He wraps me into a hug and the tears I was trying to hold back break free. His hold on me tightens, almost to the point where he’s crushing me. “You shouldn’t have come, Cecily. I wish you’d left me and run home as fast as you could’ve.” His words are rushed and whispered, like he’s worried he won’t have time to get them all out. I search within his eyes and see some of the pain reflecting what I felt come down the bond from earlier.
“Marcellus, silently help our guest into their seat of honor. We have some big plans to get started on.” I find myself being led to a chair and take a seat, almost in a daze. I only snap out of it when Marcellus grabs some rope and grips my arm, placing it on the armrest of the chair.
My instant reaction is to rip my arm from his grasp. “What are you doing, Marcellus?” He reaches for my arm again. I struggle against him, but from my position in the chair and him standing in front of me, there isn’t much I can do to deter him. Once he has my arm again, he holds on with a punishing grip so hard my bones grind together.
My body may be putting up a fight, but that isn’t the only defensive tool at my disposal. I try to bring forth my magic but nothing happens. It’s been a long time since I’ve felt the need to use my hands to direct my magic, but I suppose the panic this situation is inciting may be impeding my focus. Lifting my other hand up, palm facing Marcellus, I try to blast him away from me. Once again, nothing happens. In the meantime, Marcellus has succeeded in binding my arm to the chair and is making a grab for my other arm.
True panic starts to overtake me. Never before have I encountered a situation where my magic has failed me. “Marcellus, answer me, please! What’s going on? Let me go!” My words are laced with desperation. He says nothing, the only outward appearance of what he’s feeling is displayed in his eyes. A swirl of pain and sorrow dipped in regret.
I struggle against my bonds, including the use of my feet to try and move the chair. Nothing helps. Marcellus has done a very thorough job of making sure I can’t escape from the chair he’s put me in. “All of my plans are coming to fruition. I never thought I would get an opportunity such as this though.” My body goes rigid at the sound of Silas’ voice.
He comes to stand in front of me, a menacing gleam in his eyes. It seems like he’s lost all connection with reality. How long has he been successfully hiding the fact that he’s completely deranged? “Marcellus, sit over there and don’t say a word. Don’t move until I give you further instructions.” Immediately, he crosses the room to the seat Silas indicates.
It’s at this time, I notice a bandage on Marcellus’ hand, stained red with his blood. I suppose it could be someone else’s blood, since the room is sprayed with it... but I’m willing to speculate he sustained an injury when he had to subdue my two guards... How can they be dead? We’re nearly indestructible.
As if he hears my thoughts, Silas begins in what I can only describe as a taunting maniacal rant. “I see you eyeing your guards. I wager you’re wondering how it’s possible I was able to take their lives from them. It was actually quite easy.
“Have you ever been on the cusp of draining your magic stores? I accidentally found out a long time ago when that happens, someone of our lineage becomes vulnerable. It’s quite easy to kill a person when their magic isn’t fighting to keep them alive.
“Perfecting the mixture of ingredients took ages for me to successfully blend. A pinch of this, a dash of that, a drop of the other. Do you know how long it took me to find some of the flowers native to our origins? Decades! I’ve spent an enormous amount of time on something so simple.
“But finally, I figured it out. One doesn’t suspect a simple cup of tea can temporarily drain an individual’s magic stores. They never saw it coming, and I’m willing to guess you hadn’t either.” His finger trails along my cheek, and I jerk my head to the side to escape his touch. Nausea churns my stomach at the sound of glee in his voice. His words sound fragmented and disjointed, but I think I understand the gist of what he’s saying.
The tea he brought out with him while I was watching Marcellus train his men... that's why my magic wouldn’t respond to me, why it isn’t able to protect me from this current situation.Fates, I need you! Please, please, please, help me!What will become of magic if I’m not alive to finish the bond in order to anchor it for our people?
What if the Fates can’t hear my plea? What if my magic is needed to push the message to them? What if I’m truly alone here? What kind of hold does he have over my mate right now? Why is Marcellus going along with this? Why? I don’t understand! My chest tightens, why can’t I breathe?
