AllFreeNovel
Share Us
My hands are tied until I figure out who’s behind the raids.
As much as I hate to admit it, the idea of a rebel group of minotaurs is highly unlikely. Not only would it be a death sentence to parade around under our coat of arms if they were discovered, but as quick as gossip travels around here, we would have heard something by now. If the attacks have been going on for as long as Irissa implied, whispers of an enemy clan would have infiltrated the castle.
It seems more likely that whoever is responsible for the raids already resides within the kingdom, possibly inside the walls of the castle. With the resources available in the castle, it would be much easier to cover their tracks and strike down any rumors before they spread like wildfire. It would make working behind the scenes incredibly easy—they would know my family’s routines like clockwork.
The more I consider it, the more plausible it becomes, but the harsh reality of having an insurgent roaming around the castle is hard to swallow. There are hundreds of servants who pass through the halls every day. Any one of them could be a spy and we wouldn’t know until it was too late.
However, the betrayal could also be more deeply rooted among the nobles or the royalty of Ulleh. The idea makes my blood run cold. As much as I want to deny the possibility of one of my siblings controlling these attacks behind the scenes, I consider Irissa’s warning.
Aside from my father, who I’m confident has nothing to do with the discontent in Hyatt, there’s only one other person who I’d imagine would be cruel enough to orchestrate such an undertaking. Someone with nothing but time on his hands, no clear allegiance to our kingdom, and a cunning personality allowing him to slip under anyone’s radar.
Zenobios.
My heart sinks as I consider the possibility. I might hate the asshole, but I’d still hope that, despite our differences, he’d remain loyal to his kingdom, to his family. Even if all my siblings were incredibly intolerable, I could never turn my back on them.
Then again, Zen and I are nothing alike. I can’t assume he’d stick to the same moral compass merely because we’re related.
Once the thought takes root in my mind, I can’t shake it. I promised Irissa I would look into the attacks, and Zen’s the only suspect I have. At the very least, I can pay him a visit to pick his brain. Possibly interrogate him. I can slam him into the wall and demand the answers I need.
I guess it depends on how the conversation goes when I get there.
With renewed determination, I haul myself to my feet and shake out my limbs, already considering conversation starters. I don’t have much of a plan, and I’m not sure he’ll even give me the time of day, but I know one thing for certain: if he’s the one leading the attacks on Hyatt, I’ll kill him.
CHAPTERTWENTY-SIX
Nor
In the amount of time it takes me to cross the castle and ascend to the third floor where Zen’s bedchamber is, I lose track of how many times I consider turning around and heading back. It’s probably better to talk to my father first and get his opinion on the matter. It’s probably also wise to do some snooping and find some physical proof before accusing my brother of treason.
I know it’s best to wait and confront him when I’m not inundated with emotions, but I don’t have time to waste. Everything is unraveling at the seams, and I need answers. At least if I talk to him, I’ll have something to go on, even if it’s his innocence. Anything is better than what I have.
What do I have?
Poison and attacks on an ally kingdom. The two don’t seem to correlate, but I can’t reject the idea entirely. Something about the extremity and timing of them both raise alarm bells for me. Could the same person be behind both of them? If Zen’s the culprit, would he really attempt to poison his family?
A strong gut feeling tells me I’d rather not know the answer.
I’m so caught up in my thoughts, that I’m surprised when I find myself standing in front of a sleek, black door. An ornate Z carved in gold hangs in the center, assuring me that I haven’t gotten lost.
It’s been years since I stumbled up to this hallway, and even longer since I stepped foot inside Zen’s room. We were just kids the last time I crossed the threshold, and he kicked me out for breaking one of his toys. Trivial though it was, things were never quite the same after that. Every conversation felt a little more distant until the conversations stopped altogether. After that, he gradually distanced himself from everyone, eventually foregoing meals with the rest of the family.
He never said why or gave us a reason, aside from enjoying the solitude, and we all left him alone.
Now it feels unnatural to seek him out, and I can’t shake the uneasy feeling I get when I pound my knuckles against the door. I wait, listening hard for movement inside the room, but all I hear is silence.
Knocking louder in case he’s bathing, I pound my knuckles against the wood door and press my ear up against it to listen. Again, I don’t hear anything.
“Shit,” I curse under my breath, and reach for the doorhandle.
I freeze when I find it unlocked, silently weighing my options. I could poke my head inside and see if he’s just ignoring me, or I could give up and come back another time like I should have done to begin with. I sigh, knowing that if I leave, I’ll end up talking myself out of coming back, and twist the handle.
I’m not sure what I’m expecting to find in Zen’s room, but a time capsule from my childhood isn’t it. Everything from the gray walls to the four-poster bed draped with navy fabric is exactly the way I remember it. The pale gray rug covering most of the floor, along with the floor-to-ceiling navy curtains over the only window in the room are the same too. It’s like walking into a tangible memory, and for a nostalgic moment I just stand in the doorway looking around.
“Zen,” I call into the room, my eyes sweeping from wall to wall, searching for his dark form.
He doesn’t answer, and after a quick glance down the hallway to check for onlookers, I slip through the doorway. I don’t bother to close the door behind me as I step my way toward the center of the room, my eyes scraping over every familiar surface looking for anything suspicious. Aside from a potted Orris plant on his bedside table and a few articles of clothing tossed onto the edge of the silver bed comforter, nothing else grabs my attention. The room is immaculately kept and hardly looks like anyone sleeps here otherwise.
“Zenobios,” I call again, my eyes landing on the closed bathroom door. “Are you here?”
