The Captive Heir

Chapter Fifteen

For a long time, what felt like a decade, Elisabet remained in the bloody mud, staring at the space where Fitz had lain. She had had him—had held him, had loved him, and in the end it had killed him and she was left without even a body to honor.

A few guards were reporting to her father, but it barely penetrated through her sluggish thoughts.

"No sign of the prince's body, your highness, but we've found Silvana."

Of course Nicolas would not have dragged Michael's body all this way. It would have slowed him down, gotten him caught.

"Gather the messengers. We need to get in touch with the queen immediately." A brief pause, then her father's voice lowered. "Where is she?"

"Near the willow grove. We are...I took the liberty of ordering a stretcher."

"Yes." Her father's voice was heavy, unwilling. "You did right. She should—give her every honor."

"And Skylar, your highness?"

"Find him."

What if Nicolas had gotten to Skylar, too? He could not have. Otherwise, he would have been carrying three heads.

"Cassie?" It sounded like Lady Mashen was trying to reach her mother. "Cassie, we should get you inside. It's likely the other bandits are nearby."

"The healer, your highness."

"Here. Her arm."

Strangely gentle hands were picking up Elisabet's arm, turning it. She allowed it without resistance, but did not turn to look. A murmur brushed across her skin and the stinging was reduced.

"And this body, your highness?"

"Check for anything on the body. Then burn it." No honorable burial for Nicolas. It was what he deserved.

"And the witch?"

"She won't be found unless she wants to be."

It was all heard from a distance, muddled as though she was underwater and they all spoke above the surface. It made no impression and little sense.

It took more effort than she had expected to speak. "I didn't get to sing farewell." At last, something had cut through the fog—a sharp stab of knowledge, and her voice cracked on the last word. Fitz was gone, and she did not even have the scarce comfort of being able to sing the farewell to his body. Her lungs convulsed in a sob, bending her into the ground with the force of it.

"Elisabet." Her father's voice, pained with concern, drew closer.

Elisabet shook her head. "Mm." No. It had been a mistake to speak, to poke a hole in the bubble. With a struggle, she pulled the tattered edges of it back together, regaining her breathing and her composure. She would not survive this otherwise.

There was no point in her being on the ground. She tried to push herself to her feet, but her stiff knees buckled at the unexpected movement. Before she could fall, there were hands supporting her, lifting her. Lady Mashen, watching her worriedly.

The moment she felt confident in standing, she stepped away from the touch. She could not take the pity. It would break her.

Her mother had not moved, had not spoken since she had seen Silvana's head. She stared at the trees, in the direction a pair of guards had disappeared with the stretcher.

"The messengers," Elisabet said, the words wrenching from a raw throat. "They'll be gathering. And the council."

Priorities. The queen, the court, the kingdom. Not Elisabet. The worst had already happened to her. It was her duty to make sure no more harm befell the kingdom. It was what she had trained her entire life for.