Red's Wolves

Chapter Twenty-Four

Sounds of the approaching guards could be heard at Alera's back, but she had to trust Jere and the wolves to do what they must to give her the time she needed. Like a shadow, she wove her way through the chaos, up to a rarely used passage that she knew would lead her directly to her father's rooms.

There used to be many secret and hidden passages and stairwells throughout the castle— so many she and Jere used to use to play hide-n-seek when they were children. But whether they were sealed off for safety reasons, or because there were spiteful people within the castle who didn't want to deal with children playing, they were left alone until needed in the case of an emergency. Just like now.

The passageway brought her to right outside her father's rooms. She looked around but there were no guards in sight. That alone concerned her more than what awaited her within. Either they had been pulled away because of the commotion she and Jere had created downstairs, or this was still a trap she was more than willing to walk into. But she knew her father was there behind those doors, and she wasn't going to stop now when she was so close to saving him from the same fate as those she crossed paths with on her way home.

Even as she approached the door, there was no resistance, no sounds of approaching footsteps. Unnerved, the door opened silently— almost too silently— and Alera crept in. But she had to bite back the surprised gasp that caught in her throat when she saw the state of her father's room.

The room looked no better than the land they had traveled through or the burnt remnants of the forest. Black vines creeped and crawled up every wall and hung from the ceiling and the windows, blocking out the light. Vines curled and wrapped around the furniture, the bed posts, anything they could reach from whatever source they originated. The candles on the bedside table were burning low, almost to embers, casting the room in dark brooding shadows. The only illumination, if she could call it that, came from the bed itself.

The king lay in his bed on his back, his eyes shut and his hands folded on his chest. At first, it did look like he had just fallen asleep, as if it was something casual that occurred from reading a book or drinking too much liquor. But with a closer look, his chest barely rose or fell with each breath, and black tendrils of dark magic seeped out of his form, not unlike the same disturbing vines that had infiltrated the forest and threatened to end Brigette.

"Father?" She whispered as she approached, one foot in front of the other until she was beside the bed. She wanted to reach out, to touch his hand, to shake him awake, but the black tendrils were almost like a barrier, but whether they were there to block her way or keep him from waking and getting out of the bed, she was uncertain. "Father, it's Alera. Can you hear me? I've come back for you—"

"Indeed you have."

She spun away from the bed, facing towards the sound of the unexpected voice.

She was not alone. She should have known it would have been too easy.

Nicholas sat in a chair behind her, shrouded deep in the shadows of the room. His dark hair and even darker clothing seeped into the blackness. His eyes, despite how beady and hawklike they were, almost seemed to reflect whatever small amount of light there was in the room as he watched her, reminding her of a cat prowling at night with how they reflected. His legs were crossed and his hands folded on his knees as if he was merely greeting and entertaining a welcomed guest, rather than luring and entrapping his promised bride.

"I was wondering when you were going to show up, Princess," he said almost too casually. "We've been waiting for you so patiently."

"What have you done to him?"

"I told you— he is sleeping. Under my control. Until you choose to wake up him up."

"With my own magic, you mean."

"Exactly."

"And once I do?"

"Then our work here is done, and we can finally return together to Abingnor and live out the remainder of our days together in matrimonial bliss.

"I am not marrying you."

"But it was your father's dying wish to see us wed."

"My father is not dead."

A sneering grin crawled across his angular face. "Not yet.

Alera had heard enough. With a scream she lunged, her mother's dagger in her hand, but Nicholas was waiting for her to react. Lunging from the chair with a shout all his own, he threw out his hand and sent spears of dark magic towards. Alera had just enough time to jump out of the way, or duck, but anything that went past her would have hit the bed, or worse, her father. So instincts took over, and she tried to block his attack with the dagger in her hand, hoping it would be enough to protect her while she considered her next action through the onslaught. It was the only option she had save throwing her own body in front of the magic to keep it from hitting her father.

But the dagger did her one better.

Every vine of darkness that hit the dagger seemed to have been absorbed by the blade itself, the power creating a light around it like an orb, growing and growing in size and intensity with each bolt it deflected away from the king. Alera grit her teeth, letting the magic of the dagger take over until it could take no more, and with the might of the gathered magic that had been thrown at it, refracted and returned toward Nicholas tenfold.

The prince did not seem to expect the blast, for he stumbled backward as the dark power hit him, losing his balance and almost falling back into the chair from which he stood. Alera watched as those dark eyes turned black with rage, as he grit his teeth and stood from the chair smoothly— almost too smooth to be natural.

"You're going to regret that, Princess," he snarled as he dusted off his jacket as if she was no more than those specks of dust. "Before I had the consideration of being reasonable, peaceful even. But now I can see that the only way I'm going to get through to you is by sheer force."

A low growl rumbled in Alera's throat, almost like the wolves she had grown so close to close to over the last few weeks. The protectiveness she felt towards not only her father, but to her people, her kingdom, her new family... it reminded her of a pack, and the loyalty instilled among its members.

In response, Nicholas brought his hands in front of him and started chanting in a language that was unfamiliar to Alera. As his words grew louder, the black sphere or magic between his hands increased. It resembled the magic she had reflected back at him from the dagger's resistance, but angrier and more dangerous.

She readied herself between him and her father's bed, with her mother's dagger tight in her grip.

Alera was not going to allow Nicholas to hurt anyone she loved ever again.