Shadows of Desire Ch. 10

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.