan’s passing would not go unpunished. Killian planned to deliver Emilia into the hands of death himself. In pieces if he had to. Then, and only then, would he be ready to follow his love into oblivion.

2. DECISIONS

Caroline had to hurry, time was running out. She had first gone to Killian’s tower cell and given him the dagger after confirming his delusions that Rowan’s ghost was after him. Sneaking into the room had been easier than she’d thought. Servants only came and went to bring him food and there was only one guard stationed in the corridor outside his rooms. The guards on duty were on a six hour rotating shift with the current guard nearing the end of his shift. He was easy to distract. Caroline had sent a servant ahead of her with a bottle of blood wine that contained one, undetectable, extra ingredient. A powerful sedative that would leave the guard unconscious for hours.

Of course, Caroline knew that the likeliness of said guard ever waking up again was slim. Just a little gift that Caroline had left for Killian to regain his strength. Being half starved of blood, finding the unconscious guard outside the door that Caroline had conveniently left open, was too much of a temptation for any vampire. If she knew Killian, and she did, he would find the guard and drain him before leaving the tower. He had about an hour before the next guard arrived and found the body. That gave Killian all the time he needed to, unwittingly, carry out the next part of the Queen’s plan.

Killian’s hatred of Emilia would no doubt cause him to seek her out and finish what he’d started before being captured and locked in the tower. Knowing that he would most likely go to Emilia’s chambers and attempt to kill her there, Caroline had decided to move the body so that Killian was sure to find her. This made more sense than him finding her outside of the Queen’s personal chambers and, took all suspicion off the Queen. So, lifting Emilia’s body, the Queen carried her into her chambers and opened the door to one of the secret passage ways through the walls. She knew these passageways well, had memorized them, and had even used the one leading to Emilia’s chambers more than once.

The route was narrow and Caroline had a difficult time maneuvering herself through the tunnel with her daughter’s limp body in her arms but, she managed, somehow. The only other option would have been to carry her through the opened corridors and in through the main doors of her bed chambers. That, however, would not have been possible as Emilia’s ladies and possibly several servants, would have seen her. There was no question that being discovered now would ruin any chance Caroline had of blaming Killian for Emilia’s murder. Lurking through the secret tunnels was the only way that Caroline was certain to get in and out of Emilia’s chambers without being seen.

As she had thought, the ladies were all gathered in the anti-chamber, awaiting their mistresses return. Emilia would have told them to stay behind and wait when we she had gone to seek out her mother. Having an entire entourage of ladies maids following behind her would have been too much of a hassle for her to deal with. She couldn’t be candid with so many ears surrounding her and so preferred her meetings with the Queen to be in private. None of the women would enter the Princess’s bedchambers without permission, not unless they thought something was amiss.

Thankfully, for the Queen, most of them were too busy drinking wine and talking about things that ladies often discussed in secret. She could hear giggling and whispered gasps as they carried on, oblivious to what was going on around them. Caroline frowned in annoyance. She could only imagine what was being discussed in the other room. The women were courteous and well-mannered to Emilia’s face but would often talk about her behind her back. It was no secret that they disliked their mistress and Emilia herself had never been overly fond of them. She suspected that they were jealous of her and bitter that she, who had once been no better than a servant, should now be royalty.

Caroline laid Emilia’s body out on her bed, gently laying her hands to rest upon her breast, and smoothing out her raven locks till she looked as though she were merely sleeping. She was not though, and the Queen could see that when she looked at her wide opened eyes and, the way her mouth fell open, locked in a perpetual scream. Caroline hung her head and placed her hand over Emilia’s hands, giving them a tender squeeze. “It should not have been this way.” Caroline whispered, her voice cracking with emotion. “We were meant to rule this Kingdom together. Curse that witch and her false prophecy. You were supposed to have been Queen one day. Not lying here, so still and cold. This fate was not meant for you.”

Caroline withdrew her hand and stood up. She bent down and kissed Emilia’s forehead, whispering one last farewell before turning and walking back towards the secret passage in the wall. Taking a deep breath, the Queen opened the door and stepped through. She blamed the spirits who had deceived her into killing Emilia for this tragic turn of events but still, knowing that Rowan would follow her daughter into death’s icy grasp brought her a small measure of comfort. Like everything else in her life, Caroline would weather this storm and come out the other side unscathed. She had to. She was the Queen. She was strong, unbreakable, and nothing, not even the death of her only child, could change that fact.

***

Tomag stopped. He and Thaden had ridden quietly into the night for the past hour at a steady pace. Shadow dancer had begun to lag behind though, her gate slowing considerably. When Tomag turned to look behind, he saw the reason for the horses hesitation. Thaden was slumped over, asleep, and barely holding onto the reins.

Tomag sighed, shaking his head, then steered his horse back around, siding up close to Thaden. He took hold of Shadow dancer’s reins and gently led the horse off the road to a patch of grass along the wayside. It wasn’t the most convenient of places to stop. The area left them somewhat exposed but, Tomag didn’t have much of a choice. It was clear to him that Thaden could not go on, no matter how hard he had argued against the fact. He was simply too exhausted to continue.

It had taken Tomag less than five minutes to spread out some furs and then pull the other man from his horse and lay him on the furs. Thaden never so much as opened an eye the entire time. Tomag admired the strength and determination Thaden had to have made it this far but, there was only so far one could push their body before it gave into fatigue.

Tomag wouldn’t admit it but, he was ready for a break as well. Though his stamina was far greater than that of the Elven Prince, he had, none-the less, reached his breaking point. It was fortuitous that Thaden had fallen asleep when he did. He wouldn’t have agreed to stop otherwise and his stubbornness would have done neither of them any good. Tomag knew his own limits and as things were now, marching into Basmorte sleep deprived and without clear heads would have been a death sentence.

***

Rowan looked up as he heard the door to his cell opening. Before he even knew what was happening, two large guards had entered his cell and pulled him to his feet. As they walked him out of the cell he saw Greagor standing there, watching him. The man’s face was sullen. His eyes moved from Rowan’s face to the ground as though he couldn’t bring himself to meet the Prince’s eyes. His shoulders slouched and he turned, not saying a word to Rowan as he began to walk slowly down the narrow corridor towards the stairs. He didn’t need to speak. Rowan already knew why he was there. It was minutes from midnight. Rowan’s time had come. Greagor was there to lead him to his execution.

A somber hush had fallen over the dungeon as Rowan was led past the cages that lined the walls on either side. The noise from the prisoners who were caged up as Rowan had been were usually deafening as they screamed and begged to be set free. But, now, they had fallen silent as they watched the young omega being led away. They knew what his fate was. There were only two reasons that one would be walked out of the dungeon and Rowan wasn’t being released.

Greagor kept his head down as they walked. Shame washed over him in heavy torrents, weighing down his shoulders and his heart. He knew this was wrong. The Queen was wrong. Rowan was innocent yet, Greagor couldn’t bring himself to defy his Queen. He had too much at stake to risk being accused of treason. It wasn’t his own life that he feared for. He had a wife, children, and grandchildren. The Queen would not only punish him, but his family as well. All of Basmorte knew of her cruelty. Even before she had become Queen. She was a cruel and wrathful mistress who took pleasure in torturing her servants. With her, punishments weren’t just physical, but psychological as well.

Basmorte deserved a better ruler but Rowan was an omega, and a child. He had no influence with the council and none of the nobles would risk angering the Queen by coming to Rowan’s defense. There was no way that Rowan could challenge her and win. Not without a miracle. Not even old King Desmond would have put his own son to death. Though, his reasons were not because he cared for the boy but more because he feared the consequences of killing him. Desmond had often said that he feared what the council would do should any harm befall the boy, as he was Desmond’s only living male heir. Greagor had to wonder though, knowing what he now knew about Rowan’s mother, had it actually been the council that Desmond feared or did he fear the wrath of Tuatha?

Greagor cursed himself for being such a coward. For years he stood by, doing nothing while Desmond abused and mistreated Rowan. He knew of Desmond’s harsh treatment of the boy. Everybody knew yet, no one tried to help him. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. There was one. A young girl. Greagor couldn’t even remember her name. She had gotten a job at the Palace, working in the laundry. Greagor didn’t know much about her. Only that she was a vampire, unwed, and was working to help supplement her families income.

Rowan had snuck out of the Palace to go riding and had been thrown from the horse. He’d landed in the mud and was completely covered. Rather than face his father’s wrath by entering the Palace in his soiled clothing, the girl had snuck him into the laundry and allowed him to clean himself up and put on fresh clothing. Desmond found out though and Rowan was beaten severely but the girl, Greagor cringed as he thought of her, had gotten much worse. She had been publicly beaten then left, her hands tied to a post in the court yard, weakened, bleeding, and starved, for a week. The sun cooked her during the days and at night she would heal, only for the entire process to repeat in the morning.

