Golden Chains Page 12

  As he poured two glasses of wine, she studied his every movement. “I have a confession to make.”

  He held the glasses by their stems as he walked back over and offered her one. “I’m not used to so much truth from you.”

  The words stung, but she hid it by sipping her wine. “Someone must have slipped me truth serum because I usually let my sword speak for me.”

  He smiled over the top of his glass.

  “I’ve been rooting for you.” She shifted her eyes away from him as the words warmed her face.

  “Rooting for me?” His brow arched.

  “To prove me wrong. I came to the palace knowing you were my enemy and wanting to hate you for it.”

  “So, what changed?” He sat down on the corner of the bed and she scooted over next to him.

  “Edmund.”

  Just the name sent a smile to Alex’s face and Etta went on.

  “When I realized what you meant to him, I wanted you to be good, to be honorable. I didn’t want him to be hurt.”

  He took her hand in his and squeezed. “How long did Edmund know about you?”

  “Since before the tournament. I met him in the village and may have…” She took a sip of wine and the next words spilled out as one. “Tiedhimupwithweeds.”

  Wine shot from Alex’s mouth and his chest heaved as he laughed. “Did you cover his mouth? Please tell me you did.”

  She shrugged, and he laughed harder.

  “That doesn’t scare you? That I can do that?”

  He stopped laughing abruptly and got to his feet before setting his wine down. He rubbed the back of his neck as the silence continued.

  He turned to peer back at her. “It does.”

  Those were the only words she got before he walked into the other room mumbling about needing something to eat. His confession sat heavy on her chest and she didn’t know how to change it. He was still afraid of the one thing that made sense to her and she was terrified of his fear. What if that fear one day made him undo all the good he was doing?

  He didn’t have the right to say that to her and walk away. Who did he think he was? She didn’t care that he was a king. They had a conversation to finish.

  She swayed as she got to her feet. Had she had that much wine?

  The wine sloshed over the side of her cup as she stumbled through the room. “Alex?” she called, suddenly not feeling well. The wine sat like poison in her stomach. “Alex?” Her feet dragged as she walked into the dining area where a tray of food rested untouched on the table. “Alex, I think something’s wrong.”

  Her mind clouded over as her feet hit something and she fell forward. The wine goblet went flying, sending red spray across the floor. She got to her knees and gaped at what she’d tripped over in shock.

  Alex lay sprawled on the ground. She crawled toward him and shook his shoulder.

  Her words slurred as she demanded he wake. “Are you okay? Alex. Alex!”

  The fog in her mind thickened and control over her limbs slipped away. Her arms gave out and as her head slammed into the chilled stone floor, darkness bore down mercilessly.

  Chapter Nine

  It was impossible. Matteo grew up in La Dame’s household and never would have imagined the true power she possessed.

  When they’d first arrived in Bela, it was to a pile of rubble. The castle was nothing but a set of ancient ruins sitting alone on the cliffs. The land surrounding the castle had been an overgrown jungle.

  As Matteo stood on the balcony high up in the folds of the castle, his eyes swept the tall towers of gleaming white marble and the manicured grounds they presided over. How was any of it there when weeks ago, it hadn’t been?

  “Matteo, darling,” a deceptively sweet voice called from inside.

  Matteo flinched and turned to walk back through the doors. La Dame sat at the round table in the center of the room. Matteo’s father, Warren, stood to her right.

  Matteo walked forward and bowed stiffly.

  “Hmmm.” La Dame tapped a finger against her chin. “It would be much simpler if you weren’t a Basile.”

  He forced a blank expression onto his face to hide the burgeoning smile. La Dame’s greatest power had no hold over those with Basile blood in their veins.

  “It would, my Queen.” Warren inclined his head.

  Matteo was past being surprised at the extent of his father’s loyalty to the woman who’d kept them prisoner all these years.

  La Dame narrowed her eyes at Matteo. “Warren, I’m not sure your son understands the extent of my power.”

  Matteo’s father wouldn’t even look at him. “I think not, my lady.”

