Princess of Silence, page 32
part #1 of When Kings Collide Series
Caleb had spent several hours reflecting, speaking to his most trusted advisors, including the council members, and considering their interpretations of the circumstances and what would be his best plan of action. He’d taken all of their thoughts into consideration and then found himself in the back garden, sitting alone, contemplating the situation and considering all that might happen if his next move were not precisely as it should be.
As he approached, she turned, a smile playing at her lips, though he could tell she was hesitant, not sure what to think of the situation. He didn’t say anything at first, only took her in, trying to decide how to say everything he needed to tell her. His hands ached to reach for her, but he didn’t, resting them on the railing next to her instead. When he spoke, his voice was soft, even the greeting came out with a lock of confidence. “Good evening.”
She met his eyes for a moment, her smile growing, a return of the sentiment, and then promptly returned her gaze to the darkened garden below.
The next sentence tumbled out of his mouth easily, though he wasn’t sure it was necessary. “I had no idea.”
She nodded. She knew that, of course.
Caleb pressed on. “I’ve spent the last several hours going back over everything. How I missed this. Why you didn’t let me know.” She exhaled sharply, and he knew there was much she wanted to say, but the more he’d thought about it, the more he’d realized none of that truly mattered now. “Honestly, Katherine, none of that is of consequence at the moment.” When her name slipped through his lips, he said it with an emphasis he hadn’t intended. It was the first time he had ever called her by her real name.
Her gaze was heavy, and he could see in her eyes she was trying to decipher what he was trying to say.
Unable to stare into her eyes and say what he’d resolved himself to tell her, he looked over the railing at the garden below. “This is all so complicated. It’s never easy for us. If… if I had known who you really were, I never would have… I never would have let it come to this.” He took another quick glimpse in her direction and saw the expression of confusion on her face had grown. He couldn’t blame her. He felt the same turmoil inside, but what he was about to say was for the better. Practically everyone he’d spoken to agreed—everyone but Caroline and Dale.
With a sigh, he continued. “We are royals, Katherine. Nothing is simple for us--relationships, decisions, consequences. Acting in our own best interests isn’t always…. It just doesn’t always end up the way we wish it would.”
Her eyes were still wide, but when he looked over at her, he noted a single tear cascading down her cheek. An ache in his heart began to pulsate, nearly ripping the breath from his chest. He knew it would never be easy to tell her what he’d decided, but it had been easier before, when he’d rehearsed it in the garden. Now, looking at her, seeing the pain in her face, he questioned whether or not he’d made the right decision. Perhaps he’d needed to have a conversation with Eleanora before he made a choice, but seeing Katherine’s trembling bottom lip, all he could think about was how he’d hurt her before, how’d promised never to do that again, and yet here he was, trying to explain why he thought she was better off without him.
“You are your sister’s ward.” More tears followed, but he forced himself to continue to look at her. “You must be returned to her care.” She stood perfectly still, her eyes unwavering as she stared into his, tears streaming down her face, not moving to wipe even one away. “If… if Eleanora were to deem it in your best interest to return then, perhaps… perhaps we could negotiate an alliance. But under these circumstances, I don’t know how she will react. And I don’t know how I can keep you without her blessings. I’m sorry, Katherine; I’m so sorry.”
He meant it; he’d never been more sorry for anything in his whole life. He wanted to hold her, to kiss her one last time, to, at the very least, wipe the tears from her eyes. But he didn’t dare. After one last glimpse of her beautiful face, he turned to leave feeling the stinging sensation of tears in his own eyes as the pain in his heart became excruciating. He knew he’d left the door open, that if Eleanora would consider it, perhaps they’d have another chance, but after that speech, why would Katherine even want him?
Knowing he’d made another horrible mistake, one he couldn’t undo, Caleb headed for the door, intending to ride out that very night to the front lines. He was almost to the bedchamber door when he heard something behind him that had him stopping in his tracks.
It wasn’t more than a faint whisper at first, hoarse and almost indistinguishable. But he had heard it, just the same.
