The Devastation (Unexpected Circumstances 7)

I leaned over and grabbed the hair at the back of her neck. I pulled sharply back, tilting her head and snarling down at her. She cried out and tried to kick me.

“Then I will listen to your screams!”

“You would not dare do anything against a royal!”

I chuckled softly right before I spat in her face.

“Do you see your father? Your brothers?” I asked her. For the first time, she had no response. “That’s because their heads are being placed on spikes at this very moment. Did you not watch your own mother fall? Do you think you will be spared? Your sister is likely dead by now, as well, though her fate was far more merciful than yours will be.”

“You would not,” she said, though her voice did not sound so sure. “You would never do such a thing to me…you love me.”

“Love you?” I could not keep the shock from my voice, and my eyes widened in disbelief.

“You just do not know it yet!” she said. “We were matched as children, and our parents knew we were to be together. Even when your father refused to betroth us, he still knew it would happen someday. We are meant to be, Branford!”

“I am going to kill you, you stupid, insane woman.”

“You would never!” she said with contemptuous certainty.

I stared at her a moment longer. How do you reason with someone so obviously out of her mind? Would she still respond, at least, to her own will to live through this? One thing I knew for sure—honesty was not going to benefit me now.

“There is one way I might consider sparing you,” I said, the lie flowing easily from my lips, “one way only. Tell me now—where is my wife?”

Whitney laughed.

“The commoner queen?” She sneered. “Who would even care, save for the child inside of her?”

She tried to step forward and out of Parnell’s grip, but he held her fast. He turned his head to the side, and his eyes stared off into the distance as he pretended he would not have done the same had it been Ida taken. There was no way she was going to be reasoned with, and I was determined to have my answer now.

As Parnell held her back, I closed the gap between us and reached out to her with one hand. I traced the side of her face and along her jaw, and I felt her body relax slightly. Once I reached her slender neck, I wrapped my fingers around it and squeezed.

She gasped once before her air was cut off, and I growled into her face.

“You have one final chance to speak. Once I release you, you had better open your mouth and tell me where to find my wife, or you will die most painfully. I am not interested in your delusions or your games. I only want my wife and child with me again.”

I let go of her throat, and she would have fallen if Parnell had not held her up. She coughed and wheezed for a moment before I grew tired of waiting, and smacked her on the side of her head.

Her gaze turned to me, and she glared.

“Never!” She snarled and struggled.

“We’ll see,” I replied, my voice now calm and collected. I summoned four of the soldiers to my side. “Help me to prepare her.”

I grabbed the ropes they brought to me and made quick work of Whitney’s arms while Parnell—his eyes still staring blankly as he tried to prepare himself for what he knew would come—held her legs so ropes could be tied to her ankles. Once each of her limbs was secured tightly, the ends of the ropes were given to four different soldiers, who one-by-one walked solemnly to his horse. Each horse faced a different direction, and as the soldiers tied the ropes to the saddles, I grabbed Whitney by her middle and held her parallel to the ground with her face staring into the sky.

She struggled, kicked, and screamed at me, but I ignored her. I held her flat with my palms underneath her back until the soldiers had walked the horses far enough away for me to release my grip without her body falling to the ground.

“There you go—stop now,” I called out, and the soldiers steadied each of the horses. “Hold them still.”

I stepped up to one side of Whitney and looked down at her. She was completely suspended in the air now, with each of her splayed limbs holding up the rest of her body. At the end of the line, each horse stood with the rope secured to the saddle and a soldier standing with sword drawn. At my signal, they would know exactly what to do.

“Do you realize,” I asked as I leaned over her, “exactly what will happen to you if I command the horses to run?”

Whitney’s eyes widened for a moment.

“They…they could not,” she said. Her voice was already strained. “Branford…they cannot do that with me tied to them!”

“Yes,” I said to her, “they can. They are far, far stronger than your weak and useless limbs. You will be torn into pieces.”