Path to Retribution [2]

We captured the maid fleeing with valuables."

The Royal Guards' words were white noise. Arabella stood motionless in the centre of the room among the empty jewellery boxes, flung-open drawers and destroyed locks.

"Miss, I witnessed her escape myself and alerted the guards right away!" Carol spoke frantically with an uneven smile. Her forehead shone with a sheen of sweat as she kept her eyes fixed to the ground. "I-I never thought Aubrey would be capable of something like this, but I swear I saw her with my own eyes and reported it right away."

Lies.

Arabella blocked out the voices explaining the situation to her. Her slow, shallow breaths were her only focus. Endure. Breathe in, breathe out. Don't tremble.

"I had the servant executed on the spot."

Cecil smiled at her warmly.

Arabella forced her gaze back up. She swallowed visibly, her palms beginning to sweat as she truly took in Cecil's expression. So calm. So casual in how he announced the death of Aubrey. Aubrey, who had grown up by her side. Aubrey, who was the first and last face Arabella had seen every morning and night since she was ten.

Now she was just 'the servant'.

She watched him, lips drawn into a tight line, and her breath growing shallower by the moment.

Cecil's golden brows furrowing in a bastardisation of pity, "I handled the matter personally. To avoid any possible distress to you."

Liar.

Arabella barely withheld a violent jerk when he placed a gloved hand on her shoulder and stepped closer, his voice quiet, "You are 'one of my people'. It's simple repayment in kind for your fealty..." Cecil's stare ripped through her, with a glint of knowing. "And my actions are always a reflection of such unwavering loyalty."

Cecil stared at her unblinking. The air in Arabella's lungs seemed to vanish altogether as the silence stretched out for a long, drawn moment. That hand on her shoulder was icy cold, yet a searing inferno all at once, itching at her skin.

Arabella's blank expression contorted into a barely there smile, "...Thank you, Your Highness."

She needed to escape.

'Trust no one.'

The week following, those words had become her mantra as she searched for a silent escape. She went about her days trying to remain inconspicuous. With every fake smile returned Cecil's way, with every report she delivered to him, she thought of nothing but leaving the den of vipers.

Aubrey had tried to warn her of something that night, and for that, she was murdered. Arabella sensed she wasn't far behind.

With nothing but a coin purse and cloak, she had left her room in the dead of night, traversing the pathways she had memorised now like the palm of her hand, dodging each patrolling guard she had kept eyes on for the week prior. She had thought she was free as she finally slipped out into the gardens through a servant door, sprinting desperately across the grass, paying no mind to the mud that had begun to stain her dress and the slick ground beneath, causing her to slip.

Escape was a fallacy.

She'd been caught and dragged away, kicking and screaming, by guards.

'You are under arrest for the murder of the Second Prince.'

Even now, that night flew by like a blur in Arabella's mind. In one moment, she could taste freedom, the next, she was bound by hand with a rope and facing a horrifying sight: Collapsed within the abandoned west wing of the palace, a split glass in hand, Alistair was lying still on old tile. His lips were frozen, parted and pale, trickling blood..

The story had already spread.

The 'secret affair' that had gone sour: Arabella Lockhart, the bastard of a peasant courtesan, did not fall far from the tree. Arabella Lockhart, the despicable social climber, used the generosity of others to prey upon the deceased prince. Arabella Lockhart, who, after having her affections denied, sought out illegal and unstable, decaying runes from a Scribe to poison the prince's goblet. Arabella Lockhart, who, after cruelly murdering the innocent Prince Alistair, fled into the night to escape.

In her room were piles of maddening love letters in her penmanship, crazed entries in her journal, and Carol, who claimed to be a witness to the murder.

Arabella's execution date had been set within a day.

_________________________________________________________________

"You."

The singular word came out like a steady drip of poison from between Arabella's chapped lips as she eyed the figure that had entered the prison. It had been almost a week, and she had spent all her time alone in the dark, leaking cell, counting the seconds. Obsessively. She was a sorry sight. Barefoot, stripped of her finery and left in a shift stained with filth and dirt, eyes restless and carrying sallow bags underneath while her curls were nothing more than a matted mess down her back.. Arabella glared as the figure approached slowly, unaccompanied and with that same calm expression.

Cecil stopped just a few inches away from the black bars of the cell that Arabella had gripped like a lifeline. He didn't say a word, just observed her, inspecting her from head to toe. Arabella gritted her teeth and slammed her fist against the metal bars, "You." She repeated with a venom that could cut the tension in the air. "It was you."

Cecil remained unfazed by her stare, and for a brief moment, she almost wondered if he had even heard her as his expression remained serene. But slowly, his lips curled upwards into a soft smile, nearly kind, and he spoke, "...That much should be obvious."

Arabella once more slammed her fists against the metal, ignoring the violent sting that ran up her arms, "Damn you to Hell!"

