Nimbus (Volturi Kings x OC)

Chapter Two

The kind man, Marcus, was holding my good hand again as he slowly guided me through the labyrinth of hallways to what was supposedly an infirmary. He wasn't holding it the way people usually do, though. My left hand was once more clasped gently but securely in his right, being held up instead of at our sides, the way people lead their partners onto the ballroom floor to waltz. I had never experienced anything like this in real life and it had never crossed my mind that I might at some point, but there I was, being led through the halls of an actual castle by someone who could easily pass for a real king. Unfortunately, despite this occurring in a castle with someone who had been sitting on a throne in the last half hour, it felt like no fairytale to me.

My right arm was broken and my shoulder dislocated, which I was acutely reminded of with every excruciating step. I was terrified out of my wits for myself and the kids I had been forced to leave behind in the marble throne room. Alice and Edward had assured me that we would all make it out of here, but was that actually true? No matter what they were involved in and had accidentally dragged me into, I still wanted them to be okay. They were just kids, after all. But I would have no way of confirming their safety while being away from them. For that matter, I would have no real way of assuring my own survival now that we were split up. It was entirely possible I was being led by the hand to a torture chamber instead of the hospital wing of the castle. And yet, even while fully understanding this possibility, I made no struggle or protest against Marcus. Maybe I was just the biggest idiot alive, and if that was the case, I would deserve my unsavory and painful end for my incredibly stupid lack of self-preservation. Sorry for abandoning everything you taught me growing up over the course of just half an hour, Mama.

The further we walked from the throne room, the less populated the halls became. Every now and then there were guards posted by seemingly random doors, and my guess was those doors somehow led to exits. This only made me further resigned to the fact that I had no choice but to trust Marcus, as escaping seemed impossible the longer I was trapped within these walls. Either I could try my luck and likely suffer a painful death, or I could be a good little captive and maybe convince them to have mercy on me. It seemed I was already on the merciful route with how Marcus had been treating me thus far, but something was still definitely off about him.

Now that my brain had some time to process and catch up on things during our silent walk through the castle, something stuck out to me that I just couldn't let go of. A scene I just couldn't quite put together for the life of me. Marcus had not just yelled, but boomed in a way I had never heard before when he ordered for me to be let go of by the guard who had taken such pleasure in my suffering. Felix, I remembered. When I hit the ground, there was rage-filled roaring like I hadn't heard since I saw Gladiator the night it premiered at my local theater. Then there was the unmistakable sound of something crumbling behind me. But when I briefly glanced around as Marcus led me out of the throne room, nothing was broken. No pillars and no walls showed any sign of damage where I had clearly heard it. But here was the part my brain kept replaying on a loop, the part that I truly could not wrap my head around; there was a side door near where I had heard everything happen, and two guards were carrying something out through it when I happened to look. I say something, but my brain seemed fixated on it being someone. Felix was gone by the time I had been allowed to leave with Marcus, but in the millisecond I had to see what was being hauled out of there by the two guards, the image of a dismembered arm balanced on top of the very large lump they were carrying was seared into my neuropathways.

But that couldn't be right. In a pure white marble room like that, even one drop of blood would have stood out. No one could have their arm sawed or torn off that quickly and silently, and even if it could be, there would be blood absolutely everywhere. And none of that explained the distinct sound of stone being destroyed. Thus, my brain chased itself in circles until I was jolted out of my thoughts by stopping in front of another impossibly large set of oak doors.