18. Chapter Eighteen

The clack of my boots reverberates off the cold, damp stones as I descend down to the dungeons. I can't get Sybil out of my thoughts since apprehending her yesterday. Her usual scent of tea, lavender and vanilla was completely marred by the smell of damp stone and sweat. If fear had a smell, there's no doubt it would coat her pale skin.

Seeing her so frail and scared, with her hair roughly cut and eyes empty of their usual light, had nearly driven me insane. I had promised her a fair trial and found her a shell of the woman I had retrieved from that cottage. Something is very wrong and I hate myself for not knowing what to do. Why am I so willing to sacrifice everything I have and everything I am to save her?

After presenting my report to both my father and Tricella the night before, I was determined to clear my mind of her. I tossed my shirt into the fire and submerged myself in the steaming water, but despite scrubbing my skin until it was raw and red, I could still feel and smell her. Even though she has been a prisoner for some time, I swear her lavender scent still lingers, as if my imagination can't release her. Never have I experienced fury such as when Kieran laid his filthy hands on her and I was ready to see the light leave his eyes for that one small gesture. Goddess knows I only stopped myself because Tricella would have undoubtedly claimed a life for a life and killed Nero or Edmund to punish me. In a desperate attempt to dull my senses, I drank a few drams of dark starlight before finally succumbing to a deep, fitful sleep. Visions of her hair caressing her cheek as she tilts her head in thought, her soft rosebud lips, and those damnable soft hands still plague my dreams. Shaking my head, I rake my fingers through my hair.

The unicorn must have cast a spell on me once Tricella unleashed her powers, it's the only way I can explain this obsession, this urge to make sure she is safe. Shifters are abominable creatures, only with animal instincts to fuck, kill, and conquer, I tell myself. My words ring false, even in my head, and I wonder why I keep trying to tell myself this, when I know Sybil has proven to be the only exception, demanding that I change my mind–that I do better.

"Why was she even free in the castle?" I question aloud as I turn the corner and proceed through another door, slamming it behind me. My movements are guided by an instinctive need to see her.

Another flight of stairs and over the reek of the dungeon. I smell the faint hint of her scent. My heart is pounding in my chest as I sprint toward the ominous entrance of her cell, but my steps grow heavy as I get a first glimpse at what lies behind the bars. Curled up in the muck, shivering from the cold and covered in dried blood, Sybil seems to be asleep. I slowly take a step forward, careful not to wake her. My breath comes out in ragged gasps, each exhale a silent prayer for her well-being. A low growling sound emanates from deep within me, reverberating through my chest as my eyes lay on her tear-streaked face in the dim light of the dungeon and time seems to freeze. A magnetic pull tugs at my gut, urging me to move closer. Every detail of her presence is magnified, as if the world around us has faded away and we are the only two beings left. In that moment, the air cracks and my heart, already racing with fear, now pulses with new found intensity.

This can't be. No. She is a shifter. She is nothing to me.

My knuckles turn white as I grip the bars of her cell, watching her. I can't seem to look away from the heartbreaking sight in front of me. Her thin gown is stained and ripped. My breath catches in my throat as shock and recognition wash over me.

Save her. Free her. Mate. My Mate—

The tug inside me demands. I recoil from the cell and quickly step back, cursing under my breath as my boot splashes in a puddle of fluid.

No. She can't be.But I feel the relentless insistence down to my very core. Mate.

Her eyes flash open, their hazel depths peering into my soul.

"Aramis," she says venomously. Her eyes are full of malice as she continues to stare.

"Sybil," I reply. My practiced speech and witty remarks fail me; a deadweight on my tongue.

She pushes herself up to a sitting position, a wince briefly flashing over her face. "Come to gloat, Prince of Shadowvale? You've managed to capture a scary group of—" she pauses, her breaths coming out in labored grunts as she pushes herself to stand unsteadily on her feet. She gestures towards the cell behind me. "Scared, defenseless men, women and children."

"They are rebel shifters and spies—" I begin weakly, before I spot a dark substance on the ground behind her. I can't tear my gaze away from the thick, sticky puddle of blood slowly drying on the floor of her cell. The crimson liquid seems to have seeped into the cracks and crevices, staining the stone a deep, rusted red. My gut boils with rage as I imagine the pain she must have endured, and that strange sensation tugs me towards her once again.

"Yes, yes, so you've told me. Rebel spies to sow dissent among your people and tear your kingdom down from the inside." Sybil spits her vitriol at me, reciting words I've said to her, over and over again. It's pure hatred, and I'm astonished at the rage coming from her. Did I sound like this when I said these words aloud? "Evil creatures bent on destruction and chaos. Look around you, your highness! Do these prisoners look like evil creatures bent on the destruction of your kingdom?" My title drips with sarcasm, and I'm forced to look at her.

