His heart was hammering so loudly, Matthew was certain everyone around him could hear it, but the people scrambling past him in the hallways were so preoccupied with their own escape, no one seemed to notice him. Still, he kept his head down, doing his best to remember exactly what Angel had drawn for him so that he could get out of Blackthorn before Philip’s men caught up with him.
Escaping had been much simpler than he had ever imagined. The guards who had flown into his room with the approach of cannon fire ringing outside hadn’t even pushed the cabinet out from the wall. He’d seen them glance under the bed, looked out the arrow slits, as if he might have squeezed himself through, and then they’d run out the door, yelling his name, expecting him to answer.
The lock had done exactly what Angel had planned. The masticha kept the locking mechanism from fully engaging so that the door had swung closed, the lock banging against the jamb, and then flung back open. By that time, the two guards were halfway down the stairs, and Matthew had followed them at a distance.
If he remembered the path Angel had drawn him correctly, the door to the stairwell leading to the tunnels beneath the castle should be up ahead on his left. He hurried past an intersection where off in the distance he heard a woman screaming. Seeing no Arterian colors, he didn’t take the chance on discovering whether or not his rescue was imminent. Surely, Philip would find a way to hold the castle for a day or two, wouldn’t he? Matthew couldn’t take the chance on finding out.
At the next intersection, a couple rounded the corner and nearly ran into him. “Pardon,” Matthew said, ducking his head and hoping they assumed he was only a servant, though in his tattered rags, he doubted that would be the case. He could tell by their dress that the pair were nobility. However, they were clearly in a hurry to find a way out themselves and paid him little mind. Matthew ducked into the shadows, his hand tracing the stone wall, searching for the opening.
Several more people hurried past him, servants, nobles, even a few members of Philip’s army. None of them seemed to notice him. When his fingers finally felt the seam in the wall, and Matthew realized this was the staircase he’d been looking for, he waited for another group of desperate castle dwellers to scurry by before he cracked the door and stepped onto the stairs.
It was quieter here, though the sounds of hurried footsteps and muffled shouts still reached below as he took the steps two at a time. The darkness had become his friend recently, and his eyes adjusted quickly. He’d have to move quickly and quietly as he was fairly certain there would be others who knew of the passages here and would be utilizing them to escape the infiltrating forces—possibly even Philip himself.
At the bottom of the stairs, he began to wind his way through the turns outlined on Angel’s map, each of them precisely where he expected them to be. Off in the distance, down other dark corridors, he heard voices but didn’t slow his pace. In the darkness, there would be plenty of opportunities to hide, should he need to.
It seemed like an hour had passed by the time he finally spotted the tunnel he’d need to use in order to exit the castle. The grate was leaning a bit, letting him know that Angel had opened it recently. Glancing around to make sure he was alone, he stepped inside, bending down to keep from hitting his head on the low ceiling. He would have to crouch, but he would fit, unless the passage narrowed significantly. It wasn’t ideal—but it would do. A thin brown liquid swirled around his feet. Matthew was used to awful smells by now and didn’t let it bother him.
Not far inside, he found the treasures Angel had left him resting atop a stone to keep them out of the water. Quickly, he tore his rags off and pulled on the clothing she had procured for him. Even in the darkness, he could tell by the fine linen that the clothing had formerly belonged to Philip. Matthew couldn’t help but chuckle as he pushed into the fine leather boots. They were a little big but would certainly work, and he would rather have extra room than have to walk several miles with pinched toes. Angel had also left him a canteen and a small basket of food. She had thought of everything. With a sigh, he collected the items and continued on his way, wondering where she was and praying she’d gotten to safety.
As he made his way through the muck, thoughts of everything he’d been through crowded his mind. Soon, he would be reunited with his brother. He couldn’t wait to hug his neck and thank him for all the trouble he and his men had gone through to win him back. Staying in the castle and waiting might’ve been easier physically, but the chances of Philip’s men finding him were too high. He was certain they’d be instructed to kill him on sight, and too much had been sacrificed already to ensure his freedom. He couldn’t jeopardize it now.
Matthew had been in that prison for so long, he’d almost lost the will to live until Angel, his beautiful Angel, had come along. With every step, he said a prayer for her safety, for his own safe passage, and that wherever this tunnel led, it would be Caleb’s men waiting for him at the end—not enemy forces.