And then she said it again.
“Caleb....”
Swallowing hard, Caleb slowly turned to face her. “What was that?” he asked, still unable to believe his own ears. She was still standing by the balcony, far across the room, but her hands were pressed together in front of her mouth, her chin resting on her thumbs, the look on her face letting him know he hadn’t been hearing things at all, and she was just as shocked as he was.
“Caleb, I love you.”
He stood looking at her for a long moment, the tears now streaming down his face as well. A rush of realization hit him at once as he considered how difficult it had to be for her to produce a sound at all. He remembered the extreme pain it had taken to cause her to scream. The feelings she had for him, as he walked away from him, had to be the same.
Caleb rushed across the open space back to her, stopping just short of touching her, his eyes still wide as he looked into hers. No longer concerned with who she was or what anyone else would think—including Eleanora—he took in this magnificent woman, so diminutive in stature but mighty in every other way, and felt like the most fortunate fool in the world that he had somehow managed to win her love despite all of his blunders and missteps.
“You... you said my name,” he finally managed, a smile taking over his face. “You said you love me.”
She nodded as vigorously as he’d ever seen before, and when he opened his arms, she flung herself forward into his, her lips meeting his as he crashed down to devour her. His hands trailed up and down her body, feeling the soft skin of her arms, the warmth of her cheek, the curve in her hip as he simply couldn’t get enough of her.
Out of breath, she finally pulled back, leaving one hand on his chest, the other wrapped around his neck. She stared at him, the tears dried up, waiting for him to take back all of the idiotic words he’d said before. Her teeth worked her bottom lip, enticing him to forget the explanation he owed her and kiss her again.
“I’m sorry.” It wasn’t the first time he’d said it that night, but this time he meant it for an entirely different reason. “I was trying to do what I thought was right—for everyone else.” He shook his head, watching her eyes for a reaction. She continued to stare at him. “I didn’t realize—until just now—you’re in this as deeply as I am.”
Slowly, she nodded. “I love you.” Her voice was still as hoarse as before, but it grew stronger with each word.
Grinning at her, he said, “I love you, too, Princess Katherine. Or whatever your name is.” She laughed, still silently, but there just the same. He looked up at the heavens, a thousand stars winking down at them. “I can’t believe you spoke!” Gazing down at her, seeing the joy he felt in his heart reflected in her smile, he kissed her again, not wanting to ever do anything else.
His lips slipped from her mouth to her ear and then down her neck, but between tastes of her porcelain skin, he whispered, “Say it again. Say my name.”
It was more of a moan this time than a whisper, which set the growing ember inside of him aflame. “Caleb.”
Only pulling away from her when it was completely necessary, he began to move her backward, into the room, toward the bed, already working the laces in the back of her gown as they went, her hands fumbling with his belt. She was wearing far too many layers, and he needed her nude body on his now. He’d just about got the gown undone, when Katherine stopped and pulled away from him, putting her hands on his chest and creating a space between them, too much space for his liking.
Her eyes were wide as she looked at him, and he realized she was asking him something. He imagined it must be important if she were willing to stop him to ask. “You want to know if... if I intend to keep you? If I intend to make you an honest woman?” It had occurred to him earlier, when he was contemplating all of the lies he’d been told why it seemed “Rose” must be a virgin and not a harlot—because Princess Katherine had given herself to him, and only him. Now, with her looking up at him expectantly, a slight nod of her eyes, he irrevocably answered, “Yes, Katherine. I intend to keep you. Forever.”
That was all the answer she needed, and her hands were back at his belt as she leaned up for his lips, and he gladly obliged.
Chapter 31
The wind whipped through the mountains, setting a chill in the air that seemed to penetrate into Matthew’s bones. The cloak that had formerly belonged to King Philip was no match for the conditions the further up they rode into the mountains, and from his vantage point on the back of a Gradenian soldier’s horse, he almost welcomed arriving inside Leopold’s lair just for the warmth—almost.