“How does it feel to be without your magic right now, Princess? I bet you never imagined what it’s like to have your magic stripped from you against your will. Mine was stripped from me many centuries ago. Your mother did nothing to help me. Said it was the magic who decided I wasn’t worthy of its gift anymore, and there was nothing she could do about it. It was then I realized she was in on it.”
As Silas is speaking, he’s pacing back and forth, becoming more and more animated in his movements. I’ve never seen someone act in this manner. His eyes are bulging out of his head, bloodshot, and lacking any white around the pupil. His teeth are also stained red, like his gums are bleeding. I have no idea how to react so I go with the theory that silence is golden in this instance.
“My plan was to reveal Marcellus’ mark and then have his mate as another source to siphon magic from. Never imagined in my wildest dreams he would be matched to the Royal Heir. It was a sign my plans are on the right path. I realized right away with you here, in the middle of the transfer, I could untether the anchor as long as you didn’t finalize the bond.
“I was anxious at first that I wouldn’t get the final ingredients needed in time. I had to command Marcellus to keep his hands off of you to ensure it wouldn’t happen... adding a bit of magic into the command helped too.”
The jumping from thought to thought is giving me a headache, and is making it difficult for me to follow what he’s saying. If he lost his power, how was he able to add magic to the command? Magic doesn’t allow control over others. Maybe he’s so far detached from reality that he’s making things up, and actually believes it happened. Ugh, I really need to figure out how to escape these binds.
“As soon as the magic is untethered it’ll be free to return to all of us who’ve had it stolen. My life can get back to the way it was supposed to be. Now, time for the next step! It’s a pity Marcellus will be left as a shell of who he is, but maybe I can come up with a solution someday. Although in any war, there are always casualties.”
Silas bends down and whispers in my ear, “You must have realized from the moment you arrived it was always decided I wouldn’t permit you to leave. You see, if you ever left withmyMarcellus, the news would eventually reach my brother, and I can’t allow that to happen.”
Silas stalks over to a table on the side of the room, and picks up a knife before pivoting back toward me. I feel all the blood in my face drain, probably right down to my stomach from this overwhelming need to vomit. My legs buck in an attempt to tip the chair and find a way to escape. Finally, a rush of air whips my hair in my face as the chair tips backward.
“Tut tut, Princess, that won’t save you. There’s no escaping me. Hmmm, you know what, on second thought... Marcellus, come over here and take this knife.” Seeing the knife in Silas’ hand is one thing, but even the thought of Marcellus holding it in the sinister manner Silas is implying…
I turn my head as my stomach starts to heave. Barely opening my mouth in time, the contents spew out, my stomach clenching over and over until I’m spitting up a foamy substance. I feel so weak. Not just because I don’t have my magic to back me up, but in the literal sense. My body suddenly lacks the strength to even move. Is this an effect of the remaining tea turning in my stomach and coming back up? Or has my body already given up the desire to live?
I try to inch my head away from the mess I just made, and realize I hadn’t been paying attention to the room around me. Marcellus is kneeling on the ground next to me, leaning over my body, filling my vision. All other thoughts leave my mind, aside from one. How was he able to fake his affections for me all this time?
His hand runs along my cheek before he places a kiss on my forehead, which is so at odds with the knife he’s holding in his other hand. His eyes lock onto mine and I can’t bear to watch what I’m almost certain is about to happen. I close my eyes and put all of my focus into trying to squeeze my hands out of the rope securing me to the chair.
I flinch when the feel of the icy blade rests on the side of my neck. It shakes a bit due to Marcellus’ unsteady hand. I’m not sure what that says about my mate who’s about to murder me... at least his hands aren’t steady as he does it.
Betrayal... I never realized the agonizing pain that would come with a broken heart. Why not stab me in the heart? That method would be much less painful, because it already stings like a knife is twisting into my chest.
How does one show strength in a situation where all of it has been ripped away from you? How do you not allow your weakness to show? Is it truly weakness knowing death is upon you and there’s nothing you can do to stop it, except cry?
My tears aren’t a sign of weakness. They’re a sign of love. A drop for the love of my mother, and all her teachings. A teardrop for my father, to represent the courage he bestowed upon me. Another drop for both my parents combined, signifying all the beauty and love they’ve unconditionally given me my entire life.