The Arterians were inside of the fortress now. Rose stood near the castle wall, watching the flickering lights of torches as the enemy streamed through the wall, the occasional rumble of cannon fire shaking the ground but not stirring her resolve. She knew that Arterian soldiers were not the pillaging, raping type. Calmly, she waited as another line of soldiers raced by to her left, easily accessing the main entrance. While she imagined a bit of rabble remained to oppose them inside, it wouldn’t take long for the rest of Philip’s forces to crumble.
After that, when Blackthorn had completely fallen, the soldiers she was looking for would come, the ones that would round up the citizens that were left behind, those that didn’t escape or accidentally meet their demise. The villagers that appeared to be useful would be placed in the back of prison carts and hauled back to Arteria where they could either swear allegiance to King Caleb or find themselves as prisoners for the rest of their lives.
Leaving Clovington wasn’t upsetting to Rose at all. For hours, she’d watched as others screamed and ran about, praying for escape before the invading forces took them prisoner. Rose was ready to go. She’d given Philip everything she had and gotten nothing in return. For all she cared, he could find his way into the direct path of a cannon ball. No, he was no longer her concern, and as she stood patiently waiting to be taken prisoner, it was another king who came to mind. Would she swear allegiance to Caleb? Absolutely, and with any luck, she’d find a way to ensure the Arterian king was soon swearing allegiance to her as well.
By the time Charles reached the landing at the bottom of the stairs, he realized he was out of time. The passage he needed to access in order to reach the king’s bedchambers was clogged with members of the Arterian Army, surrendered soldiers from the King’s Guard, and civilians attempting to flee. Nevertheless, he had sworn to Philip that he would collect his bride, and he was not willing to abandon the princess.
With his hand on the hilt of his sword, he stepped into the hall. He would need to force his way through this hall, around the corner, and down the next hallway before he could rescue the princess and find a way to smuggle her out of the castle. The fray came to him quickly.
A few steps away from the stairs, an Arterian soldier commanded him to halt. Instinctively, Charles drew his sword, engaging the other man in hand-to-hand combat. Immediately, the attention of the other soldiers around him on both sides was drawn. Members of the King’s Guard who had not yet handed off their weaponry recognized him and came to his aid.
Charles had been a swordsman since he’d been strong enough to lift a blade. He took the first assailant down easily enough, moving on to a second and third simultaneously. The Arterians were skilled, but Charles was better. He ran one of them through cleanly, and drawing a knife from his waist, plunged it into the other’s arm, using his boot to kick the man back out of his way. Around him, the clatter of swords escalated, and for a moment, Charles thought perhaps he had a chance to rescue the princess after all.
Ahead of him, a tall, lanky officer stepped forward. Charles snickered, certain he had this one. He brought his sword around quickly, thinking to make short work of the man, but in this case, looks were deceiving. His blow was blocked instantly, and Charles soon found himself stumbling backward.
“You’re quite good,” the dark haired officer said as Charles brought his blade up to counter an attack. “You realize this is futile, do you not?”
Faking to his left but bringing his weapon around to the right, Charles nearly landed a blow on his assailant’s shoulder. “And leave Blackthorn to the likes of you? I’d rather die.”
Another quick thrust or two, and Charles had him dancing. Still, the man was persistent. “If you don’t surrender, death will be your only option.”
Unwilling to acknowledge his statement, Charles fought on, aware that the others who had joined in with him were falling all around him. None of the other Arterians interfered with their duel, though, which Charles might’ve thought strange if he had time to think about anything other than the swordplay.
Seeing an opening, Charles brought his sword around in a full arch and knocked the Arterian officer’s weapon into the air. With a strong shove to the chest, he pushed the man back as the sword clattered on the stone floor out of reach. Now, all he needed to do was run him through and be on his way, assuming the others didn’t stop him. It was a pity—such a worthy opponent—but it had to be done.
Charles raised his sword and stepped toward his prey as he’d done a hundred times before. A flicker of movement in front of him caught his attention, but it was too late to react. Intense pain began to radiate through Charles’s neck as the Arterian moved his hand away, spreading like wildfire up into his head and down through his shoulders as the breath languished in his lungs.
Struggling to inhale, Charles glanced down to see the handle of a small knife jetting out of his neck. Blood filled his mouth, and he stumbled backward into a wall, sliding to the floor. He reached for the handle and pulled the blade free, dropping it to the ground. “I’m sorry I failed you, Philip,” he gurgled as stars shot through his line of vision and everything faded to black.
Shaking his head, David calmly reached down, picked up his knife, and wiped the poor bastard’s blood on his sleeve. “It’s a shame,” he muttered, grabbing his sword. At least most of the other Clovington guardsmen, if they could be called that, had had the good sense to give up. With another glance at the fallen swordsman, he continued down the hall.
