Shadows Of Desire
In My Time of Dying

Killian realized a bit too late that he hadn’t thought this plan through. If he wanted to enter Emilia’s chambers undetected, well, that wasn’t going to happen now. Throwing the doors to the Ante-chamber opened, he was met with the startled faces of five, now angry, ladies maids. The two closest to the door moved from their chairs at a speed he hadn’t thought possible from women weighted down by layers upon layers of frilly material and those shoes. Heeled shoes like that were more dangerous in Killian’s opinion than the dagger he held in his hand. They should be illegal. Those things could take an eye out. Especially when being thrown at one’s face.

The two women had rushed him and were attempting to shove him out of the room while the three cows behind them were screaming in terror for the guards to come and save them. Killian rolled his eyes. Did these harpies think he came for them? With the wave of his arm, he flung one of them aside, and into a mahogany plant stand, he then turned to the other and punched her in the face. The force of the blow sent her stumbling backward and into the lap of one of the screamers. Having momentarily stunned the frightened women, Killian was able to push past them and into Emilia’s sitting room. He sighed a breath of relief when he saw that this room was empty. Draining the unconscious guard in the outer corridor of his cell had given him the strength he needed but, he didn’t care to deal with anymore screeching banshees.

Killian sprinted across the sitting room, headed straight for Emilia’s bedchambers. He hadn’t been sure before he’d come if she would actually be there but seeing the ladies in the ante-chamber had confirmed that she was. The bitch never went anywhere without her parade of over-dressed, haughty, high-flown, shrews. All the better he thought as he flung the doors to her bed chambers open. No guards around to stop him, no servants other than the ladies maids, it was all too easy. Killian suspected that his escape from his cell had not yet been discovered otherwise, there would have been guards waiting for him when he arrived.

Entering Emilia’s chamber he looked around to ensure that they were alone. The squawking hags in the other room were rushing towards him but Killian slammed the doors in their faces and locked them out. They continued to pound on the doors, demanding he come out. Killian ignored them, instead, slowly walking towards the large, four poster bed, where he could clearly see Emilia sleeping. A single candle sitting on the stand beside her bed cast a dim light over her prone body, illuminating only the small area around her. Killian held the dagger tightly in his clenched fist, ready to strike, as he moved silently towards her. She didn’t stir or make any indication that she knew he was in the room.

As he approached, he took into account everything about her. Her fair skin, the long, flowing locks of raven curls that framed her face. Her still, lifeless, body. She was laying on her back, her hands folded over her chest. Her gown was smoothed out around her and her eyes...her eyes were opened, staring up at the canopy above her. Killian stopped and stared at her. Something wasn’t right. If she wasn’t asleep, then why hadn’t she moved? Why hadn’t she looked in his direction or demanded to know why he was there? Why hadn’t she screamed? He stood at the side of the bed now, the dagger raised in his hand and still, she remained motionless. Killian narrowed his eyes and frowned. He gently pulled back the sheer, white, curtain that looked eerily similar to a funeral shroud, and peered down at the figure of his wife.

Killian gasped and stumbled backwards. Emilia wasn’t sleeping as he’d first thought, she wasn’t play acting, she was dead. Under her folded hands, a dark, red, stain appeared on her gown, seeping through the fabric and down the front of her skirts. Her eyes were wide and the look on her face was of shock and horror. He also noticed that there was no blood on the sheets or bed coverings and the blood on her gown was nearly dry. Whoever had done this had staged the body. Of that he was sure. With shaking hands he pushed the curtain back into place then looked at the dagger in his hand. A silver dagger. Maybe the same dagger that had taken Emilia’s life before Killian had had the opportunity. Only a silver dagger would have been able to kill a vampire. The wound from iron or steel would have healed in time but silver, that was deadly.

Killian looked from the dagger to the wound in Emilia’s chest. His face contorted into a mask of rage as he realized that he’d been played. But, why? Why would Caroline kill her own daughter? Surely she wasn’t that evil and deranged. Would she take her child’s life just to frame Killian for it? No, it didn’t make sense. There were other ways that she could have dealt with him. If she wanted to punish him she would have known that killing Emilia was not the way. He cared nothing for her. He despised her. There had to be another reason. An accident? That seemed the only likely explanation. Caroline had killed Emilia on accident and now she wanted Killian to take the fall for her mistake.

Was that her plan? He wondered. Frame him for Emilia’s death then watch as he was dragged to the courtyard, begging for mercy, before being tied to the pyre and burned alive?

“Fuck her!” Killian sneered. He wasn’t about to give her the satisfaction and, there was no way that he was going to allow them to lock him up again.

He snapped his head around to the double doors as he heard yelling and the pounding of boots coming towards him. The maids had alerted the guards and they were seconds away from bursting through the doors. Killian knew there was no way to escape now and with Emilia laying there dead, he was sure to get the blame. He’d rushed through the room of maids, attacked two of them, and all of them had seen the dagger in his hand. His only choice now seemed obvious. He closed his eyes and whispered into the empty room. “I’ll be joining you soon, my love.”

