Chapter 91
The path from the canyon back to the duchess’ manor was long, but it wasn’t exposed to the open air. It had taken a bit to shake the two who had followed him, but once they were gone, he ducked into the hidden passageway and ran as fast as he could through the dark and winding tunnels. He arrived at the wine cellar door and pushed it open to climb through it.
“What happened?” The guard standing near the opening asked. “Where are the others?”
“Captured by General Steward’s forces. Where is the duchess?”
“In her parlor,” the guard said. He led him through the wine cellar and up the stairs onto the ground floor. He passed long tapestries and all the trappings of the duchess’ wealth and power. From down the hallway, he heard someone screaming in agony. They were getting closer to the screaming.
When the guard opened the door, the screaming echoed down the hallway.
He swallowed. The duchess was one of the most ruthless members of the vampire’s nobility, but she was also the most insane. Where John was led around by his ambitions and sense of entitlement, the duchess was driven to the edge of madness by her grief and fury.
Her parlor had once housed beautiful furniture where she and her late husband lounged and traded sweet nothings when they pleased. The portrait of her late husband hung on the far wall and looked down on the furniture that remained.
The seated area was pushed aside. The room was dominated by a large stone table that looked a lot like an altar from the old stories about blood sacrifices and taxes. There was a shallow channel carved into the stone around the edge that drained into a line of buckets, filled with blood. Blood, old and dry, stained the top of the altar along with the fresh blood that was leaking from her current victim.
The man on the table looked a mess. His chest had been cut open, his skin flayed and slowly healing as he lay trembling on the altar with desperate breath. His stomach turned, but he ignored the sight of the man to look at the duchess as she held her blade over the small flame on her desk.
“Well?” She asked, “How did it go?”
“General Steward’s forces intercepted us.”
She turned, glaring at the man. She crossed the room and plunged the knife into the werewolf’s chest. The wolf choked, giving out a soft cry before all signs of his life faded into silence. She rounded the table glaring at him.
“What happened?”
He told her about the ambush, and she watched him. The man wasn’t lying. He knew better than to lie. She could applaud him for getting away as she eyed his clothing. The green could make their forces suspicious of her involvement, but he was not wearing the crest of her family.
“Were any of them wearing my crest?”
“No, Your Royal Highness. As you ordered.”
She nodded and considered what to do. Having tangible proof would have sealed the coffin, so to speak, but Nicole was not a fool and had proven to have an unnerving way of finding threats to the throne. She had, after all, been at the forefront of ensuring the late queen’s safety for years. With all the political and social power Nicole wielded, the duchess had no doubts that if the woman had a shred of ambition for power beyond what she commanded, they would have never gone to search for Daphne.
She hated Nicole more than many in the noble ranks, but she respected and feared her more than anything.
“There’s the matter of the peace talks…”
“Peace talks with those vermin?”
“In three days,” he affirmed. “The human village just beyond the canyon. Kayley said that they would be bringing the queen.”
She scoffed and turned, “Very well. Prepare another force to go, but do not reveal that we will be there.”
She smirked. Perhaps she would manage to capture the werewolf king himself and put him on her table. She turned.
“Take the trash out…” She turned back to the portrait to sit on the couch facing it. “Leave me.”
The guard hurried forward to undo the shackles and drag the body off the altar before leaving as quickly as he could manage.
Her husband had been a brilliant strategist. Had he not died, even if Nicole had withdrawn from the battlefield when she did, they wouldn’t have died.
She closed her eyes thinking back to the day he’d died.
Blood hung thick and cloying in the air. They’d turned several members of the werewolf’s forces, controlling them as pawns. The man with brilliant blonde hair and furious brown eyes turned towards her husband and darted forward.
She remembered the sight of his head flying through the air as she cried out in agony. She grabbed the bucket of blood that had been collecting the blood of her victims and crossed the room to where she’d been storing his headless body, still twitching as if just waiting to stand again, barely floating in a shallow pool of blood beyond the glass top.
She glared down into the casket remembering that wretched general and seeing her husband’s head go flying, bouncing and tumbling away from the body. If only they hadn’t been separated, they would have been able to kill that man and the general who came after him. For now, all she could do was keep his body alive until she could find some other means of reviving him. She opened the latch of the glass top and emptied the bucket inside, replenishing the pool of blood around the body.
She went to the door of her parlor after returning the bucket beside the table. She opened the door and looked at the guard standing nearby.
“Bring me another… make sure it’s lively.”
“As you wish, Your Royal Highness.”
John had been furious about his plans being thwarted, but he at least had some useful intelligence. Nicole would be announcing the plan for peace talks and how to conclude the two weeks of Daphne’s presence in the vampire nation at the meeting John was heading to. If Osborn knew John well, he’d be against it, but that didn’t matter.
Peace talks wouldn’t do.
Osborn walked slowly across the floor, barely pacing alone in the room. It could be a problem if Daphne was returned to them in any fashion or if John’s memory spell faltered upon them seeing one another. The bonds between mates were more powerful than many understood.
An idea flickered in the back of his mind before he left the little office John had stuck him in inside the castle. He passed Owen in the hallway and told him that he would find him again later.
Owen nodded and watched his father leave. Something was stirring in his gut about Osborn’s actions, but he turned and headed onto the main grounds for the time being. Babysitting the idiot vampire lord who couldn’t see that everyone around him knew exactly what he wanted and saw through his rouses was annoying, but at least, he didn’t have to be far from Daphne.
Owen saw John hurrying down the corridor towards the meeting room the vampires used and snorted as he went. What was he in such a hurry for?
John stopped in front of the door, checked his reflection, and straightened his jacket before entering. Owen imagined he was giving himself a small pep talk before entering the room. What had happened to Daphne after John had dragged her off or something still had been explained to him. He didn't think John had the stomach to do anything truly terrible, but he wondered about it.
Owen shook his head, walking towards the garden without much thought. He wanted a bit of alone time. Since his father found him he hadn't had much of it. It was odd being surrounded by the few werewolves that still followed his father, his father, and vampires when he was so used to living alone with only rogues and the wind for company.
His father hadn't seemed interested in cultivating any sort of paternal bond with him. He understood that Owen was likely more a reminder of the mate Osborn lost than his son at the moment, but he wasn't sure how to feel about Osbourn's odd distance from him. Shouldn't he be happy that Owen was alive?
For a moment, he wondered what Dean and Arthur’s relationship would have been like if things had been different? He didn't remember much about Sabina or life in the castle. Had his uncle been a truly cruel man, or was he just a burdened ruler? Would he have taken the same path Osborn had if their roles had been reversed?
He pushed those thoughts away. What difference did it make? Power was all that mattered, and soon, he and his father would claim all the power that was due to them.