By the sound of things, most of the resistance had been quashed. Around him, members of his detail were gathering up those who’d surrendered, as well as citizens of Blackthorn who’d been hiding, and began to escort them out of the castle in groups. David was under the impression this hall led to King Philip’s rooms, and while he had a feeling he wouldn’t discover the king cowering in the corner, he hoped he might find something useful. Elsewhere, other details were searching Blackthorn for Matthew. The sooner the king was found, the better.
David made his way down the hallway, checking rooms as he went. At the end of the hall, a finely carved oak door stood out to him, an indicator that this room was significant. He imagined it must be the king’s chambers.
A jiggle of the handle revealed the door was locked, which wasn’t a surprise. Glancing around, he spotted a small wooden pillar holding an urn. The decorative pot shattered on the ground as he picked up the pillar and used it as a battering ram. Three swings later, what was left of the door pushed open.
The opulent furniture and fabrics indicated he was right; this was the king’s room. It was dark, but he’d only taken a few steps into the space when he realized he wasn’t alone.
A pair of blue eyes, wide with fear, stared at him from the bed, cutting through the darkness. David stared back for a moment, not sure what to think of the situation. Even in the dark, it was obvious he was looking at a young woman, and it appeared she was bound to the bed. While the blankets were pulled up tight, he imagined she was also undressed.
Part of him wanted to chuckle, but he bit it back, not blaming her for the terror in her eyes. With his hands up in front of him where she could see him, he took a few steps closer. “I mean you no harm,” he assured her, but she said nothing, only followed him with her eyes, her breathes short gasps.
It was a black ribbon that had her bound to the bed, and from the looks of it, Philip was a master with knots. Running low on time and patients, David decided not to give any more thought to the situation. He pulled out his knife without thinking, and hearing her inhale sharply, he said, “Oh, I apologize.” He held it up for her to see and gestured at the rope. “I’m just going to... free you.”
With a quick slice, her hands came apart, and the girl quickly gathered up the bed clothing around her. Noises in the hallway alerted him that his soldiers were looking for him. He needed to hurry. Even though he trusted his men completely, he couldn’t leave her like this. Shouts of his name had him calling back that he’d be right there, and then after a quick look around the room, he spotted a robe on the end of the bed.
Picking it up, he laid it on her legs. While he had noticed a gown across the room, he didn’t have time to mess with all that. “Put this on, and we’ll escort you down to where we’re holding the prisoners.”
While her eyes were still bulging, she nodded, and while he imagined she’d prefer her gown, she wasn’t about to argue with him. Placing his knife back in its sheath, he turned his back to her for privacy and stepped away a bit.
The girl still didn’t speak. He only knew she had the robe on and was ready when she came to be standing next to him. While it seemed odd to him that she hadn’t said a word, he assumed she was too scared to speak. He gave her a reassuring smile and then took her arm. Despite the situation he’d found her in, she seemed like a pleasant woman, certainly beautiful. Perhaps it hadn’t been her choice to become one of Philip’s playthings.
A few steps into the hallway, David was met with a rush of soldiers. “Sir, what are your orders?” one of them asked before they all noticed the diminutive form beside him and several mouths dropped open.
“Continue to secure the hall,” David said to the one who’d asked the question. “Simpson, escort this young lady outside to the courtyard. Be sure she’s safe before you leave her.”
“Ye—yes sure,” Simpson, a newer recruit, but one David trusted, stammered and offered the girl his arm.
She didn’t move, though. David turned to look at her for a moment. “You’ll be safe,” he assured her.
Her throat bobbed before she took a hesitant step forward, and slid her hand through the crook of Simpson’s large arm. The scene was a bit comical, but David had other matters to attend to, so he shook his head, attempting to clear his thoughts and get back to work. Whoever the girl was, she wasn’t going to be any help in finding Matthew or Philip, and those were the most important obstacles he needed to overcome before Caleb arrived at Blackthorn and demanded a report. Still, his eyes followed the red-head down the hall until he realized the rest of the soldiers were watching as well. “Gentlemen?” he barked. “Back to work?” As one, they lurched to attention, and David headed down the hallway, searching for a pair of kings.
Katherine’s lips were trembling. Fear and shock pulsated through her as she walked down the hall--littered with bodies--on Simpson’s arm. He was a nice enough fellow—she could tell by the way he held her arm and the smile he’d given her—but as far as he knew, she was the enemy. And here she was, practically naked, no shoes, picking her way across bloodied stone, having no idea what might happen next.