Eventually she died but her death had been slow and agonizing. Rowan blamed himself. He was inconsolable for nearly a month. That was the first time he had witnessed just how cruel his father could be. It was never Rowan’s fault though. He was just a child. Desmond killed the girl to make an example. No one defied the King. His word was law and those who went against him, lied to him, or attempted to show even the smallest amount of kindness to Rowan would face dire consequences. The girl’s death had the effect that Desmond had wanted. No one, after that day, would lift a finger to help the boy. No matter what Desmond did. No matter how man times he would scream at him or how hard he would hit him, anyone who saw would turn a blind eye. Greagor included.

Too many times he’d had the opportunity to step in, to say something, to beg for leniency on Rowan’s behalf, but he didn’t. He, like everyone else within the Palace walls, just allowed it to happen. And now, it was happening again. Greagor was in a position to help Rowan but, he was too scared. Scared of what the Queen would do to his family if he disobeyed her orders. She had already warned him after he’d returned from the Shee village. He had thought that bringing Rowan back would have been enough. He was the one she was looking for. He was the one she wanted. What good would it have done to take more prisoners?

The dungeon was already past capacity with the amount of Fae that had been locked up. Bringing in more prisoners meant more executions to make room and, that was something Greagor did not want to see happen. So many had been killed already. The population of Fae slaves was now half of what it had been. The executions were sporadic and solely at the Queen’s whim. No one was safe from her madness. Men, women, and children were taken at random. Their screams filled the night air as they were led to the executioners block.

Most had been burned alive, others beheaded. At first, the entire Kingdom had come out to watch but as more innocent victims were slaughtered, more of the crowds thinned out. Then, they stopped coming all together. It seemed the good people of Basmorte didn’t have the stomach for such senseless violence, the Queen herself being the only one who took any pleasure in watching so many suffer and die. Would the people gather to watch the death of their Prince? Greagor wondered. Would any try to stop his execution from happening? Only a handful of guards knew that he was still alive and, of course, the council. According to the Queen that is. But, Greagor wondered if she had actually spoken to the council. Would they be as shocked by this turn of events as the rest of the Kingdom?

As they ascended the steps, Greagor realized that his time to make a final decision about the boy’s fate was running out. Once they reached the court yard, it would be too late. He could do as he was told, be the loyal yet cowardly subject that the Queen desired or, he could make a stand. At the top of the stairs there were two doors. One led to the court yard where the Queen was waiting. The other, led to the guard house. From the guard house was an underground passage that the men used to travel to and from the main gate. He could easily sneak Rowan through that passage to the main gate and beyond the city walls. He would have to get past the guards on duty but that shouldn’t be an issue. He was the Captain of the guard. They would do as he ordered. He could do it. He could. It all came down to one simple choice. Did he go left, or right?

3. IN MY TIME OF DYING

Killian realized a bit too late that he hadn’t thought this plan through. If he wanted to enter Emilia’s chambers undetected, well, that wasn’t going to happen now. Throwing the doors to the Ante-chamber opened, he was met with the startled faces of five, now angry, ladies maids. The two closest to the door moved from their chairs at a speed he hadn’t thought possible from women weighted down by layers upon layers of frilly material and those shoes. Heeled shoes like that were more dangerous in Killian’s opinion than the dagger he held in his hand. They should be illegal. Those things could take an eye out. Especially when being thrown at one’s face.

The two women had rushed him and were attempting to shove him out of the room while the three cows behind them were screaming in terror for the guards to come and save them. Killian rolled his eyes. Did these harpies think he came for them? With the wave of his arm, he flung one of them aside, and into a mahogany plant stand, he then turned to the other and punched her in the face. The force of the blow sent her stumbling backward and into the lap of one of the screamers. Having momentarily stunned the frightened women, Killian was able to push past them and into Emilia’s sitting room. He sighed a breath of relief when he saw that this room was empty. Draining the unconscious guard in the outer corridor of his cell had given him the strength he needed but, he didn’t care to deal with anymore screeching banshees.

Killian sprinted across the sitting room, headed straight for Emilia’s bedchambers. He hadn’t been sure before he’d come if she would actually be there but seeing the ladies in the ante-chamber had confirmed that she was. The bitch never went anywhere without her parade of over-dressed, haughty, high-flown, shrews. All the better he thought as he flung the doors to her bed chambers open. No guards around to stop him, no servants other than the ladies maids, it was all too easy. Killian suspected that his escape from his cell had not yet been discovered otherwise, there would have been guards waiting for him when he arrived.

Entering Emilia’s chamber he looked around to ensure that they were alone. The squawking hags in the other room were rushing towards him but Killian slammed the doors in their faces and locked them out. They continued to pound on the doors, demanding he come out. Killian ignored them, instead, slowly walking towards the large, four poster bed, where he could clearly see Emilia sleeping. A single candle sitting on the stand beside her bed cast a dim light over her prone body, illuminating only the small area around her. Killian held the dagger tightly in his clenched fist, ready to strike, as he moved silently towards her. She didn’t stir or make any indication that she knew he was in the room.

As he approached, he took into account everything about her. Her fair skin, the long, flowing locks of raven curls that framed her face. Her still, lifeless, body. She was laying on her back, her hands folded over her chest. Her gown was smoothed out around her and her eyes…her eyes were opened, staring up at the canopy above her. Killian stopped and stared at her. Something wasn’t right. If she wasn’t asleep, then why hadn’t she moved? Why hadn’t she looked in his direction or demanded to know why he was there? Why hadn’t she screamed? He stood at the side of the bed now, the dagger raised in his hand and still, she remained motionless. Killian narrowed his eyes and frowned. He gently pulled back the sheer, white, curtain that looked eerily similar to a funeral shroud, and peered down at the figure of his wife.

Killian gasped and stumbled backwards. Emilia wasn’t sleeping as he’d first thought, she wasn’t play acting, she was dead. Under her folded hands, a dark, red, stain appeared on her gown, seeping through the fabric and down the front of her skirts. Her eyes were wide and the look on her face was of shock and horror. He also noticed that there was no blood on the sheets or bed coverings and the blood on her gown was nearly dry. Whoever had done this had staged the body. Of that he was sure. With shaking hands he pushed the curtain back into place then looked at the dagger in his hand. A silver dagger. Maybe the same dagger that had taken Emilia’s life before Killian had had the opportunity. Only a silver dagger would have been able to kill a vampire. The wound from iron or steel would have healed in time but silver, that was deadly.

Killian looked from the dagger to the wound in Emilia’s chest. His face contorted into a mask of rage as he realized that he’d been played. But, why? Why would Caroline kill her own daughter? Surely she wasn’t that evil and deranged. Would she take her child’s life just to frame Killian for it? No, it didn’t make sense. There were other ways that she could have dealt with him. If she wanted to punish him she would have known that killing Emilia was not the way. He cared nothing for her. He despised her. There had to be another reason. An accident? That seemed the only likely explanation. Caroline had killed Emilia on accident and now she wanted Killian to take the fall for her mistake.

Was that her plan? He wondered. Frame him for Emilia’s death then watch as he was dragged to the courtyard, begging for mercy, before being tied to the pyre and burned alive?

“Fuck her!” Killian sneered. He wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction and, there was no way that he was going to allow them to lock him up again.

He snapped his head around to the double doors as he heard yelling and the pounding of boots coming towards him. The maids had alerted the guards and they were seconds away from bursting through the doors. Killian knew there was no way to escape now and with Emilia laying there dead, he was sure to get the blame. He’d rushed through the room of maids, attacked two of them, and all of them had seen the dagger in his hand. His only choice now seemed obvious. He closed his eyes and whispered into the empty room. “I’ll be joining you soon, my love.”

Grasping the dagger in both hands, he held it above his heart and, just as the doors flew open and four guards rushed in, Killian plunged the dagger deep into his own chest. Killian fell to his knees, his arms slack at his sides as he looked down at the blood pouring from the wound in his chest and the silver dagger sticking out of the wound, the light from the single candle flickering off the shimmering metal. He looked up as the guards surrounded him and smiled at them. A line of blood escaped his mouth and trickled down his chin and before he fell, darkness and death drawing him into their comforting embrace, he could hear his own insane laughter echoing throughout the room. He truly had gotten the last laugh.

***

Caroline sat in her designated spot in the stands, high above the rest of the onlookers. The seat beside her, normally reserved for the Princess, was empty. The Queen had sent a servant to check on her daughter. Such a request did not seem odd or out of place as everyone would have expected Emilia to join her mother. As Caroline looked out to the curious faces of the crowd she smiled. More people had shown up for this nights ‘special’ execution. Whispers rose up from the lower seats as heads turned this way and that and everyone speculated as to who the ‘star’ of tonight’s show was.

What a shock it will be. The Queen thought. When they see their Prince being dragged from the dungeons. Truly, this will be a night to remember.

The seconds ticked by as the crowd waited with bated breath. Two, three, one…The tower clock struck midnight and all heads turned towards the dungeon doors, eagerly waiting to see who was going to be marched out and across the courtyard to the pyre that was set up in the center of the yard in full view of everyone. Caroline’s grin widened. Her elation growing as she thought about what was to take place. The supposedly dead Prince, burning before all of Basmorte. A clear sign to all that Caroline was Queen and that no one could challenge her. Once Rowan was dead, dead for real this time, there would be no one left who had any claim on the throne. Her crown would be secured, forever.