The demand of her questions pulls on me, and I look at the shifters surrounding her. The hatred in her voice is forcing me to put my prejudices aside and truly look at the prisoners. Not as shifters, but children and women forced to survive in these dungeons in putrid conditions under the false pretense of a fair trial. Once again, Sybil makes me wonder if I've ever been the savior in this story, or only another villain.

But they are shifters. These people killed my mother—they have been organizing rebellion to tear down my family's legacy; our very kingdom. Sybil might be a victim, a wrongly accused suspect, but the shifters in these dungeons have reasons to be here. She cannot tell me that my life's mission is built on a lie.

"I have seen the destruction they have caused with my own eyes, Sybil. They are here because they have been found guilty of treason, of conspiring with the rebellion," I argue. Soulful eyes inquire mine, and I have to shut mine to stop the questioning.

"Do you even hear yourself? Look around you!" Sybil demands, and the pull to answer her, to fulfill her needs, overcomes me. I return her gaze. "Aramis, these people are not rebels. They are your people. Your citizens. Haven't you been wondering where the shifters disappear to after the raids you're endlessly trying to tidy up?"

How does she know this? "What business do you know–"

"Your queen is sending her lackeys off to kidnap the shifters! Kieran's visions are not focused on predicting rebel attacks. They scout for powerful shifters in nearby towns," Sybil cuts me off. "The Queen destroys their homes and drains them of their power, and when they're rendered useless, she disposes of them as she pleases!" Tears swell in her eyes. The desperation in her tone is like a slap to my face.

"You always arrive late at the attacks because they are not real. They send you to these towns once they are done with their destruction because they want to fuel the hatred this bloody kingdom has for shifters. There is no rebellion, Aramis. Just lies and a selfish bitch who wants to use shifter magic for herself."

Every word hits me like a brick. Doubts surface again in my mind. No, it can't be true… Stealing another's magic requires dark magic—forbidden magic that we have outlawed from Shadowvale. Tricella would never… or would she?

I exhale slowly, my head pounding under the weight of all these revelations. It's too much to endure–this can't be true. But the bond between us–the one I'm attempting to refuse, binds me to the truth of them. It's the honesty of Sybil's anger that I'm currently trying to defend against. She and I–we hold the same rage in our bodies, for entirely different reasons. I step back in denial at the power of those thoughts.

"This must be a falsehood—" I stammer. What is this hold she has on me? The impatient, demanding part of me that screams Sybil is using her magic against me–to entice me, fights the truth of her words. "This is just part of the deception you're weaving to escape." I lash out in anger. My hands clench at my sides. The words burst out, but they ring false, even to my own ears. This stupid, idiotic pull–the call of the mating bond crashes around me.

Fuck this. Sybil isn't my mate—she can't be. This isn't happening. And if she's right, everything I've ever known has been a lie. My entire purpose to end the rebellion and to save my people is all a fucking lie. Thoughts of my mother's assassination hit me. What of this hatred that has been weaved into my entire reason and purpose? Goddess help me—I don't know what to do. My chest clenches as panic rises inside, warring between denial and need.

"Why would I lie? I'm trapped in a cell," Sybil speaks, not missing a beat. She looks around her and gestures to the people she's imprisoned with. "Your stepmother continues to drain my power to fill hers and preserve her youth and beauty. Hasn't she looked particularly glowing since you brought me to your castle?" She turns away, facing the wall, her back straight and head held high. A queen in her own right. "In the brief time I've known you, I have always hoped there was more to you. Something hidden behind this cruel facade you put up and at times, I thought I had managed to crack it and see the real you. Do you remember when you gave me the pomme d'argent? That moment stays with me, all the time. But I was wrong. You are so blinded by the lies you keep telling yourself. I don't think you even know who you are."

That moment stays with me, all the time. I stiffen at the mention of those sweet moments we shared. "You know nothing of me," I reply coldly, bottling down the urge to use my powers to rip the iron door out of the wall and carry her out. "And I was just doing my duty. There was and is nothing between us. " I step closer to the iron doors and abruptly halt. Don't be an idiot. I chastise myself. Walk away. Now.

Our gazes lock. The air is an electrical storm around us. I can't help but wonder if she too has felt that tug I am desperately trying to ignore.

I turn, heading straight to the training grounds. This was a mistake. I shouldn't have come. The answers I sought have only turned into more questions.

***

"Taking it out pretty hard on that dummy, aren't ye?" Nero leans against the outer stone wall of the castle. Flurries of snow flutter around on a breeze, the chill cutting into my cheeks like razors. My muscles ache with an intense heat, as if each fiber is engulfed in flames.

"Go. Away. Nero." I pant as I continue to slam my fists into the straw filled body hanging from the post. My knuckles are swollen, pulsing with a throbbing pain that echoes through my entire hand. Blood oozes from the wounds, dripping slowly onto the ground with a sickening sound as I move forward, throwing punch after punch. The stench of sweat and exertion fills my nostrils, but it's not enough to overpower the lingering scent of her.