Cecil let out a soft noise of amusement as he smiled, his head tilted slightly, "What a mouth. I did wonder how far you could be pushed until your commoner roots would begin to show." His expression curled into something darker, peeking out of the edges of his smile. "Parading around like an aristocrat... Have you no shame?"

Before she could even process the words, Arabella's hands flew through the bars and her fingers clawed around the silk collar of Cecil's shirt. He didn't react as she dragged him forward, eyes blazing with a fire that burned through him. Her eyes widened, maddeningly, "Why?" Despite herself, Arabella felt her lip tremble, her anger burned, but a glimmer of the tears she had refused to let fall emerged. No, she knew why. She had spent the past week theorising, but it was evident to anyone with eyes. Swallowing her tears roughly, she let her glare sharpen once more and reframed her question. "...Why me?"

Because she had tried to escape? Because she had seen through him? Because she dared to think someone like her could be worthy of standing at his side? Her mind raced with the possibilities as she watched the smile fall from Cecil's lips. He looked at her thoughtfully, still making no move to escape from her iron grip on his collar.

"You gave yourself to me."

Arabella flinched, her grip faltered. It had been said with conviction, like he had thought she was a fool to ask. Cecil tilted his head at her ever so slightly, his face alarmingly blank as he spoke.

"One of 'my people'. That was your plea," Cecil's violet eyes glinted dangerously cold in the dim moonlight as he raised a hand to where her fist was now trembling at his collar, and like it was nothing, he forcefully pryed it open, grasping her tightly by the wrist. "And I delivered. You served your purpose, and I could not give you any more gratitude."

"...Gratitude?" Arabella spat shakily after a fruitless attempt to wrench back her wrist from his grasp. She clenched her fist tighter. "You murdered your brother."

Cecil's eyes flared briefly. After a beat of silence, his smile returned, "...Interloper," He corrected. "Do you fault the landlord for killing the vermin that infest his abode?"

Arabella tore her arm out of his grasp, teeth bared in a snarl. She swallowed dryly, a stark feeling of helplessness washing over her, stuck being unable to do anything but clench her fist and bite back furious tears like a petulant child.

Cecil's eyes bore through her as his curious gaze returned. It took a stretch of silence, filled with nothing but the faint sound of dripping water and scurrying rodents, before he spoke up again, "...You are still 'one of my people'... I've decided to keep you."

'Keep. ' Like she was a toy to be disposed of. She stepped away from the bars, holding her right hand with an iron grip, as though she could scratch away his touch.

Something unbidden flashed in Cecil's eye, "...Humility suits you far better." He spoke with a quiet mirth in his tone. "The execution date is nothing but a bluff. I will push it back for as long as required. So long as you remain entertaining."

"And I do like you like this," He regarded her. "Far too much to throw you away."

Arabella bit her lip; she tasted the metallic tang of blood as she watched him straighten out his fine clothing and move his hair back into place like nothing had transpired. Her breathing came out in a shudder, "...There is no grave deep enough. None that can contain the repulsion I carry for you in my soul."

The words, as she had expected, had no effect. Cecil stood tall, his violet eyes betraying the amusement in his seemingly kind smile.

"I'm well aware," He smiled. "I have no intention of burying it."

____________________________________________________________________

The cruel memory ripped Arabella out of her recollection and right back to the present, where her hands shook terribly; the pen in her hand was frozen, pooling ink on the page. A cold sweat began to form on her skin, and she drew her lips into a tight line. With a trembling sigh, she put down her pen.

Deep breaths in and out.

She'd found herself in the old library earlier in the day, while the sun had just begun to set. By now, the moon had risen, casting a soft glow over the room. There was no risk of running into anyone else here, not after Layton inherited the study from their father. Truth be told, part of her still didn't entirely trust her mind. Therefore, the books piled up around her- maps, old registries and historical textbooks- became her flimsy anchor to the minute details.

She stood and pushed herself away from the desk, slowly tearing out the pages she'd written on. Picking up her oil lamp, she padded her way to the library window, frowning as she unlatched it, a cold wind whipping through her curls. The heat runes etched into the metal of the lamp ensured the flame didn't go out in the breeze as Arabella held the pages to the open flame, watching the edges blacken and turn to ash in the wind until there was nothing left.

Her gaze hardened as she watched the final piece of flaming paper fade away into the distance.

It didn't matter how much time passed; she would never forget those two years in that cell.

She would take from Cecil all that he cared for: The throne.

She had to find Alistair Aurum de Villiers. And she had to make him King.

Resolutely, Arabella shut the window and walked towards the library door with a light step. She reached for the handle with a soft creak, only to freeze in her tracks, mouth agape as it opened before she could touch it.

"What are you doing wandering the halls like a ghost?" Layton frowned.