A Royal's Tale [COMPLETED]

Chapter 40 - Where the blazes were you?!"

Alwyn

The rhythmic clatter of the horse's hooves echoed Alwyn's pounding heart. She knew how outnumbered Wilder would be in the palace. She'd heard many of the North Isles guards roamed the halls. Zavier and Quinn with their men should already be inside, helping, but still...there were so many.

Alwyn urged the horse faster, the deserted streets giving the horse complete freedom to surge forward. As they approached the palace gates, Alwyn spotted two guards waiting on either side, their weapons drawn.

"Cyrus," Alwyn said. "Handle them."

Cyrus released his hold on Alwyn's waist and a second later two daggers flew passed her. One buried itself in a guard's chest, the second in the other guard's stomach. Alwyn reigned in the horse as they reached the gates and turned him sideways. Hooking her foot around the gate latch, she flipped it up and kicked the gates.

They swung open and Alwyn encouraged the horse down the manicured lane. At the entrance, she leapt off and raced towards the open doorway, Cyrus right behind her. They found the foyer empty, but cries and striking metal guided them further into the palace.

When they barreled into the throne room, Alwyn stopped. Bodies lay strewn about the floor like fallen leaves. Some dead, some on the path to it. Frantically, she searched the faces of the fallen and alive for Wilder but she didn't find him. She did find Kristoff, one arm bleeding, fighting off a soldier. Alwyn darted over to him, cutting the soldier's leg and stabbing him in the ribs as he staggered.

"Where is Wilder?" Alwyn asked a panting Kristoff.

"He followed King Titus who has Lydia, through there," Kristoff said, pointing to an archway across the room.

"Cyrus, help the Prince," Alwyn said. "And find a healer if you can."

Cyrus wrapped an arm around the Prince and led him off as Alwyn sprinted for the archway, jumping over prone bodies as she went. As she passed through, she faltered, choking on her breath. No, no, no, no.

Laying surrounded by ten men and bleeding was Wilder.

"No," Alwyn whispered. She knelt by his side, struggling to breathe through the tightness in her throat and the pungent smell of blood.

She pressed trembling fingers to his neck. Please, Wilder, please.

When she felt a weak pulse, she blinked and tears spilled down her cheeks.

Furiously swiping them away, she forced herself to think. Assess the wounds, deal with what you can. She cut Wilder's shirt and used what wasn't covered in blood to clean his chest. She sucked in a breath at the sight but gritted her teeth against her fear.

As she searched for something to stanch the bleeding, she noticed his leg was bleeding from a deep gash. Swearing, she pressed Wilder's bloody shirt to his wound and shifted to his leg. She knew this type of cut, if not stopped he could lose his leg.

She pulled her shirt off, leaving her in an undershirt, and wrapped it around his leg, knotting it tightly. She took her dagger and twisted the hilt around the fabric, creating a tourniquet. With at least one problem solved, Alwyn breathed a little easier then moved back to the first wound. She located another knife and cut the shirts away from the dead soldiers around Wilder. As she pressed the material to his cut, she heard hurried footsteps.

Zavier rushed through the archway and skidded to a halt, Joric right behind him.

"Is he-" Zavier asked.

"Not yet," Alwyn snarled. "Where the blazes were you?! You were supposed to help!"

Even as she yelled this she saw how disheveled and splattered in blood he was. He had been fighting, only not in a way that would have helped Wilder.