The Prince of Ilios

Seventy-Five

Ellora's head pounded and her back was on fire, she tried to roll over, but her muscles would not move. The only thing she could manage was to open her eyes. Daylight seemed too bright streaming in through the window. She squinted in response. At the sound of her groan a maid appeared blurry in view.

"Your highness, you are awake!" Her short bobbed hair and tiny face became more clear, "My name is Claire. You have been asleep for a long time."

Ellora raised her heavy hand, laying her arm across her eyes, the migraine was getting worse the longer they were open, or perhaps it was the longer she was conscious, she couldn't tell, "How long?"

"Four days, Milady."

"Milady? Call me Miss Ellora, please."

The maid helped her sit up, finally getting some of the pressure off of her back.

"That would be a grave mistake, Milady. The King has stated that you are engaged to be his wife."

"What? What is going on?" Ellora looked at her sideways, surely this was still some sort of nightmare, but the pain was too real and proved otherwise, "I never agreed to be his wife, nor engaged."

The maid looked at her with pity, "Perhaps you have amnesia. At any rate, let's take a look at you. The doctor said that we need to change the bandages every few hours until you are healed and it is time."

Ellora stared out at her room. It was strangely familiar. The set up was identical to the room she had had before, but it was shrouded in dark fabrics. The gloom left a bitter taste in her mouth. She sat up braced by her arms as the maid changed the dressings on her back. They ached, but she could tell that they were not as fresh as before.

"Where is Cyrus?" She finally asked when the maid was done, and about to make her some tea.

"Here, Little Dove, and it is His Majesty." King Cyrus was ushered into the room, two men trailing him, one of them being Alyn. Cyrus looked his usual assured self, odd smile, darkly dressed, with the exception that his hair was down, curling around his face, instead of half back.

Ellora sat utterly confused at how her brother was following Cyrus around like a guard dog, "Cyrus, what is going on here? I never agreed to be your bride."

Cyrus glanced around, and then back at Alyn. With a nod all of the guards and maids left leaving the two alone. Alyn grimaced and hesitantly followed the others out, "I am sure you noticed Alyn in my uniform. He came begging for me to take you in. Like he was holding out a lost puppy. He was so grateful that I would deign to care for you that he swore his service to me." Cyrus approached her bed. His face seemed almost pleasant regaling the tale.

His smile made her stomach turn. She was certain that he was lying. There was no way in which Alyn would give her up to Cyrus or become his guard. Ellora shook her head, "That's preposterous."

As Cyrus stepped closer, his eyes grew dark, "I assure you, he is now my personal guard."

Ellora stared down at her hands, twisting them nervously. Although Cyrus was a deceiver, there appeared to be some truth in his words. She couldn't understand what was happening. It was like there was a block in her brain. Only a week ago she had been discussing books and having tea with Ava and River. Now, everything seemed to be on its head, "I don't understand. Why did you do all of this? It is certainly not for me, and where is everyone else, River, Ava, the girls, the staff, the guests?"

Cyrus sat on the foot of her bed. His head lifting dreamily at the memory of his conquest, "Well, I tricked Nicola, the contestants are still downstairs, the staff now serve me and my guards, and the guests are gone. I have been planning this for years. We began infiltrating the castle the night of the ball. Things have gone according to plan."

"What do you mean, when you say gone?" Ellora's eyes widened at his light tone, she knew there was something more.

"Those who swore their allegiance were able to go home peacefully. Those who did not have been hanged." Cyrus said honestly. He raised a brow at Ellora's angry face, "Oh, come now, Ellora. You did not expect for me to be able to just let everyone go and for the world to be full of rainbows and butterflies? I am a persistent and stern man, but I am also fair. If someone helps me, they are rewarded, and if someone wrongs me, they are punished."

"Hanged? Is that what you call fair?" Ellora wondered aloud, "What happened to make you so cruel?"

Cyrus laughed, a full belly laugh, "I am a product of that previous Prince Nicola. If anyone is to blame for how I turned out, it is him."

"I know there was a war..."

"War, ha, more like a slaughter." Cyrus interrupted her, standing, "That so called 'prince in white,' is not as pristine as you think he is."

"I never said he was." Ellora grimaced, "This is not really about him."

Cyrus snorted, "But it is. Because of your precious Prince Nicola, I will never get to see my parents again, nor my brother, nor my friends. The man is evil."

Ellora could have sworn that the story was backwards. How could two people have such different accounts of the same event? She exhaled sharply, "I understand that he caused you and your family great pain..."

Cyrus shook his head, "Oh, he has done so much more than that. Stay here and get better. I will have the maid bring you more tea." He touched her hand gently, a contrast from the fist he always clenched when speaking about Nicola, "I will come by to check on you this evening."

His hand left hers, the curse burned, and she was left to the whirlpool of her own thoughts for a little while longer. She began to sweat as her mind raced. The shock of here situation: overwhelming. The story that Cyrus was trying to weave to her: suffocating. Has it always been this hot? She glanced at the window. Air, I need some air. Swinging her legs over the side of the bed, her back aching with every move, she made her way to the window and flung it open, gasping for air. She closed her eyes from the brightness, leaning on the railing. Focusing on the inhale and exhale of the chilly winter breeze.

When she opened her eyes she saw that the world was covered in a blanket of snow. It would have been considered beautiful were she not in the middle of disaster. The trees wore petals of the softly falling flakes. Ellora held out a hand, momentarily mesmerized by the snowflakes. In contrast to her mind, the world outside was eerily silent. The ice cooled and melted in her hand. She looked up, blood running colder than the air.  Beyond the courtyard of the palace to the wall, she saw a horrifying scene.

Her eyes teared as she watched a guard push a dignitary dressed in green over the side. The figure fell, a rope the only thing keeping it at its sudden stop. A line of figures hung across the wall, like the ornaments of a deadly necklace across the marbled surface. Ellora's stomach lurched as she heaved over the railing. Now she knew what Cyrus meant when he had said they were "gone." Hanged and on display for everyone who entered the palace to see. If she did not hurry, there were others down in the dungeon who would meet the same punishment.