  La Dame stood and pushed back her chair. As she walked toward Matteo, she straightened her inky black dress. Her steps were smooth, and she swayed her hips with each one. La Dame saw every move as a seduction of sorts. Matteo clenched his jaw as she reached him and cupped his cheek in her palm.

  She traced her fingers down over his skin and gripped his chin roughly. “You have some work to do, my boy, but before that, I have some things to show you.”

  She waved a hand toward the door, and it swung open of its own accord. Two guards entered dragging a young man in a ratty soldier’s uniform. “This is Lance. He is a new arrival.”

  La Dame turned to the man as the guards dropped him on the ground and moved to stand by the door.

  “Get up,” La Dame ordered.

  Lance didn’t move.

  “I said, get up.”

  An invisible force yanked his head back and pulled him to his knees before making him stand. His head lolled forward.

  La Dame peered back over her shoulder and grinned. “Isn’t it magnificent?”

  She wanted him to agree. She thrived on validations. But Matteo’s stomach churned. He managed a short nod.

  “Dance,” La Dame ordered the man.

  He began to move slowly.

  “Faster.”

  The man’s eyes struggled to stay open as his feet moved quickly and his arms swung out in front of him.

  La Dame clapped her hands together. “You’re a marvelous dancer, Lance.” Her eyes connected with Matteo’s as she issued her final order. “I’m going to need you to push this through your heart.” She held out a thin dagger and Lance didn’t hesitate in taking it.

  He pressed it against his chest.

  “No,” Matteo screamed. “Stop this.” He lifted his eyes to the woman who held all the strings. “Please.”

  Lance jerked and stabbed the dagger deep. He fell back as his blood pooled around him, stark against the white of the marble floor.

  Matteo fell to his knees and retched. The soldier wasn’t the first person he’d seen die, not by a long shot, but it never got easier.

  “Why?” he whispered.

  La Dame opened her mouth to answer, but closed it and pushed back her auburn hair. She turned away as a guard rushed toward her.

  “My queen, we have an urgent matter.”

  She nodded and followed him from the room, stepping over Lance’s body in the process.

  Matteo’s father put a hand on his shoulder.

  He shrugged it off and stood.

  “Son,” Warren began. “You must get a better handle on your emotions.”

  Matteo glowered at him. “Like you, father?”

  “She’s trying to break you.”

  “Why? Why am I so important to her?” He sat at the table and buried his face in his hands.

  “Because of the blood that runs through your veins. The Basile blood protects you from her control and that frightens her.”

  “What if we were to escape?” He lifted his eyes to meet his father’s. “I know we could.”

  Warren shook his head. “She would find us, son. She won’t let a Basile roam free.”

  “There already is one who roams free.”

  He flicked his gaze to the door. “It is only a matter of time before La Dame brings Persinette here. Be prepared. You’re going to meet your cousi
n.”

  The door slammed open, making father and son jump apart. La Dame charged through with a grin on her face. She rubbed her hands together. “My boys, we have a special guest in the palace.”

  As if called, the guards from before led a young man through the door. His wrists and ankles were shackled, and the chains clanked with every step.

  “Warren, Matteo, I would like you to meet the Prince of Gaule, Tyson Durand.”

  Matteo jumped to his feet, his breath catching in his throat. A prince of Gaule. La Dame just gained the largest bargaining chip of all.

  “Where are your manners?” La Dame demanded. “Bow.”

  Matteo obeyed mechanically, knowing it was better not to resist. When he rose, he studied the prince’s face. An air of defiance lit in his eyes. He held his shoulders high, his back straight, and his direct gaze met each of theirs in turn.

  La Dame faced Tyson. “Now, it’s your turn. Bow.”

  The boy didn’t move. He didn’t look like he was even breathing.

  “Bow,” La Dame screamed.

  Tyson gnashed his teeth together. “You are not my queen.”

  Her hand flew out and struck him across the cheek. “You will do as I say. Get on your knees.”

  “No.”