Keeping her eyes trained on the door she waited. The courtyard was as silent as the grave, each of the on-lookers silently wondering, who was it? Who was the Queen going to kill? Why was this person being kept secret? There were many rumors and speculations but none of them were correct, of course, for none could have possibly imagined that the omega Prince was still alive.

Minutes crept by. It was now three past midnight and the doors had not opened. No one stepped out into the dimly lit courtyard. No guards, no prisoner…no one. Caroline wrung her hands nervously. What was taking them so long? She had sent Greagor himself to escort Rowan out. Rowan couldn’t have overpowered Greagor as well as the guards with him. Her guards weren’t so weak as to be taken down by a mere boy…were they?

Caroline shook the thought from her head. Rowan was nothing. An impudent child. Even if he was descended from the Tuatha, he didn’t have their power, nor would he know how to wield it. What and who he was, was inconsequential. He simply did not matter.

By five minutes past, the crowd began to whisper, snickering under their breath. The Queen had lost her prisoner. Many began to rise from their seats and exit the stands, not wanting to waste their time. Others kept their eyes on the Queen, wondering what she was going to do now.

Caroline scowled. She was not about to let some insignificant little pest make a fool of her. “You there!” She shouted to the nearest servant to her. A youthful squire with light brown, nearly blond, hair, nervously made his way towards her, bowing at her feet.

“Y-yes, my Queen?” The boy stuttered.

“Go to the holding cells of the dungeon and find out what is taking the Captain so long.” She reached out, grabbing the squire by his collar and jerked him forward, their eyes meeting. “And, for your sake, do not return to me without my prisoner, or I’ll put his chains on you.”

The boy nodded swiftly, his body trembling in her grasp. His legs wobbled and he did his best to stay upright as he scrambled to get away, bowing once more. “R-right away, your Majesty.” His voice broke with fear, even his words trembled. The Queen waved him off and he rushed back down the stands and towards the dungeon doors, frantic in his need to discover what had caused the Captain to delay in marching the prisoner out to the waiting crowd.

When he’d reached the door, he pushed it open with such force that it hit the inner wall with a loud bang. He stepped inside and looked around. At first he saw nothing, just an empty corridor, torches along the wall lit the space with a flickering glow. From beneath him he could hear the groans and shouts of the prisoners still in their cages. He took a couple hesitant steps forward and there he saw the guard station, a small area built into the wall with one window, a table and two chairs, meant for the use of the guards on duty. The room itself was empty but in the middle of the corridor he saw the two guards who were supposed to be on duty, laying face down on the floor.

Panic seized the young squire as he rushed forward and checked on the men, fearing the worst. To his utter relief, the two guards were only unconscious, not dead. The squire scanned the rest of the area, checking dark crevices and around corners, worried that whoever had attacked the guards could still be lurking in the shadows. He exhaled the breath he’d been holding and allowed himself to relax some when he realized that he was alone. Aside from the unconscious guards. But, that raised an important question. Where was the Captain, and where was the prisoner that he was supposed to escort?

The squire stood up and looked down the hall leading in the other direction, the hall that led to the tunnels beneath the castle. The squire had never traveled through those tunnels before and he wasn’t sure where they led but it seemed that if he were to get answers to his questions, it was down said tunnel that he would find them.

“Don’t be a coward.” He chastised himself. What was worse? Facing whatever awaited at the end of that tunnel, or facing the wrath of an angry Queen if he returned empty handed? The squire took a deep breath, stealing his nerves, and began the march down the tunnel, ready to face whatever was waiting for him at the end.

4. FATE’S UNYIELDING GRIP

Rowan leaned against the wall to catch his breath. He and Greagor had been running since escaping the dungeons. Greagor looked over at the boy and frowned. They had reached the chamber just beneath the guard house but Rowan was unable to continue without first stopping to rest. Greagor waited beside the ladder that would lead them up and to freedom. He wanted Rowan to hurry but he decided against rushing him. Pushing him too hard and having Rowan get sick wouldn’t do them any good and besides, Greagor wasn’t exactly sure what they were going to do once they reached the guard house anyway. His first assumption that his men, men he’d trained himself, would stay loyal to him was a grave error on his part. He was just glad that he hadn’t had to kill the two guards in the dungeon. They were still his men after-all.

When he and Rowan had reached the top of the stairs, Greagor had debated with himself whether to go through with the execution as ordered by the Queen, or do what he knew in his heart was right. The decision weighed heavily on him and for a moment, he almost decided against helping the boy but, it was Rowan’s own assurances that convinced him otherwise. Greagor felt the guilt of his choices gnawing at his insides. He’d agreed to help Rowan escape but his reasons weren’t entirely unselfish ones.

As they stood there, looking down the corridor that would lead to Rowan’s death, Rowan made one last plea for mercy. Greagor had tried to harden his heart to the boy’s pleading but he couldn’t help but feel some remorse for Rowan’s predicament. It was Greagor who had found him in the Shee village. It was Greagor who had ordered him to be taken back to the castle, and it was Greagor who had delivered him to the Queen. What was the alternative though? The Queen had ordered him to question every member of that village and then round them all up and bring them back to the castle. Rowan would have been brought back regardless. Even if he had allowed Rowan to escape into the forest, he was almost certain that one of the soldiers would have recognized him and told the Queen.

So many what if’s and maybe’s and yet Greagor couldn’t get past the feeling that all of his decisions were made out of fear. Fear of what the Queen would do to him or his family if she discovered his deception. When Rowan had made his final plea for help, all of Greagor’s shame and guilt over what he had done to the boy came to the surface like bile rising up from his stomach. The sour taste of betrayal sickened him and he suddenly felt like retching. He had to make it right. Consequences or not, he had to make it right. If not, he’d never be able to live with himself or carry on as the Captain of the royal guard for, Rowan was the Prince and the rightful heir to the throne and Greagor had sworn an oath to protect the crown at all costs. As far as he was concerned, that meant Rowan, not Caroline.

He had looked down at Rowan. The boy had tears in his eyes and he shook as he spoke but still, even in the face of his own death, he showed a spirit that Greagor had to admire. He had escaped the Palace a mere child but that child had grown into a man, brave and selfless, and with fierce determination. Determination to survive.

At first, Greagor thought that Rowan was pleading for his own life but then, Greagor watched as Rowan’s hands lowered to his stomach where he cupped his belly and he pleaded for the life growing inside of him. It was in that moment that he knew what he had to do. He couldn’t walk Rowan out to the pyre, no matter what the Queen had ordered. He could barely bring himself to accept one innocent life being taken, but two? He just couldn’t do it. Not again. Greagor had to do something. The Queen’s reign of terror had to stop.

“If you can help me get past the main gate.” Rowan told him. His tears glistened in his eyes like jewels. His large, round, eyes like two shimmering emerald pools. Greagor looked into his eyes and saw something that he had never seen in any vampire before. There was a spark, just a glimmer, but enough that Greagor could see the power that lay dormant in the boy. Fairy magic of the oldest kind. It was often whispered that the omega Prince was different. He could do things that other vampire’s could not. He could control the shadows and move through them. Plants and flowers obeyed him. With one touch he could bring a dead blossom to life, or snuff that life out.

Greagor could see now that those rumors were not rumors but untold truths. Knowing this gave him hope. Maybe, given his unique heritage, Rowan could overthrow the Queen. He may be the only one who could. “I’ll be able to find my husband, Prince Thaden of Rosegate.” Rowan continued. “He’s probably already on his way here, to find me. I just need to reach him.”

“And what then?” Greagor asked, raising an eyebrow as he looked down at the young Prince, searching his eyes for any sign of deception and not finding any. “Will you run away into the night once more, abandoning your people?”

Rowan’s expression became stern, his brow furrowed, and he shook his head. “No.” He said without hesitation. His voice suddenly taking on a tone of authority. “I’ll fight. I’ll save them. Caroline’s time as Queen is over.”

Greagor pursed his lips, then nodded. “I’ll help you.”

***

“My Queen.” The guard bowed before Queen Caroline, his deep baritone voice shook with trepidation. Being one of the newest recruits to his unit, he was tasked with the unfortunate responsibility of delivering extremely distressing news to the Queen. Already annoyed with the execution not going to plan, she most certainly was not going to take the news well. No one wanted to be the one to approach her, no one wanted to be the cause of her anger or the target of her wrath.

“What is it?” She snapped, raising an eyebrow as she dared him to tell her anything other than her prisoner has been found and is being brought out as they spoke. “You have good news, I hope.”

The guard closed his eyes and hung his head low. He let out an audible sigh as he braced himself, not knowing what the Queen’s reaction will be but expecting the worst. “With deepest regret.” He began. “I must inform her Majesty of a terrible crime. It seems that Lord Killian, after escaping his tower rooms and killing the guard on duty has…” He hesitated a moment, lifting his head enough to look up to the Queen with pleading eyes.