"If ye need to take yer frustration out over what happened the other night, maybe ye should pick on someone more yer own skill and size." His feet scrape across the dirt floor of the training ground. We've been sparring in this small training ring outside the east side of the castle since we were boys.

Turning my body, I catch the sword he tosses before it slams into the back of my head.

"Do nae tell me yer getting old and slow on me now?" Nero jests as he performs a flashy flourish, twirling his sword in the air before striking towards me.

"Old?" I question as I fall into a defensive fighting stance. I can see the glint of my sword as it clashes with the other, the sunlight bouncing off the metal and creating a dazzling display. The clash of steel sends a resounding whistle through the air, echoing off the walls and sending shivers down my spine. The smell of sweat and metal fills my nostrils as I focus on the rhythm of our movements, the dance of battle. "If I recall, it was you who was complaining about your aching backside and needing to soak your weary bones when we returned to the castle."

He lunges at me, his eyes locked onto mine. I raise my sword just in time to parry his attack, the clash of metal ringing in my ears. The force of his strike sends shockwaves down my arm, the weight of his attack almost too much to bear.

"Ah, but I already had two lovely lasses fighting over who would get to scrub my back. What male would turn that down?" He retorts as he advances on me with a slash to my weak side. I parry as I swivel on my left foot, kicking my right in an attempt to trip him. He nimbly jumps out of the way, a wicked grin plastered across his face.

"No retort, Aramis?" He stabs and narrowly misses as the edge of my sword deflects his. "Jealous?"

"Jealous? What would I have to be jealous of?" A surge of excitement well within me as I lunge towards him with a swift motion. The sound of our boots scraping against the ground echoes in my ears. A broad grin appears on my face as I push him back, feeling the resistance in his body. The energy of the moment courses through me, and I relish in the thrill of the fight.

"That I left yer poor ass alone for prettier company," he replies. He deftly parries every attack I throw his way with ease, sidestepping my every move with eloquence.

"Who taught you to dance like a girl with a sword?" I pant as he lunges towards me, the tip of his sword slicing through the fabric of my sleeve.

Fueled by his near hit, I take advantage, feigning to his left and slash while simultaneously sending a powerful push of my air magic against him. He grunts as he barely blocks my attack, his balance thrown off by the force of the gale. His eyes light up with a sparkle of flame, his teeth flashing as those same flames start dancing along the fingertips of his free hand.

"Oh, you want to play with magic? Two can play that game." He dances around, swinging his sword with another flourish. He shakes his head, sweat trickling down his tanned forearms. Heat fills the air between us. My lungs are burning from the exertion of our duel, but my lips curl up at his taunting invitation.

"I win, and you scrub my chambers for a week." I call the wind to me, swirling around my left forearm into an invisible shield.

"An' if I win?" Nero lifts an eyebrow.

"As if you will beat me. What do you want if you win, old man?" We exchange a few more blows and parries.

"If I win, ye tell me what is on yer mind. Ye haven't been yourself lately. I can't recall the last time ye've drunk yourself to sleep." Concern laces his voice as he quickly counterattacks my parry. The cold stone castle wall hits my back, and the tip of his sword pierces the front of my shirt. His deep brown eyes pierce mine and I am forced to look away, knocking his sword to the side. The rough stone scratches through my shirt as I slide down the wall to the ground. A cloud of dust wafts up as he sits beside me.

"It's nothing." I close my eyes, evading him.

"It's nae nothing. I've keen you for over a hundred years, Aramis." His eyes bore into me.

"It's Sybil." I sigh and stare at the blue sky above us filled with dark gray clouds, heavy with the promise of snow.

"What of Sybil?" He tenses up, his breath becoming shallow and rapid.

I pause and glance at my friend. His furrowed brow and down-turned mouth betray his concern. We have known each other since we were boys and I trust him with my life. But I am not sure if I even trust my own feelings.

"I'm not quite sure where to begin." I rub at my temples. I can still feel that tug deep inside. "I can't stop thinking about her, smelling her, seeing her in my dreams. I vowed the night my mother died at the shifter's hands that I would not forgive them for trying to take down my kingdom." I rub at my chest, willing the sensation to go away. Not even drinking myself stupid has been enough to stop this growing pull. "I don't know if she's cast some sort of spell on me, but I just can't stop. They have her locked up in the East dungeon with the other shifters." The image of her lying unconscious on the stone, her hair plastered to her head with drying blood, fills my mind. I lift a hand and rub at my forehead.

"Wait. They have Sybil in the East dungeon?" He quickly rises to his feet, his dark brows furrowing. "I apologize, my lord. But I forgot I have an urgent matter to attend to." With that, he swiftly turns and walks away, leaving me puzzled over my emotions and his strange behavior.