  Matteo winced as La Dame motioned for a guard to punch Tyson in the stomach. His respect for the prince grew with each passing moment. How was he resisting the magic?

  Tyson doubled over.

  “On your knees.”

  He clutched his gut and breathed deeply before straightening up. “I am a prince of Gaule. I don’t kneel to anyone.”

  She nodded to a guard who snatched a chair so quickly, Matteo didn’t see it happening until the wooden seat cracked against Tyson’s back. He crumpled to the ground, wheezing.

  La Dame leaned down. “How are you resisting me?”

  Tyson coughed, spitting blood onto the floor, but didn’t answer.

  “Oh my.” La Dame straightened. “It can’t be.” She covered her mouth with a laugh. “Viktor, you old bastard.” She looked down on Tyson once more. “Well, I guess the bastard is you.”

  Matteo stepped closer and La Dame whirled on him. “Matty, meet your cousin.” She laughed again. “I wonder if the old king knew. A Basile as a prince of Gaule. That is the strangest thing I have ever heard.”

  She was still laughing as she walked from the room. Four new guards marched in and hauled Tyson to his feet. Another guard wrapped his strong grip around Matteo’s arm, pulling him along behind the others.

  Matteo fell to his hands and knees as he was shoved through an open doorway. Tyson landed in a heap beside him as the door slammed shut with a clang. The click of the lock echoed across the space.

  Tyson rolled over and let out a cough.

  Matteo crawled toward him. “Are you okay?”

  He coughed again. “Where are we? Who are you?”

  “My name is Matteo Basile.” He climbed to his feet and reached down to help Tyson. “Welcome to Bela.”

  “Bela,” Tyson wheezed. “I know, but where—”

  “The palace.”

  Tyson shook his head. “There’s no—”

  Matteo gripped Tyson’s arm and hauled him up. “The questions will drive you mad. It’s better to accept your fate as it unfolds.”

  Tyson’s eyes widened and Matteo felt bad for the young prince. Was it true? The prince of Gaule was a Basile?

  Or did he just want it to be true? To have some connection beyond his father.

  Any fight Tyson might have had was long gone as he let Matteo sit him down on the bed. His mouth opened repeatedly, but no words spilled out.

  “Remove your shirt,” Matteo said softly. “I need to make sure she didn’t injure you.” Not like he could do much if she had. Unlike the people of Dracon, Matteo wasn’t a healer.

  Tyson winced as he pulled his tunic free and ducked his head to get it off.

  Matteo’s brows drew together at the sight of the Prince’s body riddled with bruises. “These didn’t all come today.”

  “No.” He didn’t elaborate and Matteo didn’t ask him to. They were strangers thrust together and trust was not easy to come by.

  Matteo examined Tyson’s bruises in silence, thankful there were no open wounds. He scooted behind him and his mouth dropped open. The skin of his back was puckered with burn marks.

  Tyson must have recognized his stillness. He dropped his head.

  “We cannot control the actions of others.” Matteo slid around and handed him back his shirt. “Only the willful deeds of ourselves.”

  The young prince nodded and pulled on his shirt.

  “You should be fine,” Matteo said. “I didn’t find any broken skin.”

  A harsh laugh rumbled through Tyson’s chest. “How do you define broken?”

  “I meant you have no open wounds.”

  “I know.” He laid back on the bed gingerly, wincing from the burns and stared up at the ceiling.

  How odd it must feel to the boy. Matteo shook his head. He’d been around La Dame’s magic his entire life and it was still strange to him. They were prisoners in a palace that shouldn’t exist.

  Tyson turned his head to fix Matteo with a stare, his eyes betraying his age. “What did La Dame mean about Viktor Basile?”

  “Only those with Basile blood can resist La Dame’s magic.”

  “Viktor …” Tyson stuttered. “He was my father? No… I… my father was the king of Gaule.”

  “There’s no other way you could have resisted her.”

  A breath shuddered out of Tyson. “But, how is any of this possible? I’m a prince.”