“Yes?” The Queen said, growing more impatient by the moment. Of course, she knew what he was going to tell her. Emilia was dead and Killian had killed her. The fate of Lord Killian however, she was not aware of but, whatever she was told, she had to appear as though she were in shock and overcome with grief over the loss of her daughter.

The guard swallowed, nervously. “Killian has…” His hands shook. He could already feel a noose snaking it’s way around his neck, growing tighter the more the Queen’s eyes bore into him. The figurative noose was choking him and he actually coughed. He didn’t want to speak the next words but what choice did he have? “Lord Killian has…”

“Spit it out!” Caroline yelled. Heads of onlookers turned in the her direction as the crowd wondered what was going on. The guard at her feet felt as if he might faint at any moment. He felt embarrassed, and ashamed. He was a guard. Trained to fight and defend. He faced death every time he took up his sword but, kneeling before the Queen now, was the most frightened he had ever been in his life.

“The Princess Emilia.” He sputtered. The Queen leaned closer at the mention of her daughter and the guard tensed. The woman’s suffocating presence made it hard to speak but he managed to relay the message he’d been sent to give her. “She’s dead.” He cringed as he said the words. The Queen’s eyes went wide and her hands twisted and curled into two tight fists. He could feel the anger rolling off her, could smell it almost. Oh how he wanted to run then. Just jump to his feet and run. Anywhere, just to escape his demon Queen and the murderous glare that she was giving him.

“How?” The word came out as a low, dangerous growl. Her top lip curled back, revealing her fangs. Her eyes turned black as they narrowed, pinning the guard down with her gaze. She was on her feet in a second, and from her position she towered over the guard as she demanded answers from him. “How did this happen?” She screamed at him.

The guard shook his head. “My Queen, I do not know how Lord Killian escaped but I was told that he entered the Princesses chambers, attacked her maids, and locked himself in her bed chamber. By the time the royal guard had broken through the doors, Killian had already dispatched her. He had..apparently…stabbed her through the chest with a silver bladed dagger.”

Caroline, flustered, began to wring her hands and fidget as though not sure what to do. She appeared to take in the information with a sense of uncertainty as though she were having difficulty believing what she had just been told all the while, murmuring to herself words to low for others to hear. She turned back to the guard, her crazed and darkened eyes bore into him. “Where is Lord Killian now?” She demanded. “Where is my daughter’s killer?”

“Dead.” The guard responded. “By his own hand. Before the guard could arrest him, he drove the same dagger through his own heart.”

“Dead?” She repeated the word as she paced back and forth on the landing before her chair. “And what of the prisoner?”

“My Lady?” The guard looked at her, confused.

“The prisoner you fool! The one who was meant to be executed tonight. Where is he? And where is Greagor? Is everyone in this palace so incompetent?” Before the guard should answer her, Caroline raked her claws across his face. Three deep gashes appeared, ripping through his left eye, across his nose, and through the corner of his mouth. Blood gushed from the wound and the guard howled in pain as he covered his face with his hands and fell backwards, into the stands. Those seated there moved out of the way as he came crashing down to where they had been sitting.

Momentarily dazed, the guard lay on his side, his legs hung limply over the wooden bench, his hands still covering his wounded face. No one moved to help him. They too feared the Queen’s wrath. The Queen herself, sat back down in her seat and watched as the guard groaned and struggled to right himself on the bench. With one hand still covering his eye, he used the other to push himself up to a sitting position. His face and hands were covered in blood but, the wounds themselves had stopped bleeding, already beginning to heal themselves.

“Get up!” The Queen commanded. “Honestly! You’re a disgrace. You’re lucky I don’t have you beheaded for your incompetence.”

The guard had managed to drag himself to his feet, giving the Queen a half bow as he still had one hand over his eye and was unsteady on his feet. He was seething with anger now that replaced the fear he’d once had when facing the Queen. He glared back at her as she stared at him showing no remorse for her actions. Instead, he saw a smug smile form on her lips. “Remove your hand.” She ordered him. He did as instructed, saying nothing, only lowering his hand to reveal the bloodied and scarred flesh across his face and, the eye that was now clouded, blind, having been torn in half and then sealed back together with an obvious slit across the pupil.

Caroline looked him over, admiring her handy work and, for a moment, the guard thought he saw a hint of amusement in her cruel eyes. “What is your name?” She asked him.

“Evander.” He answered coldly.

“Well, Evander.” The Queen smirked at the guards obvious disdain for her. “You shall serve as a reminder to all of what happens to those who displease their Queen. Now, tell me. Where is Greagor and my prisoner?”

“We do not know.” Evander told her. His expression remained emotionless. No longer fearing that she would kill him, Evander instead regarded her with contempt. He hated the woman. Now, more so than before. This was not the ruler he wished to serve but he had no choice. She was Queen and he was bound by duty to obey her. He contained his anger as he stood before her but, if ever he’d had any respect for the woman at all, it was gone now. “Two guards were discovered in the hall at the top of the stairs leading to the dungeon. Neither the Captain nor the prisoner have been found yet and the squire you sent is also missing.”

Caroline grit her teeth, her long claws raking across the arm of her chair. Her wicked smirk gone now, replaced with rage. Evander internally grinned. He wouldn’t say it aloud but he actually hoped that the prisoner, whoever he was, managed to get away. Not because he felt the man was innocent or because he felt the Queen was wrong but, because he wanted to see her squirm. Whoever this prisoner was, whatever he had done, the Queen feared him. Evander could see it in her eyes. She wanted him dead because she feared what he would do to her. He must have been someone of great importance. A true enemy to the crown. Good. Evander thought. Perhaps the Queen will get what’s coming to her after all.

“Find them.” The Queen growled. “I want that prisoner caught and brought to me.”

“Perhaps, my Queen…” Evander felt bile rise up his throat even calling her that. “It would be more pertinent to attend to the Princess first. The people will want to know what happened and…”

Caroline held up a hand. “There is nothing I can do for her now. Her killer is dead. There is no one else to blame. The priest will attend her. My more pressing issue is to recapture my captive. He will burn before the night is done. He and any who aide him. I want them all found and brought before me for judgement. Get the word out to all. Man every point of entry, search the entire Kingdom if you have to. I will not allow treason among my men to go unpunished. Not even the Captain.”

Evander bowed as he backed away. “As you wish, your Majesty.” His words dripped with venom as he turned his back on the Queen and left to carry out her orders. He would find the prisoner and those who helped him but, he had no intention of delivering them to the Queen. If his actions meant treason then so be it. He’d rather burn with those who defied Caroline then follow a false Queen.

***

After Greagor had agreed to help Rowan escape, he informed the two guards that there was a change in plan. Greagor was certain that his men would aide them. He was their Captain after all, and they had each pledged their loyalty to the crown. As far as Greagor was concerned that meant Rowan. Rowan was the rightful heir, omega or not, he had more claim to the throne than Caroline did. Greagor’s men, unfortunately, did not feel the same. They refused to help, and even attempted to detain them. Their own Captain! They thought they could detain their Captain and betray him by dragging him before that bitch on the throne.

Greagor was having none of that. He’d trained these men. He knew their strengths and their weaknesses. They soon found out that they were no match for their Captain, a man hundreds of years their elder, and more powerful in every way. Greagor attempted to reason with them, get them to see things from his perspective but, when that failed, he was left with limited options. Rather than fight, and possibly kill the two men, Greagor elected to instead knock them both unconscious.

With a quick snap of the neck, both men went down. Such an injury would have killed a human but these men were not human. They were vampires. The injuries to their necks would heal but the process would be slow, giving Greagor and Rowan the time they needed to escape. Rowan looked to Greagor, confusion written across his young face. “They’re good men.” Greagor explained. “They don’t deserve to die.”

“But, they serve Caroline.” Rowan pointed out.

“They serve Basmorte.” Greagor corrected. “And when you reclaim the throne, they will serve you.”

“You really think so?” Rowan asked, a bit skeptical.

Greagor nodded. “I know so. I trained them.”

That was all Rowan needed to hear. He trusted Greagor. He’d always trusted the man. Even when Desmond was still alive. Greagor had always been kind to Rowan. He’d turned a blind eye when Rowan had been in a part of the castle that he wasn’t permitted to be in or, when he was playing instead of doing his studies. He’d even found Rowan outside the Palace walls once and promptly returned him to the Palace. Rowan had thought for sure that Greagor would have reported him to his father but he did not.

Rowan wasn’t sure if it was sympathy or pity, but Greagor had always treated Rowan with gentle kindness. Rowan considered him a true friend. Even when Rowan had thought that Greagor had betrayed him. He still thought of the man as a friend. Maybe he’d just lost his way for a time but in the end, Greagor had come through for him, as he always had.

