Page 6 of Caroline the Cruel
“She’s not for you, Servius. Hollis wants this one alive,” the larger assassin, who wore the same black attire, huffed as he came up behind her, clamping down on the back of her neck once again.
He spun her around and pulled her toward him so they were eye to eye, and Caroline startled at the brilliant blue of his eyes. The royals from the northern kingdom of Veetula had vibrant blue eyes, like the clearest mountain lake, but up close, they almost glowed with their own innate light. She’d seen them from a distance, that defining characteristic, but she didn’t realize even assassins might carry the trait, or a royal might be an assassin.
“You’ve been leading me in circles,” he hissed.
Caroline clenched her jaw tightly, refusing to answer. They would not end her life after all, so why should she speak?
As if reading her thoughts, the first assassin said, “Just because I’m not going to kill you, doesn’t mean I can’t make you wish you were dead.” A seedy grin crept across his blunt features, and any hope Caroline had melted away.
Grubby fingers dug into her skin, and he directed her toward the narrow window the light was filtering in through. She fought, kicking, flailing wildly as he picked her up and shoved her head-first through the opening. Screaming pain shot up her legs as her knees scraped over the exposed edges of the broken stones, and her stomach dropped as she free-fell over the edge.
At the last second, she jolted upward as the larger assassin’s firm grip sealed around her ankles. Front-facing, she slammed into the rose-vine-covered wall. Dagger-like thorns of the historic rose bushes, a symbolic feature wrapping Roskide in a blanket of flowering vegetation year-round, dug into her flesh and her whole body sparked in agony.
Wind howled, whipping around over the turrets and across the rounded wall she dangled from. Her silver dress slipped down, bunching around her torso, and she had to grab the gown so it wouldn’t slip entirely off her shapeless form.
“You will lead me to your sister. We will not leave this castle until we can deliver her lifeless body, along with that of King Thom and Queen Cerise, to our sovereign.”
Tears streaked down Caroline’s cheeks as fast as the hate filling her heart. The rage consumed her so fully she barely felt the tiny rivulets of blood trickling across her throbbing skin from the scratches inflicted upon her by the thorns. She peeled open her eyes and surveyed her options.
Directly beneath her, a crimson rose was splayed open in full bloom. She wrinkled her nose in disgust, the horrible flower causing the image of her sister and that hideous dress to flash through her mind. A single drop of her red blood dripped down onto its petals before sliding off to journey down the woody vines.
It was told the creeping vegetation was what kept the aging castle held together, but that was only a folktale. Still… Caroline reached out, grabbing ahold of a vine, testing it to see if it might hold her weight. If she could free her legs from the assassin’s grip, she might be able to shimmy down the vines like a ladder and escape.
She squeezed her hands around the thick, crawling stalks, stifling a sob as the thorns pierced her palms. She yanked. They held firmly affixed to the wall. It was worth the risk, she assessed, so she began kicking anew, slapping her ankles together, hoping the man’s knuckles would smack and he’d lose his grip.
“Haven’t had enough?” he growled at her, shaking her up and down.
She couldn’t repress the scream that ripped from her throat as fresh cuts and scrapes raked across her body. Then he was pulling her back up inside the window.
The first assassin planted her back on her feet, and she swayed, disoriented from hanging upside down for so long.
“If you don’t cooperate, it will be Servius’s turn.” The larger guard, whose name she hadn’t learned, patted his blade against the other assassin’s chest.
Servius grinned, exposing a row of gleaming white teeth trimmed with metal brackets attaching somewhere in the shadowed cavern of his mouth, which added pointed edges to the six teeth across the top. The gesture was effective in its intent and Caroline could feel the color drain from her skin.
Servius tapped his foot anxiously as he waited for her to give him a reason to strike. His muddy eyes were hungry, though she wasn’t sure for what. That prospective horror made her tremble, then step back. The assassin ran his palms down his black clad thighs, leaving a darkening trail of moisture behind them.
Caroline’s heart seized up. She tried to move, but her body clung glued to the wall and her heavy, panic-filled limbs remained stationary. Opening her mouth, she tried to speak, tried to raise a hand to point. Hot shame battled with sticky dread. This was why she could never have been the heir. Her fear had frozen her.
Servius stepped forward, placing his hands on either side of Caroline, boxing her in. He leaned his head down and ran his nose across the exposed skin of her neck which the dress’s tiny straps didn’t cover, breathing her scent. With his next excruciatingly slow pass, hot metal grazed her skin and a wet tongue trailed it, tasting the sweat and blood dotting her flesh.
Caroline closed her eyes. If she could not escape, if she could not save herself, she would do so inside her mind. Lock herself away in her imagination. She would envision herself as the type of woman, powerful, like her father, who could have easily taken down these two assassins standing before her, well within the range of his power.
She imagined hurting them like they hurt her. Relished in the thought of exacting retribution on them. Caroline and Emmy had always giggled at the torments and pranks they inflicted on their attendants, the cooks and gardeners, their teachers, and tailors. They had never been truly cruel. Until now, Caroline wouldn’t have understood what being truly cruel even meant.
Searing heat scored across her shoulder, bringing her out of her dream into the present. She gritted her teeth and squeezed her eyes tight, redoubling the effort. Caroline thought of that sharpened edge of the blade carried by the first assassin. How sweet it would feel to drag it across his throat and watch the warm blood flow out of his neck.
No. Her father would have compelled the other assassin to do the work for him. Then turn the blade against himself. Imagining their death might be the only way she’d survive this torture. The way the larger man would slip the blade out from its sheath, the sound the metal on metal would make—she could almost hear it.
So quietly, he would slip behind Servius while he was engrossed in marring her delicate skin. The assassin would wrap his hand across the other man’s forehead, yank him backward, and run the weapon across Servius’s exposed throat.
Hot liquid squirted across Caroline’s face, and she opened her eyes to see the wide eyes of Servius clawing at the ruby gash on his neck. Caroline darted her gaze around the hallway, searching for her sister.
She had come.How had she known where to find her?
She almost started crying anew, relieved that she was no longer alone, but her sister was nowhere in sight. It was impossible.Unless you had taken blood of the person you meant to command, your target must be within your line of sight.It’s how someone had thrown the rosenwood dagger which struck her father, from some carefully concealed location.
The first assassin took two startled steps back, trying to shake the blade free from his hand. Servius slumped to the floor, lifeless. Caroline gripped the wall for support, but weak knees buckled beneath her, and she slid down to rest in the blood pooling around the dead assassin.