  “You are,” Matteo agreed. “Just not of Gaule. Our line descends from the last ruling family of Bela and that fact saved your life just now.”

  “The Basiles are her enemy.”

  “But she doesn’t want to just kill us. She wants to bring us low, make us beg. She wants to take everything from us. No, we can’t just die. We have to play her game.”

  Chapter Ten

  “Etta.” The voices were far off and she barely heard them through the pounding in her head. A searing pain ripped through her and she jerked awake. A blanket covered her naked body and for a moment, hope filled her.

  “Alex,” she wheezed, reaching her hand out in hopes he would take it. But she knew he wouldn’t. He was gone. “They’re taking him.”

  “They already took him.” Simon crouched by her side and helped her sit up, keeping the blanket tucked around her. She couldn’t even muster up embarrassment at how he must have found her.

  “They’re too far.” She bent forward as the ache persisted. “I can’t… I can’t breathe.” A tear rolled down her reddened cheek. “I can’t stand it.”

  For the second time in her life, she felt the curse truly hurt her as she was separated from her charge. She shook her head to rid it of the remaining fog. “What happened?”

  She struggled to climb to her feet and Simon steadied her. The brightness of the day blinded her and she shielded her eyes.

  The door banged open, making Etta jump as Catrine rushed in with Amalie on her heels. “Where is my son?”

  Etta’s legs couldn’t hold her up any longer, and she collapsed into a chair at the table. “I don’t know.” She pressed her forehead to the solid wood. “I’m so sorry.”

  Catrine began to search the room frantically for clues and Amalie crossed to Etta and put a hand on her shoulder. “He’s going to be okay.”

  “We don’t even know who has him.” Etta clenched her teeth against the pain. “I’m supposed to protect him.”

  “Not anymore,” Amalie said.

  Etta closed her eyes. The girl was right. Etta had been more prisoner than protector of late.

  “Etta,” Simon said softly. “How did they take the king?”

  “How?” Catrine spun. “We should be more worried about who.” She stopped at the table and her shaky fingers reached for the ewer sitting beside the dinner tray
from the night before.

  The memories poured in and Etta jumped to her feet to knock the ewer from the queen mother’s hands. Red wine flew through the air as the ewer crashed to the floor. Etta glanced at the pool of wine near where she’d woken up.

  “What on earth?” Catrine turned and lifted the skirts of her wine-soaked dress. Streaks of red ran down her face.

  “Don’t let any of it get in your mouth.” Etta wrapped the blanket tighter around her and grabbed a napkin from the tray. She held it out.

  Catrine took it and dried her face.

  “You think it was the wine?” Simon asked.

  “It had to be.”

  Catrine sank into a chair and her dark hair shifted forward to cover her face as she bent at the waist. “My boy.”

  Simon thought for a moment. “I’ll set people to questioning the palace servants. I’ll question the guards who were on night duty myself, especially the ones at the gate. We’ll send out search parties.”

  “You won’t find him.” Etta clutched her stomach. “He’s already too far. I can feel it.” She raised her eyes to meet his.

  “I’m sending them anyway. We have to do everything we can to find our king.”

  “Have you considered the worst?”

  He shook his head. “We can’t go there.”

  “We know he’s alive because I’m sitting here right now. But he could be on his way to La Dame. You have to let me go after him.”

  “We don’t know that’s who took him, Etta. If she didn’t, and we sent you directly into her arms, both you and Alex could be lost, anyway. While he is in danger, we must keep you safe.”

  Etta sat on the corner of the bed and crossed her arms.

  His face softened. “We will find him.” He turned on his heel and barely made it to the hall before beginning to bark orders to the guards outside the door. No one had been able to figure out how they’d been put to sleep as their king was stolen.

  A sigh pushed from Etta’s lips. Catrine left without another word and part of Etta thought the queen mother blamed her. She understood because she blamed herself as well. She was Alex’s protector. He might say he had Simon now, but she’d pledged to keep him safe. Even when she’d hated him, she wanted to keep watch over him.