Leaving the two guards in the corridor at the top of the stairs, Greagor and Rowan had escaped down the corridor, towards the guard house. Rowan didn’t know where they were going. He had never known these tunnels even existed but, he trusted that Greagor knew the way out. It seemed as though they had been running for hours. Greagor didn’t seem the least bit tired. It seemed that the man could have gone on for hours with no need to stop and rest but Rowan was exhausted. His legs hurt, his back ached, and his arms felt like they were made of jelly. One more step and he was certain that he’d pass out from the effort.

Besides his physical exhaustion, Rowan realized that he was hungry. No, starving. He hadn’t eaten anything since leaving Pickaway village and hadn’t fed since passing out in the forest. The Shee side of him didn’t need blood to survive but the vampire side did and he was starting to feel the effects of going too long without it. Still, he tried to stay strong. He could go on if he just pushed himself a little harder. He could feed once he was safely away from the Palace. Once he’d found Thaden. His desire to be reunited with husband was stronger than anything and he was determined to be in his arms once more, feeling his arms protectively wrapped around him.

“I just need a moment.” Rowan struggled to catch his breath as he spoke. They had reached the chamber beneath the guard house. They were almost there. A moment to rest wouldn’t matter at this point. As soon as he ascended the ladder to the guard house, Rowan would be mere feet from the main gate. His freedom was just within reach.

Leaning against the wall, Rowan took in a deep breath, calming his shaking limbs and rubbing at his sore back. He was barely pregnant, could he already be feeling the effects of it or, was it too soon? He wasn’t sure. All he knew was that the exhaustion he felt wasn’t his imagination. Greagor looked at him, concerned.

“I’m alright.” Rowan told him. “I just need to rest a moment then we can go on.”

“When is the last time you fed?” Greagor asked him.

Rowan sighed. “Too long.” He answered. “And it was only rabbit.”

“That’s not enough to sustain you.” Greagor narrowed his eyes at the young Prince and frowned. “I would have thought by now you would have learned that you need blood to survive. Especially in your current condition.”

Rowan looked down at his feet. He ran a hand through his hair and kicked at a few stray stones on the floor. “I do know that I need blood to survive.” He told the man. “But, knowing that doesn’t make it any less disgusting.”

“You can’t fight your nature.” Greagor told him. “No matter how much you try to deceive yourself, you’re still half vampire.”

Rowan nodded, knowing that Greagor was right. It was just a half of himself that he’d rather not acknowledge. He couldn’t change what he was, couldn’t change being a vampire anymore than he could change being an omega. It had never set well with him. Being a vampire, in his mind, meant that he was evil. At least now he knew the truth about who and what his mother was. It helped to know that there was at least a part of him that wasn’t a monster.

“We should get moving again.” Rowan said, changing the subject.

“Are you sure that you’re feeling up to it?” Greagor asked him. “If you need more rest…”

“I’m fine.” Rowan said, pushing himself away from the wall. “And it won’t be long before Caroline sends someone after us.” No sooner had he spoke the words when Rowan stopped, his acute hearing picking up the sounds of movement further down the corridor. Greagor heard it too. He was immediately on his feet, moving Rowan behind him as he held his sword at the ready. They listened to the scuttling of foot steps as they came closer to the chambers entrance.

Rowan held his breath as he waited. His hand rested against his still flat belly, his muscles tense, his guard up. He didn’t want to fight but he would if it came down to it. He would do anything to protect his unborn child. Even kill if he had to. The footfalls began to slow as the owner drew closer to the chamber. Rowan could tell now that it was only one person which caused him to exhale in relief. One man or woman would be nothing for them to deal with.

Greagor stepped into full view of the archway now and the figure approaching them stopped when he saw him and, raised his hands to show he was unarmed. Greagor lowered and re-sheathed his sword when he saw the person standing before him. It was just a young squire, no more than eighteen or nineteen. He could have looked young, of course, and been much older but given his status it was obvious he was just a boy. A Knight, or even a guard, would have been much older. At least a century older. This squire had a long way to go before he reached Knighthood.

The squire bowed at the waist upon seeing Greagor. “Captain.” He said, respectfully.

Greagor eyed him suspiciously. “What are you doing here?” Greagor demanded, his voice sounding gruff and cold.

“The Queen sent me.” The boy stammered. Greagor’s hand moved once more to the hilt of his sword. The boy must have seen this movement because his eyes went wide and he immediately put his hands up again, as if in surrender. “Please, I don’t mean you any harm.” The boy explained. “I was just following orders and, when I saw the two guards laid out in the corridor, I thought you might be in trouble.”

Greagor chuckled at this. He removed his hand from the sword, instead, laying it gently on the boys forearm. “I’m the Captain, child. It was I who laid those men out. I assure you, I’m fine.”

The boy sighed in relief and nodded. “And the prisoner?” The squire asked.

It was then that Rowan stepped out from behind Greagor and looked to the youth. His expression stern, his eyes focused on the squire as he raised a brow. “I am no prisoner.” He said, a hint of anger in his words. “I am a Prince of Basmorte and your Queen is an imposter.”

It took only a moment for what Rowan had said to register in the boy’s mind. He studied Rowan’s face in the flickering fire light of the torches mounted on the wall. A look of shock crossed the young man’s face to be quickly replaced with alarm. At once the young squire gasped then went down on one knee, bowing his head. His body trembled with fear as he spoke. “F…forgive me, your Highness.” His voice was soft but strained. “I…I thought…I mean…I was told you were dead.”

“That was my doing.” Rowan explained. “I had to find a way to escape the Palace. To escape my father but, I’m back now. I’ve seen the horrors of the false Queen and could no longer stand by and watch my people suffer at her hands.” Rowan held out a hand to the squire and the boy looked up slowly. He took the offered hand and Rowan helped him to his feet.

“So, squire.” Greagor addressed the boy. The tone of his voice caused the boy to shiver under the weight of the Captain’s authority. “Now that you know your Prince lives, will remain loyal to the Queen or will you swear fealty to your Prince, the true ruler of Basmorte?”

Without giving it a second thought, the squire brought Rowan’s hand to his lips and gently kissed his fingers. “There is no question.” He said. “I am a servant to the realm. I was never loyal to the Queen and I swear no allegiance to her now. I swear my loyalty to Prince Rowan. Always.”

“What is your name?” Rowan asked him.

“Aidan, your Highness.” The squire bowed to him. “And, I am your humble servant.”

Rowan smiled. “Then come Aidan. We must find my husband and hope that he can convince the Elven army to fight with us. It is time that we knock this false Queen off her throne.”

5. BEST LAID PLANS

After finding the two guards passed out in the corridor, the entire Kingdom was suddenly put on high alert. The Queen had ordered that Greagor and the prisoner be captured and brought before her. She was hellbent on the execution of the prisoner but, Greagor’s fate remained to be seen. The entire situation didn’t sit well with Evander. Greagor was his captain. He’d trained under him and had served him for years. He trusted Greagor. It was the Queen he didn’t trust.

If Greagor had escaped with the prisoner, he wouldn’t have just waltz out the dungeon doors with him and, they weren’t hiding somewhere in the holding cells. Knowing Greagor, there was only one place they could go. Down the tunnel to the guard house. Greagor was trying to reach the main gate where he could easily lead the prisoner out of Basmorte to safety. Easy, that is, if the guards on duty didn’t try to stop them first. Honestly, Evander had no idea how the other guards would react. Greagor was their captain but would they be willing to commit treason for him?

If the guards refused to let them pass that could be a problem. Greagor was a formidable man and a great warrior but, even he was no match for the handful of guards he’d find guarding the gate. A skirmish with them could easily turn into a blood bath. Evander had to make it to the main gate himself and intercept the captain and his prisoner before things got out of hand. If there was a fight, at least having Evander on his side might give Greagor a chance.

Evander still had no idea who this prisoner was but, if Greagor were willing to risk everything to protect him, that was good enough for Evander. He had no loyalty to the Queen anyway. Mounting his horse, Evander took off for the main gate as fast as the gelding could manage. He just prayed he’d make it in time.

No one attempted to stop him as he raced through the city though he did get some suspicious looks from the people he passed. Most of the time the guard rode through slowly, doing patrols of the city to make sure all was well within the city walls. They would stop and talk to the people at times or just stop at one point and watch the goings on around them. To see Evander riding through as fast as if the devil were on his heels meant only one thing, something out of the ordinary had happened. The people were curious, of course, but Evander didn’t have time to stop and ease their concerns.

“Out of the way!” He shouted to an alarmed looking couple as he sped down the road. The couple immediately moved to the side to let him pass. Evander didn’t even give them a second glance.

The rest of the way was fairly unobstructed. He did knock over a cart of apples on the way but that was it. The merchant who owed the cart cursed him as he rode past but Evander paid him little attention. This was a matter of life or death after all and he just did not have the time to deal with pissed off vendors.

It had taken nearly twenty minutes but he’d finally reached his destination. All seemed quiet as he approached. Slowing down as to not cause alarm, he made his way to the guard post near the gate and stopped. There were two guards stationed at the gate, guarding the wicket. Four more were patrolling the top of the wall, all armed with cross bows. Evander could see them walking back and forth, looking out into the darkness towards the forest but they didn’t seem as though they were overly concerned. The two guards in the gate house were playing cards. They briefly looked up as Evander approached but seeing who it was, quickly went back to their game.