Grasping the dagger in both hands, he held it above his heart and, just as the doors flew open and four guards rushed in, Killian plunged the dagger deep into his own chest. Killian fell to his knees, his arms slack at his sides as he looked down at the blood pouring from the wound in his chest and the silver dagger sticking out of the wound, the light from the single candle flickering off the shimmering metal. He looked up as the guards surrounded him and smiled at them. A line of blood escaped his mouth and trickled down his chin and before he fell, darkness and death drawing him into their comforting embrace, he could hear his own insane laughter echoing throughout the room. He truly had gotten the last laugh.

***

Caroline sat in her designated spot in the stands, high above the rest of the onlookers. The seat beside her, normally reserved for the Princess, was empty. The Queen had sent a servant to check on her daughter. Such a request did not seem odd or out of place as everyone would have expected Emilia to join her mother. As Caroline looked out to the curious faces of the crowd she smiled. More people had shown up for this nights ′special′ execution. Whispers rose up from the lower seats as heads turned this way and that and everyone speculated as to who the ′star′ of tonight’s show was.

What a shock it will be. The Queen thought. When they see their Prince being dragged from the dungeons. Truly, this will be a night to remember.

The seconds ticked by as the crowd waited with bated breath. Two, three, one...The tower clock struck midnight and all heads turned towards the dungeon doors, eagerly waiting to see who was going to be marched out and across the courtyard to the pyre that was set up in the center of the yard in full view of everyone. Caroline’s grin widened. Her elation growing as she thought about what was to take place. The supposedly dead Prince, burning before all of Basmorte. A clear sign to all that Caroline was Queen and that no one could challenge her. Once Rowan was dead, dead for real this time, there would be no one left who had any claim on the throne. Her crown would be secured, forever.

Keeping her eyes trained on the door she waited. The courtyard was as silent as the grave, each of the on-lookers silently wondering, who was it? Who was the Queen going to kill? Why was this person being kept secret? There were many rumors and speculations but none of them were correct, of course, for none could have possibly imagined that the omega Prince was still alive.

Minutes crept by. It was now three past midnight and the doors had not opened. No one stepped out into the dimly lit courtyard. No guards, no prisoner...no one. Caroline wrung her hands nervously. What was taking them so long? She had sent Greagor himself to escort Rowan out. Rowan couldn’t have overpowered Greagor as well as the guards with him. Her guards weren’t so weak as to be taken down by a mere boy...were they?

Caroline shook the thought from her head. Rowan was nothing. An impudent child. Even if he was descended from the Tuatha, he didn’t have their power, nor would he know how to wield it. What and who he was, was inconsequential. He simply did not matter.

By five minutes past, the crowd began to whisper, snickering under their breath. The Queen had lost her prisoner. Many began to rise from their seats and exit the stands, not wanting to waste their time. Others kept their eyes on the Queen, wondering what she was going to do now.

Caroline scowled. She was not about to let some insignificant little pest make a fool of her. “You there!” She shouted to the nearest servant to her. A youthful squire with light brown, nearly blond, hair, nervously made his way towards her, bowing at her feet.

“Y-yes, my Queen?” The boy stuttered.

“Go to the holding cells of the dungeon and replace out what is taking the Captain so long.” She reached out, grabbing the squire by his collar and jerked him forward, their eyes meeting. “And, for your sake, do not return to me without my prisoner, or I’ll put his chains on you.”

The boy nodded swiftly, his body trembling in her grasp. His legs wobbled and he did his best to stay upright as he scrambled to get away, bowing once more. “R-right away, your Majesty.” His voice broke with fear, even his words trembled. The Queen waved him off and he rushed back down the stands and towards the dungeon doors, frantic in his need to discover what had caused the Captain to delay in marching the prisoner out to the waiting crowd.

When he’d reached the door, he pushed it open with such force that it hit the inner wall with a loud bang. He stepped inside and looked around. At first he saw nothing, just an empty corridor, torches along the wall lit the space with a flickering glow. From beneath him he could hear the groans and shouts of the prisoners still in their cages. He took a couple hesitant steps forward and there he saw the guard station, a small area built into the wall with one window, a table and two chairs, meant for the use of the guards on duty. The room itself was empty but in the middle of the corridor he saw the two guards who were supposed to be on duty, laying face down on the floor.

Panic seized the young squire as he rushed forward and checked on the men, fearing the worst. To his utter relief, the two guards were only unconscious, not dead. The squire scanned the rest of the area, checking dark crevices and around corners, worried that whoever had attacked the guards could still be lurking in the shadows. He exhaled the breath he’d been holding and allowed himself to relax some when he realized that he was alone. Aside from the unconscious guards. But, that raised an important question. Where was the Captain, and where was the prisoner that he was supposed to escort?

The squire stood up and looked down the hall leading in the other direction, the hall that led to the tunnels beneath the castle. The squire had never traveled through those tunnels before and he wasn’t sure where they led but it seemed that if he were to get answers to his questions, it was down said tunnel that he would replace them.

“Don’t be a coward.” He chastised himself. What was worse? Facing whatever awaited at the end of that tunnel, or facing the wrath of an angry Queen if he returned empty handed? The squire took a deep breath, stealing his nerves, and began the march down the tunnel, ready to face whatever was waiting for him at the end.