His head was bleeding again, and much of the skin had been ripped from his wrists and ankles. He’d lost his boots a long time ago, and thanks to the cold, could no longer feel some of his toes. Dragging him behind the horse had left his clothing in tatters, save the cloak which had flown out of the way. Battered and bruised and ready to fall over, the King of Zurconia looked more like a prisoner than he ever had before, which was fitting because that’s exactly what he was once more.
His eyes were so swollen, he didn’t recognize Leopold waiting near the archway of the main entry when the horse came to a stop on the far side of the drawbridge. The cavalry officers who’d brought him each wanted a piece of him as they grabbed hold of his bound arms and pulled him from the horse. Matthew fell hard on the stone walkway, only realizing the King of Gradenia had come to meet him when he began to cackle.
Pushing up from where he lay with his face bleeding on the pavers while his hands were tied was nearly impossible, so Matthew waited until the soldiers hoisted him up. He’d never seen Leopold in person before, only in a painting once, long ago. His mustache and wild mane of hair were enough for Matthew to know for sure who he was looking at, the fur cloak he wore also a signature piece Leopold always seemed to wear.
“Welcome to Gradenia, King Matthew,” the ruler snarled in his thick accent. “We have been looking forward to your visit for several days.”
Leopold’s tone seemed almost friendly, as if he wasn’t responsible for the fresh blood covering Matthew’s clothes and the ground where the captive king kneeled. “You know Caleb will never let you get away with this,” Matthew managed through swollen lips.
Leopold’s cackle rang out again, the others joining in as if Matthew’s statement was a joke. They all knew it wasn’t, though. The Gradenian Army might be more difficult to contend with than the Clovington forces had been, but Matthew had every bit of confidence that Caleb would find a way to set him free—this time, for good.
“I am certain that your brother will attempt a rescue, Matthew, but in the meantime, I would like for my guards to show you to my finest accommodations. I want to make sure that your time at Castle Graden is... unforgettable.”
With a snap of Leopold’s fingers, Matthew was lifted off of the ground by his armpits by two of the officers. The pain of their fingers cutting into his sensitive flesh was enough to make him grit his teeth and close his eyes. He prayed that whatever accommodations Leopold had been referring to, though he was certain they would not be luxurious, may at least be close by.
They weren’t. The labyrinth below Graden made Blackthorn look like a children’s maze. Hardly any light at all penetrated here, and the narrow halls wound back and forth so that Matthew had no idea how far they’d gone or how the soldiers even knew the way. The floor sloped in places so that they went even deeper into the ground, past catacombs lined with coffins and other human relics, down tight spiral staircases and corkscrew turns until Matthew felt they had to be far below the mountains, possibly near the center of the earth.
He may have blacked out a few times, but when he finally heard the clanking of metal and the squeal of a hinged door swinging open, he managed to open his eyes wide enough to see they were in a what he could only describe as a torture chamber. He took in a number of devices, mostly metal with sharp points or cranks that pulled and tore muscle. Most of them were occupied by people who looked as if they wished they were dead, and from the screams down the hallway, Matthew got the impression there were other cells similar to this one. In the distance, he heard an older woman shouting that she was a queen and didn’t deserve this sort of treatment. Whoever she was, the argument seemed to be getting her nowhere, and Matthew was certain the fact that he was a king would get him the same sort of service. Another voice sounded familiar to him as a man shouted his tortures would pay for such treatment of the king’s uncle.
Matthew didn’t have time to contemplate any of it. A stocky guard with a round belly and scraggily black hair sticking out around the black military helmet he wore stepped out of the darkness. A smile split his face, one tooth protruding further than the rest. “This the king?” he growled.
“In the flesh—what’s left of it,” answered the officer with the scar on his face who had Matthew’s right arm.
“Right this way, Your Majesty,” the prison guard said with a gruff laugh. The two dragged Matthew over to a device he had seen before, in an area of Castle Caine no one used anymore, a dungeon even his father had been too benevolent to utilize. “I saved the wrack just for you, King of Zurconia.”