Evander wasn’t sure how many were in the guard house as it was located a fair distance from the gate but, from where he was sitting, perched on his mount, he could see candle lights burning in the windows on all three floors of the building. He tensed as he looked the building over. Greagor and the prisoner would be coming up through the ground floor. From there they would most likely exit through the west side door and then cross the grounds to the gate where they would try to leave through the wicket. If they were quiet enough, they could make it to the gate without alerting the other guards. The two in the gate house would be easy to get past, as long as they didn’t sound the alarm.

Evander thought of trying to distract them but, he knew these men well. They wouldn’t be easily distracted from their duty to guard the gate. He considered talking to them. He could explain the situation and hope that they were of the same mind as him. Many of the guards disliked the Queen but would they really be willing to betray her? False Queen or not, she was the current monarch on the throne and each and every guard had pledged their loyalty to the crown.

Evander just didn’t know what to do. What would be the best way to handle this situation? Whatever he decided to do had to be done fast, time was running out. Greagor and the prisoner must, by now, have made it to the underground chamber. It was only a matter of time before they emerged.

Evander climbed down from his horse. The guards in the gate house were still engaged in their game but both glanced up as he approached them.

“What are you doing here, Evander? Weren’t you assigned to the court yard this evening?” The guard closest to the opened doorway asked, his eyes still glued to the cards he held in his hands.

“I was, Munro. There’s a…situation though. The Queen sent me to alert the guard of a possible escape attempt.”

Both guards abandoned their game and stood up, walking immediately to where Evander was standing in the doorway. Once they looked up and really had a look at him both men grimaced at the sight of his face. “What the hell happened to ya, Lad?” The second and considerably younger guard asked. “Did the escaped prisoner do this to ya?”

Evander averted his eyes as a look of shame washed over his face. “No, Hamish.” He answered, finding no reason to lie to these men. Especially if he wanted their help. “It was the Queen.”

“The Queen?” Monro raised an eyebrow though he didn’t sound surprised by the news. “Why would she do this? Did you offend her in some way?”

“I merely reported to her what I was told. The Princess was murdered, Lord Killian took his own life, and the Captain helped the prisoner escape the dungeon. She did not appreciate the news and so did this in her anger.” He pointed to his eye and the faded scar that ran across his otherwise unblemished face.

“Dear Gods.” Hamish gasped as Evander told the story.

Monro nodded. “She will burn in the fires of hell for what she’s done.” He growled.

“Monro!” Hamish stared at the older man, eyes wide with fright. “Tis treason to speak ill of the Queen.”

“Is there any here who will tell her?” Monro bellowed as he puffed out his chest and stared down at the younger man.

Hamish was quick to shake his head. “Not I.” He said.

“Nor I.” Evander added. “As far as I’m concerned, the Queen can go fuck herself.”

The three men chuckled at the idea. They walked back inside the gate house to further discuss the situation and figure out what they were going to do about the Captain and the escaped prisoner.

***

Greagor was the first to climb the ladder into the upper level of the guard house which was, in fact, the ground floor. Rowan followed and Aidan, the squire, brought up the rear. Greagor wasn’t sure what they would find when they reached the guard house so he insisted on going first. Aidan followed after Rowan just in case they were attacked from the tunnels. This way, Rowan was sandwiched between them and better protected from any Knights or Guards that might attempt to stop them.

Greagor wasn’t sure what good the squire would be in a fight. He would have had some combat training but he carried no weapons. Neither did Rowan as his dagger had been taken from him when he was arrested. Still, both were vampires, well Rowan was half, but at least that gave them a slight advantage. If it came down to it, they had their claws and fangs to fight with. Greagor just hoped that it didn’t come down to a fight. If it did, they would be seriously out matched. The Captain could hold his own but with a scrawny, barely adult, squire and a pregnant omega Prince to worry about, it put Greagor in a precarious position. He couldn’t fight and protect both of them at the same time.

Greagor was relieved to see the ground floor completely empty. He had expected it under normal circumstances. The guards usually gathered in the upper levels where they had a higher vantage point in case of attackers. The highest level also led to the wall which was patrolled both night and day. He wasn’t sure though if there would be any soldiers waiting for him and Rowan. The fact that they were not though, told Greagor that the guards had not yet been alerted to their escape.

Once he was in the room above the lower chamber and had made certain that it was safe, he motioned for Rowan to come up. Greagor helped him through the hatch in the floor and then both waited as Aidan made his way through. Greagor closed the hatch and then placed a finger to his lips and pointed to the floor above. Rowan understood at once what he meant. Greagor did not want them to make any noise that would alert the guards above that they were there.

Greagor waved his hand, signaling for the others to follow him as he quietly made his way across the room to the west door, leading to the yard outside. Under the cover of night they should be able to go undetected if they kept to the wall. The real issue would come when they reached the gate house and had to explain to the guards stationed there what was going on. Greagor knew the men on duty. He had assigned them to the main gate himself. Hamish and Monro. Both good soldiers and loyal to the crown. Greagor just hoped they were loyal to him as well.

Greagor told Rowan to stay close. He opened the door and the cool air from outside rushed into the room, causing Rowan to shiver. Greagor and Aidan were unaffected by the cold but Rowan, being half Shee, felt it to his bones. Fall was slowly slipping away as winter drifted towards them. Rowan stepped out into the cool night and looked up at the moon. Full and mysterious looking, it’s silver beams of light reached down from the heavens and lit a path through the darkness. Rowan let his head fall back, his face now raised to the night sky and he closed his eyes as he allowed his face to be bathed in the moonlight.

Somewhere in the distance a wolf howled. Rowan didn’t pay it any mind though. His thoughts were elsewhere. Past the gate that held him within the city limits, past the Palace of Basmorte, even past the forest where the werewolves were, no doubt, running freely in their furs. Rowan’s thoughts wandered to a place that could not be seen by people of this realm. He was thinking of Annwn, the land of the Tuatha. His thoughts had wandered to that of his mother. He could almost feel her close to him. Her presence was all around yet separated by the veil between the living and the dead.

He could feel the stillness in the air, and the shift of energy as the moon shone down on him. At first he didn’t understand why he was feeling what he was feeling. He’d been locked in the dungeon for days, not really knowing how long he’d been there, or even knowing what day it was. But, standing in the yard near the wall now he understood. This was the night of Sauin, the end of the fall harvest and the night when the veil was at it’s weakest. He could feel his mother’s presence and sense her power because her spirit was closer to him now that it had ever been. Caroline had chosen this night to execute Rowan as an insult to him and his ancestors. Probably as a slight against the Goddess Morrigu herself.

Rowan had to smirk when he thought of Caroline and how angry she must be now. Her plan had failed miserably. If either of them were to die this night, Rowan was absolutely positive that it would not be him. He would make certain of that, in fact. As soon as he met up with Thaden again, he would speak to him about going back to Rosegate. There Thaden could convince his father and brother to invade Basmorte. Rowan would ride alongside them and take back the throne. Caroline could then be locked in the dungeons until her trial. For once she would be alone, without friends or allies. Rowan wasn’t sure yet what he would have done with Emilia but one thing he knew for sure was that the bitch would be joining her mother in a rat infested cell.

A hand lightly touched Rowan’s shoulder and Rowan turned to see Aidan standing beside him. The squire nodded towards Greagor who was already moving towards the gate house. He looked back to the others and motioned with his head for them to follow.

Just as Greagor had anticipated, Hamish and Monro were inside the gate house but they weren’t playing cards as they normally did. Instead, they were speaking with another guard, a young guard who had only served under Greagor for the past three years but still, Greagor knew the man well. What puzzled him though was why the man was there. He wasn’t stationed at the guard house or the main gate. He was ordered to provide security in the court yard just in case the crowd decided to riot when they realized who it was the Queen was planning to execute.

Of course, Rowan never made it to the courtyard or the pyre that had been erected to burn him but, that did not give Evander permission to leave his post. The only one who could have ordered him to leave was the Queen. So, that begged the question, why was he there? What had the Queen ordered him to do?

“Evander?” Greagor stepped into view of the gate house, Rowan and Aidan safely behind him. His voice was stern and commanding but without anger, just curiosity. “Why are you here?” He asked the obvious question. “You were stationed at the court yard.”

“Captain.” Evander turned and bowed and when Greagor saw the young man’s face he paled.

“What in Sheul’s name happened to you?” Greagor demanded.

Evander explained to Greagor what the Queen had done to him, as he had explained it to Hamish and Monro. He then told Greagor of how the Queen had ordered him to alert the guard and have Greagor as well as the prisoner apprehended. Hearing this, Greagor was furious. Not only was the bitch Queen planning to murder the Prince and rightful heir to the throne but, now she was injuring his men for her own petty satisfaction. More so now than before Greagor was glad that he’d sided with Rowan. Basmorte needed a ruler that would care for its people. Vampire and Fae alike.

