Bride Behind the Mask

Chapter 16: From Love to Blood (Part 2 of 2)

Dedicated to a random commenter summerkaay - Thank you very much for reading :)

Chapter 16: From Love to Blood (Part 2 of 2)

Through a night and a day, he saw and dismissed all who came. The maids cried. The guards equally frantic. Sven and Timo came begging on their knees for him to chase after her. Marge fainted when he insisted he will not be.

Everyone blamed themselves for not having protected the lady they'd come to endear.

Everyone saw before them a cold-hearted lord who refused to bring his wife to safety.

None of them knew just how much he hated himself.

Gregor pissed himself before the torture even began. He spilled it all on the removal of his third fingernail. The scum admitted leading them into the manor, the grounds familiar to him from all his previous visits to harass his daughter. Yet he knew nothing more than the fact that a masked man with green in his armour took Amelia.

That was enough to confirm his suspicions.

It meant the ones who wanted him dead were the same ones who'd abducted her. Knowing the current situation in Lyons, it all made sense.

Amelia was the one thing those bastards could threaten the Duke of Marlborough with. The idiots they hired must have taken Isabella in Westdawn having mistaken her as his wife, then let her go when they realised her true identity for fear of making an unnecessary enemy out of the Jarl of Penshaw.

Had the assassination attempts on him been successful as well... he would have died without an heir. Steersberg would revert to the Crown, ready for whoever took the throne to also take over the immense wealth and strengthen his grip on the Northern Lands.

There was definitely no chasing after her. Amelia would only become an even greater pawn in the game should they find out the extent to which he now cared for her.

How could he not have seen through it all earlier, when more could have been done? If they hurt her...

I hate myself. With a roar of outrage, he swept all his papers from his desk to the floor.

I hate myself. He kicked his chair over, then kicked it again.

I hate myself. He grabbed fistfuls of his own hair and tugged. His scalp screamed.

The hideous monster of hatred reared its head and awakened a dark side of him.

Drake strode into the dank makeshift cell hidden amongst the guardrooms. His bloodshot gaze fell first to the shaking figure huddled in one corner, emitting a stench of urine.

"How much did they pay him for what he did?" he asked of the guard who had interrogated Gregor.

"A bag of gold, sir. Promised a second after he showed them the ways in here."

Greed. That was what caused this man to twice-harm his wife. "Well, give him the bag he was promised." The smile that touched Drake's lips was cruel, widening as the guard pulled a thick bag over Gregor's head. His legs and mangled fingers thrashed and twitched as he fought for air but soon found his befitting end, in a puddle of his own piss.

Drake turned next to the assassin, shackled to the stone walls by the wrists. His armour hung over his body in tatters. Three bloodied stubs where his fingers once were. His bloodied, bruised eyes were cold and clouded with contempt as he stared straight at Drake.

"This one wouldn't say a thing, sir," the guard said.

Like a lion seizing its prey, Drake slowly stalked up to the manacled assassin, his thirst for revenge growing with each step. For the assassination attempt, he could give this nameless man a quick death. But for being an accomplice to those who took his wife, that will not do.

With no further warning, he withdrew an arm and threw a punch into the assassin's face. The latter coughed on blood and spat out three loose teeth.

Another punch. Breaking his jaw.

Another to the ribs. Leaving him wheezing for breath.

The assassin lifted his head and continued to stare fearlessly as best he could with swollen eyes. Impressive. Drake had expected no less from a master assassin who was trained for torture. But that did not lessen the motivation to beat him relentlessly. One powerful punch after the other, aimed away from the most vital parts so as to avoid ending this worthless life too soon.

Each time the man fell unconscious, a guard dumped a bucket of foul water into his face to wake him.

Hours upon countless hours of beating. For every single one of the friends and brothers he lost. For the wife he'd come to love but never had the chance to share that fact with before she was cruelly snatched away.

His eyes stung more than the fresh wounds that covered his knuckles.

When the man no longer woke from the bucketfuls, Drake continued.

* * *

Amelia awakened first to the pains at her wrists and ankles, then to the tight bindings around her mouth and eyes. The more she struggled, the more they dug into her skin, and the more her body dipped into the dry straws of hay that prickled into her back.

It did not take long for her to accept the futility of her attempts. In pitch blackness, the sounds around her were louder, clearer.

"The guild does not involve itself in politics!"

"Whether we like it or not, politics enmeshes itself into the fabric of all our lives." The man spoke steadily, yet the venom dripping from his voice caused Amelia to shiver. "The guild has accepted its fair share of contracts in the past to kill political figures."

"You are breaching our code, D'Arcy. We are not some common thugs who do every bidding of those who pay. We do not abduct defenceless women. We are not tools of politics!"

"It would appear that you, Ryder, are the tool that is breaching my code—" The slash of a blade cut through the air, the sound of a dying man's gurgles coupled with the cloying smell of blood invaded her senses. "—of not questioning my authority."

The thick cloth binding muffled Amelia's scream. She could not stop the shaking that wracked through her body and the tears that flowed, drenching the dark material that covered her eyes. She did not know what guild they spoke of, what they had planned for her.

All she knew was that this time, there were no strong arms to wrap themselves around her, no warm lips to kiss her tears away, no deep voice to promise her that everything will be fine. All those things she took for granted when she had them.

Was this how the Gods punished those who have been ungrateful? They strip you of everything that you should have treasured when they were still resting in your hands.

She had done so many things to make Drake despise her. What if it had worked all along?

What if he said he liked her so he could use her to release his physical needs? What if he was overjoyed to be rid of her?

He said he didn't want to marry her either, didn't he? He could pursue other women now that she was gone.

What if he was never coming for her?

It was almost a relief when a cloth was pressed up against her nose again, and darkness swallowed her whole.