The soldiers all got a chuckle out of that as the officers tossed him down on a hard metal surface and went about untying him only so they could bind him again, this time strapping him to the device itself. His hands and feet were securely fastened to a wheel that would pull and stretch his ligaments and tendons to the breaking point with the turning of a crank by the prison guard who looked impatient to get started. Matthew knew the kind of damage this mechanism could produce, and despite the fact that he’d already undergone so much agony since his initial abduction, his hands were trembling in the straps above his head. His understanding was that the wrack was usually used to produce confessions or gain information. He had no idea what it might be Leopold wanted him to confess to or give up, but he had a feeling he’d be willing to say just about anything in order to make the pain stop.
“Would you like to stay for the first round?” the prison guard asked the officers who were staring down at Matthew in his prone position with smiles of satisfaction. The two didn’t hesitate to confirm they’d like to watch, and with another gruff chuckle, the guard took hold of the crank and began to twist.
The pain was almost unbearable even before Matthew began to hear pops and bursts. He held back a scream, not wanting to give his torturers the satisfaction of hearing him cry out, but after a few more moments and a few more turns, he had no choice. The sound that broke free from his lips sounded nothing like his own voice. It was a sorrowful, pitiful moan, and as it echoed down the darkened hallways, the sound of laughter drowned it out even to Matthew’s ears.
“That’s enough for now,” the guard concluded, leaving Matthew stretched on the table but letting the tension go with the release of his hand. “I’ll come back later and we can play some more. I gotta make sure I spend enough time with the other guests.” He roared with laughter again and faded from Matthew’s view, the cavalry officers following along.
Matthew’s eyes were heavy, their swollen lids closing against the blackness around him as he prayed for sleep to take him and put an end to the waves of pain that crashed through his limbs like the ocean tides during a storm, unrelenting and uncontrollable. At this point, he no longer cared what Leopold did with him so long as this ended quickly. Whether he intended to trade him or kill him didn’t matter to Matthew. At least Leopold would have clear intentions as to why he was being held and for how long. Either Caleb would comply with his demands, or Matthew would be put out of his misery. Matthew would gladly accept either alternative.
He must’ve fallen asleep because the next thing he knew, Leopold’s voice was cutting through the darkness. Matthew attempted to open his eyes but the swelling had increased, and only a slitted view of the malevolent dictator was possible. With the sound of his voice, and an increase of consciousness, Matthew felt his limbs flame up again and hoped Leopold had come to end him.
“You may have noticed the lairs beneath my castle are much more impenetrable than those under Blackthorn,” Leopold was saying. If he’d begun the conversation with anything else, Matthew had missed it. “Beyond that, you won’t have the same type of freedoms here as you did in your pleasant tower room in Clovington. No, I’m afraid our accommodations are not quite as… accommodating.” With that, he gave the lever at the top of the wrack a slight turn, pulling Matthew’s arms almost completely out of their sockets and leaving him grimacing. A new pain radiated from his shoulders to his wrists, from his groin to his ankles as the popping he’d heard earlier intensified.
Leopold grinned, his teeth shining through the darkness. “Hurts, doesn’t it? Let’s just hope your brother understands that I am not one to be trifled with. Otherwise, I’m afraid we will be forced to bring this game of cat-and-mouse to its finality.” He leaned in closely to Matthew’s face, his hot, stale breath filling Matthew’s nostrils with the stench of sour wine. “Before this is over, you can be sure, you will be begging me to bring your sorry, wasted life to an end.”
His maniacal laughter resounded off of the walls, filling the small chamber with echoes of madness. With one more slight turn on his way out, the ligaments in Matthew’s legs tore as they pulled away from his joints. He screamed, overwhelmed by the agony. His head was swimming, and Matthew reached for the fog that hung around the peripheries of his consciousness, welcoming it and inviting it to take over and put him out of his misery.