“So, you all now know that I’ve aided the prisoner in escaping.” Greagor looked to the three guards with a raised brow as he studied their expressions. “The question now is, do you stand with me or, do you follow the rule of a corrupt Queen?”

Evander already knew the answer to that but, he was still curious. Who was this prisoner that Greagor was so willing to risk his life to save? And, why was Queen Caroline so hellbent on seeing him or her burn?

“My loyalty has always been with you, my Captain. That was never in question but, I have to ask, who is this prisoner that we are meant to protect? Why are they so important?” Hamish and Monro locked eyes with the captain and each nodded their heads, wondering the same thing.

“Maybe it’s best that I let him explain.” Greagor said and he stepped aside to allow Rowan to step forward.

“Gentlemen.” Rowan addressed the three of them and the moment they saw his face all three men fell silent. It was obvious from their expressions of shock and confusion that they were trying to wrap their heads around what and who they were looking at. There, before them, stood the supposedly dead Prince, alive and well. Was this a joke? Some kind of trick? They just couldn’t comprehend what it was that they were seeing. He wasn’t a ghost nor a zombie. He looked exactly as he had before the fateful night he’d supposedly taken his own life.

He was still young, radiant, and enchanting to behold. Maybe a bit healthier looking and without the forlorn face he normally sported but, he was still Rowan, their lost Prince. Not knowing what to say or do, Hamish and Monro immediately took a knee, declaring their allegiance to Rowan but, Evander stood still, staring at the young man with a look on his face that was something between disbelief and anger.

“Evander.” Monro whispered from where he knelt on the floor. “Kneel, for Sheul’s sake, he is our Prince!”

“No.” Evander said. His eyes remained locked on Rowan and his voice was low and accusing. “I will not kneel. Not until he explains himself.”

“Evander!” Greagor scolded. “It is not your place!”

The two guards still kneeling grimaced at the ire in their captain’s voice but Rowan only put up a hand, telling Greagor that it was alright.

“He’s right.” Rowan said. His voice remained calm and he spoke with understanding. “I owe him, I owe all of you, an explanation for my actions. What I did was deceitful, and cowardly. I thought only of myself and my own happiness and for that I am deeply sorry. I do feel though that my journey, as short as it was, has helped me grow into a better man and a more capable ruler than I would have been otherwise. This does not excuse my actions though. I am a servant of the people first and foremost and I should have thought about that before making such a rash decision.”

“But, why?” Evander asked, narrowing his eyes. “Why did you abandon us in the first place? I could forgive such an act if you have a valid reason. Was your life in danger?”

Rowan motioned for Hamish and Monro to stand as he addressed the three of them. “I was a child, fearful of my father’s wrath if I refused to wed Lord Killian. I did not love him. Honestly, I found him repulsive. I could think only of how miserable my life would be as that man’s mate so, I did the only thing I could think of at the time. I ran away.” Rowan went on to explain the circumstances of his fake death, leaving out the part about how Caroline and Emilia had planned to trick him into drinking actual poison. That was a tale best told at a later date, when they had more time.

There was much that Rowan wanted to explain but it could wait. The most important thing was reaching Thaden and planning their next move. Rowan assured the three guards that he intended to take back the throne from Caroline. He just couldn’t do it alone. His only hope at this point was that the Elven King would take this opportunity to crush his long time enemy. Then, with Rowan and Thaden on the throne, perhaps they could work towards peace between the realms and possibly form an alliance. This all rested on finding Thaden though, telling him of Rowan’s plan, and convincing Thaden to speak to his father.

“Where is the Elven Prince now?” Monro asked as they all sat around the table in the gatehouse.

“I was taken from Pickaway village.” Rowan explained. “At the time, Thaden was there. I’m sure by now he’s figured out that I was taken and is on his way here.”

“Can you really be so certain of that?”Hamish asked.

Rowan smiled. “He’s my mate. My true and fated mate. He will come for me. Besides, it is not just my life at stake.” He gently touched his belly and the two guards eye’s followed his hand to where it rested.

“My prince!” Hamish gasped. “You’re in no condition to be going into battle!”

“Perhaps it won’t come to that.” Rowan told the man. “Most if not all of Basmorte is ready to revolt, or so I’ve heard. With the Elves backing me, perhaps my own troops will abandon Caroline and side with me, their true sovereign.”

“What about the council?” Monro asked. “Some believe that they have aided Caroline in her rise to the throne. They may not acknowledge your claim.”

Rowan sighed, pursing his lips as he nodded. “My father allowed the council too much power but, he was a weak ruler and cared little for the Kingdom. The council is here to guide and advise the King or Queen but, their word is not law. When it comes down to it, the one who holds the real power is the one who sits on the throne.”

“What say you, Evander? Do you think the council will back Prince Rowan?” Hamish questioned Evander and all eyes turned towards the man but it became quickly apparent that Evander’s attention was elsewhere. Rowan had to wonder if the man had even heard a word he’d said in the last ten minutes.

“Evander?” Hamish called out to him, attempting to bring his attention back to the conversation. Evander turned towards the other guard and looked up with a dazed expression on his face. Rowan followed to where his gaze had been only moments before and saw Aidan, standing behind him, blushing from ear to ear.

“The council?” Hamish repeated his earlier question. “Do you think the council will back the Prince?”

“Oh.” Evander scratched the back of his head as he tried to piece together what the others had been discussing. He simply shrugged his shoulders. “Who’s to know.” He said. “All we can do is wait and see.”

Hamish frowned, obviously not pleased with the answer but Evander didn’t even seem to notice as he turned his attention back to Aidan. Aidan smiled at the man then averted his eyes as a deep blush once again rose up his cheeks.

Evander stood up and walked to Aidan who was now staring blankly at the floor. Evander placed a finger under the younger man’s chin and lifted his head up so that they were looking at each other. “You have such beautiful eyes.” Evander told him.

“T-thank you.” Aidan said, the words coming out as a squeak that Evander found absolutely adorable.

“Perhaps when this is all over, you and I could spend some time together.”

Aidan’s eyes lit up at the suggestion and he nodded his agreement. “I-I would like that.” He said.

Monro elbowed Hamish in the side then grinned. “I think Evander has more on his mind than politics.” He said, and both men chuckled.

“Alright.” Greagor said as he stood up from the table. “The two of you can moon over each other later. Our priority now is getting the Prince to safety and that means getting him out of Basmorte.”

“I think Aidan should accompany the Prince once he leaves the city. It will be safer for him then.” Evander was the first to speak up and a look passed between he and the squire. Greagor noticed it but said nothing. He wasn’t sure if it was Rowan’s safety or Aidan’s that Evander was worried about but it didn’t really matter. Aidan wasn’t a warrior. He was little more than a messenger boy and would be of no use in a fight but, he could be useful to Rowan. At least the Prince wouldn’t be alone when he left to find his husband.

“I agree.” Greagor said. “Aidan, you will go with Prince Rowan and help him locate his mate. The four of us…” He motioned towards himself, Evander, and the others. “We’ll make sure your path is clear and see you safely out of the city.”

“And after that?” Rowan asked him. “The Queen will know you’ve helped me. How will you avoid capture.”

Greagor pursed his lips. He hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. “We’ll just have to cross that bridge when we come to it.” He answered. In truth, he was worried about what the Queen would do when she discovered that Rowan had escaped and that Greagor had aided him in it. He feared most of all that she would go after his family just to make a point. He had to have faith though that Rowan would reach the Elven Prince in time and together, persuade the King to lend them his army. If Rowan’s plan worked and he took back the throne then Greagor and his family would be safe, and so would all of Basmorte.

6. WHEN THE CROW SINGS

Greagor led the group out of the gate house. He didn’t anticipate trouble but the guards on the wall and in the guard house were not aware of the situation. If the group was spotted trying to sneak Rowan and Aidan out of the city, the guards on lookout might attempt to stop them. Greagor could explain to them later what was going on but for the time being he would just order them to stand down and hoped they had enough sense to listen.

Hamish and Monro were the next to exit and Evander, staying close to Aidan, led he and Rowan outside behind the others. All the guards, including Greagor, formed a circle around Rowan and Aidan. Aidan moved closer to Rowan as though trying to shield Rowan with his own body. Greagor admired Aidan for his part in the escape. He may not have been a trained fighter but he was brave and loyal to his Prince. He would no doubt make a fine Knight one day. Of that Greagor was certain.

As the group made their way silently out of the gate house and along the wall to where the wicket was located near the gate and about fifteen feet from the gate house, Greagor noticed how quiet the night was. It as almost too quiet. The guards patrolling the wall had not noticed them and, it seemed like all life had stopped. Save for the sounds of crickets chirping in the distance there was nothing. Even the wolves had gone silent. At this hour they should have been able to hear the sounds of the city coming to life. Half the city had been at the courtyard, awaiting the execution but by now they would have realized that it wasn’t happening and returned to their homes or work.