“You don’t need to be afraid,” he said as they headed down the stairs. “We won’t hurt you. King Caleb doesn’t put up with any sort of shenanigans.”
Katherine nodded, knowing she’d heard that from more than one person before. Still, she would’ve been more comfortable if the officer would’ve let her put on her gown. She couldn’t blame him for rushing, though. He clearly had work to do.
Outside in the courtyard, a throng of people were shouting and hurrying about. Many of them were Arterian soldiers moving citizens and captured enemy forces, but some of the aristocracy were demanding to be set free as prison carts loomed near the shattered wall.
Caleb’s optimism in taking the castle could be seen by the amount of prison carts he had brought. From her vantage point, Katherine counted five. A few of them were already beginning to fill up. She imagined they were separating the classes and keeping the soldiers in their own as well. Chances were, she’d end up in one with servants and villagers. Eventually, she would need to find a way to obtain an audience with Caleb, but for now, she felt safer amongst the commoners where she could find some anonymity.
“I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay with you,” Simpson said quietly as he walked her over to a wagon half-full with servant girls and other women from the village. “I must get back inside with my detail. You’ll be safe, though.” He stopped short of the line where other soldiers were helping the women climb a ramp into the back of the wagon and smiled down at her. “You needn’t be fearful.”
Katherine nodded and found a smile for him. He was gentle and thoughtful, not qualities she’d expected to encounter with an invading army. The officer had been the same way, though. Perhaps their characteristics were modeled after their own leader.
It was her turn now. The soldier at the gate, an older man with graying hair and a firm disposition, offered his arm. “Step in, please, miss.” His eyes shifted slightly as he took in the robe she wore. Made of purple velvet and sporting a large, hand-embroidered “P,” Katherine couldn’t blame him for noticing it. He said nothing, though, as she steadied herself on his arm and made her way up the ramp.
“Safe travels,” Simpson called before a sharp look from the soldier at the ramp had him running back toward the castle. Katherine held back a smile and made her way to the back of the wagon where she could lean against solid wood instead of just the bars that made up the other sides.
There was plenty of room back here as most of the girls were standing where they could stick their faces between the bars. She settled down in the corner, drawing the robe around her the best she could. It was a chilly evening, though not cold. Still, shoes would’ve been a comfort. Around her, some of the other girls were crying, begging to be released so that they might find their husbands or mothers. For the most part, they didn’t look frightened, only apprehensive. The soldiers on the outside of the wagon assured them anyone who swore allegiance to Arteria would be reunited with their family members once they reached the other kingdom, which was reassuring to some who were likely thankful not to have been killed in the fray.
None of the other women in her wagon were nobility. Over to her right, torchlight illuminated another wagon where the aristocrats were being loaded up, both men and women. They were the ones putting up a fuss, insisting they be allowed to gather their belongings. Katherine shook her head; she’d always felt more comfortable with the class of people she was with at the moment, and even though no one knew she was the princess, she was thankful to be in this wagon and not that one. As she watched one of Philip’s favorites, a plump courtier who always wore blue, make her way into the wagon on shaky legs, Katherine twisted the ring on her finger. At least she had that. The seal should prove her identity when the time came to reveal what she knew.
Movement and noise surrounded her, but a tension in the air revealed that the search was still on. Despite not being able to see what was happening at the castle, Katherine knew she’d be able to tell if Matthew or Philip were located by the reaction of the soldiers and the shift in dispositions. For now, the army continued to operate at full pace, hunting for the two kings.
Her thoughts went to Matthew, and she closed her eyes and rested her head against her hands, praying he’d be all right. If they hadn’t found him, did that mean he’d managed to get out of his cell? Or had Philip taken him? Surely, he hadn’t had time to order an execution in the few minutes between the time Charles knocked on the bedroom door and the breach of the castle.
Philip must’ve managed to get away as well, which made Katherine’s stomach churn. Although, with him gone, her chances of being charged as an enemy to Arteria were lessened. He couldn’t claim her if he wasn’t present. Part of her wanted him hunted down and locked up, or worse, the way he’d taken Matthew prisoner and killed his wife. Philip was an evil man, and if Katherine could go the rest of her life without laying eyes on him again, she’d be a thankful woman.
Thoughts of Joan, of her family, even of the servants she’d gotten to know in her short stay at Blackthorn came to mind, and Katherine prayed for each of them. One by one, women were escorted into the cart, but none of them approached Katherine, none of them recognized her, none of them paid her any mind at all, which was for the best. Still, as she thought about the people she’d miss and the possibilities in front of her, the princess couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching her.