It was odd. There was no sound of anyone talking or bartering for goods, no sounds of carts being driven along the roads. No noises of children at play. It was as though the entire Kingdom of Basmorte had just abruptly cleared the streets and taken refuge in their homes. Greagor didn’t like it. He didn’t like the calm, still, quiet or the feeling he was suddenly getting. The feeling… of being watched.

The others had noticed it too. Each of them felt uneasy and the tension in the air was thick as their instincts were warning them that there was hidden danger near-by. Greagor tried to push his anxiety down. He was their captain, their leader. He couldn’t show fear for the others would certainly pick up on that and panic but, the closer they got to the gate, the more he started to think that they were not alone.

The sounds of hooves rushing towards them broke the silence and each of the small group turned their heads to look in the direction that the sound was coming from. Rowan’s heart sank when he saw four Knights riding towards them. The four that approached came to a stop three feet from where the group stood, waiting and watching. Rowan knew trying to run now would be a mistake. These men were warriors, trained killers. Even if Rowan ran now, they were likely hunt him down and either drag him back to the Queen or kill him on the spot.

A handful of Knights had been in Pickaway village the night Rowan had been taken but they were there as enforcers. They were the muscle. The guards were trained fighters as well but they were not the ones sent off into battle. They were meant to guard the gate and Palace, police the city, and protect the people as well as the royal family.

If Caroline had wanted the village wiped out she would have sent the Knights in alone. Sending Greagor and his guard meant she had wanted them captured and Questioned. The Queen would only send her Knights if she wanted someone dead. This did not sit well with Rowan because it became painfully aware to him exactly what the Queen was doing. These men were to apprehend him and take him to the Queen and then kill the others. Just by accepting help from Greagor and the others, Rowan had put their lives in jeopardy.

“Halt! In the name of the Queen.” Rowan looked up towards the Knight who had spoken. He did not recognize the three men behind him but this man he did know. He was Sir, Richard Caffrey, a commander and, the three men behind him, were lieutenants.

Greagor motioned for the others to stay behind him as he stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The three lieutenants rode around, surrounding Greagor’s group and blocking their path. Each of the men looked so imposing as they sat upon their horses, their perfectly polished armor gleaming in the moonlight. Rowan was in awe of them. Greagor, on the other hand, stared at the men surrounding them with contempt.

He narrowed his eyes and frowned then turned his attention back to the Commander. “Sir Caffrey.” He asked, his voice hard and stern. “None of your men are stationed at the gate. What business have you here?”

“I am here on her majesty’s orders.” Caffrey said. His voice was hard and emotionless as he looked down to Greagor. His eyes bore into the man, almost accusingly. Caffrey’s staunch loyalty to the Queen never wavering.

Greagor’s fingers tightened their grip around the hilt of his sword. He was ready for a fight, ready to defend the Prince and he knew that the men behind him would follow him into battle without a second thought. Their loyalty to their captain was every bit as steadfast as the Knight’s was to their Queen. Greagor never doubted his men’s honor. Not for one moment. What he did doubt, however, were their chances of surviving such a battle. Four guards and squire against the Queen’s army did not bode well for them. True, there were only four Knights present. That didn’t mean that more weren’t hidden, just out of view, waiting on word from their commander to attack. Greagor just wasn’t willing to take that chance.

“For what purpose did she send you?” Greagor asked, knowing all too well what the answer would be.

Caffrey frowned and furrowed his brow. Already he was growing tired of talking. He wanted to take action and Greagor was stalling him. “My orders are to apprehend the prisoner and, any who attempt to aide him.”

“Kill us you mean!” Evander stepped out from behind Greagor and glared menacingly at the Knight. When he spoke, his words were sharp and his voice laced with anger. “You betray your honor, Sir Caffrey.”

“My honor is intact, boy.” Caffrey scowled at Evander. “As a Knight, I am honor bound to carry out her majesty’s justice.”

“This is not justice.” Evander sneered. “It’s cold-blooded murder!”

“You dare to question the Queen’s orders?” Caffrey demanded, his voice cold and commanding.

“This Queen?” Evander’s lips curled into an ugly frown and his nostrils flared. “I certainly do and, you should as well. Do you even know why the Queen wants her so-called prisoner recaptured? Has she told you what he’s supposedly done? Did you even bother to ask?”

“She has her reasons.” Caffrey told him, standing firm. “It’s not my place to question, only to obey.”

“Your loyalty is misplaced.” Evander shook his head in disbelief. “The Queen is a tyrant. The Kingdom is ready to revolt against her. Why do you still follow her?”

“Because.” Caffrey sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose. “She is my Queen and I have sworn an oath to serve and defend the crown.”

“And I have sworn an oath to protect the royal bloodline.” Greagor took a step forward, his hand still tightly gripping the hilt of his sword. “And, it’s an oath I plan to keep.”

“Even at the cost of your own life?” Caffrey watched as Greagor moved into a fighting stance, ready to draw his sword. The other guards moved in behind him, each of them forming a protective circle around, who Caffrey assumed was, the prisoner. Each of them ready to fight and die to protect their charge. Caffrey could scarcely believe what he was seeing. It was senseless. There was no way that four guards could fend off an attack by four Knights let alone the army that backed him yet, here they were, willing to sacrifice themselves for this prisoner. Who was this man? Caffrey wondered. What did he have to do with the royal family and, why was he so damn important?

“Would you not lay down your life in defense of your Queen?” Greagor asked the commander.

“I would.” Caffrey told him. “I would in an instant.”

“Then you see our dilemma.” Greagor unsheathed his sword and held it at his side. Evander and the others followed suit. “Neither of us are going to stand down.”

“You’re making a mistake.” Caffrey sounded almost disappointed. He sighed, shaking his head, growing more frustrated as the minutes passed. “Lay down your swords and surrender. This is the only warning I’m going to give. If you continue with this foolishness then we will have no choice but to cut you down and seize the prisoner.”

With a nod of his head, Caffrey’s lieutenants each drew their swords and prepared to attack. Greagor knew that he and his men were seriously outmatched but, it mattered little to him. To die protecting his Prince was the greatest honor he could achieve. “We will never surrender to you, or to your Queen.” Greagor growled.

“Continue on with this and you die.” Caffrey warned.

“Then we die.” Greagor raised his sword, gripping it with both hands, he readied himself for the onslaught that was sure to come. “Men,” He called out to the three guards behind him. “Protect the Prince!”

Caffrey’s face twisted into a mask of confusion. He didn’t understand the meaning of Greagor’s words. The Prince was dead and laid to rest in the family crypt. Had Desmond perhaps sired another son, one that no one knew about until now? Is that why the Queen wanted him dead? He threatened her claim to the throne? Sir Caffrey was torn between what to do. He didn’t want to kill these men. They were good men. Good soldiers but, by defying the Queen they had committed treason and there was only one punishment for such a crime. Even if he captured them alive, each of them would be sentenced to death.

Sir Caffrey was loyal to the Queen. Loyal to the crown. He knew he had but one choice. The Queen was the ruling voice of Basmorte and so he must do as she bid. There was no other way. He had to take the prisoner alive and deliver him to the Queen and any man who stood in his way would die. “So be it.” Caffrey said though his voice sounded tired and defeated. “You leave me with no choice.”

The tension that hung in the air between the two groups was palpable as each group stood on the brink of conflict. The Queens orders were not to be taken lightly. Everyone knew this but, Sir Caffrey didn’t seem to know, nor care to know, why he was given such orders. He had no idea who the prisoner was or why the Queen wanted him. He was ready to fight and kill and, possibly die, all for the sake of his misplaced loyalty to an unworthy Queen.

Greagor and the others also put their lives on the line to protect Rowan knowing that they couldn’t possibly win this fight. Both groups would fight to the death if it came to that. Rowan sighed, running his hand through his hair. No. He thought. I don’t want more blood on my hands. I can’t let this happen. Sir Caffrey and his men had to the know the truth. Maybe then a fight could be avoided and, these men’s lives could be spared.

Taking a deep breath, Rowan freed himself of Aidan’s grasp and stepped forward. Ignoring the protests from Greagor and the others, Rowan walked through the group surrounding him to where Greagor was standing, facing the Knight commander. Everyone turned as Rowan came into view, his face half-hidden in the shadows. Rowan stood beside Greagor, looking up at Caffrey and then, did something that shocked the Knight…Rowan bowed.

Caffrey narrowed his eyes at the sight of the prisoner he was there to arrest, bowing to him. It was a show of mockery rather than respect, he was sure of it. He pursed his lips and raised his hand, signaling his men to move in and seize the prisoner– whom he was certain had stepped forward to give himself up– but, as Rowan righted himself, and took a small step closer, Caffrey stopped, his eyes growing wide with disbelief.

Rowan was now standing in full view of everyone. His angelic face bathed in the moonlight, revealing his true identity to all. The lieutenants gasped in shock and bewilderment. “Halt.” Caffrey barked as he took a moment to study the young man standing before him. No matter how he tried to rationalize what he was looking at, no matter how many excuses his mind conjured up to explain away what was happening, he could not deny what his eyes were telling him. There could be no mistake, the young man standing before him now, was Prince Rowan.