A Ghost's Wish [MxM]

52. A Traitor

Oliver slowly opened his eyes and winced from the brightness in the room. He was under an unfamiliar domed ceiling. At least it wasn't a cage.  He lifted his arms slowly and clenched his fists, feeling a strength he lacked in Bierze's palace. 

He frowned when he examined his hands and wrists. The raw, broken skin had now healed and was just a light bruise.  His wounds were terrible, so if they were close to being recovered, how much time had passed from when he escaped? Was it weeks? Months? The last thing he could remember was being picked up by Draco in the ballroom.

Oliver slowly sat up and sighed while rubbing his temples. First, he needed to figure out his location and if he was with allies. Then, he could worry about how much time had passed.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat for a bit longer.  He inhaled deeply, tasting the scent of flowers hanging in the air and the salt of the nearby sea. The gentle breeze coming from the open window was warm. 

The walls were red sandstone with intricate carvings lined with delicate filigree, and white keyhole arches framed each door of the room. 

He took in the aesthetics of the building he was in and confirmed that he was in Abrorg. He had wandered through the lands of Abrorg plenty of times, but this was the first time he could stay in one of their residences. 

He knew he was at least not a prisoner, but he also worried that he wasn't in Rucrea. He didn't understand why he had to travel in the opposite direction of his home... unless the worst happened with Piers.

He stilled when he heard he heard voices approaching from an adjacent room. The two men were conversing and hovering just on the other side of the door, afraid to disturb Oliver's sleep.

"Savvi and Gallio are not set to return until a few days from now.... and with Uncle Antony in his condition, the last thing we needed was General Imran and Aris falling ill." Oliver recognized this as Conrad as his voice tapered off. 

"The timing is too coincidental." Draco's voice hit Oliver, and he felt his breath catch in his throat.

Conrad's voice sounded again. "The men are worried because they feel like they have lost their sail amidst a storm. Now with a possible traitor in our midsts, panic is trickling in. Someone needs to step into a leader's role." 

Draco was silent, so Conrad continued. "Pope Apollon's health cannot endure battle, and he has no experience leading armies. Although the King of Abrorg is Imran's brother, he does not have the skills to compare to him. He cannot take command of soldiers that need a strong hand."

"I already told you my answer," Draco said in a low voice, almost threatening.

Conrad groaned. "You are the only one fit actually to lead us. So please, Draco, consider my request."

Draco was quiet, but his heavy sigh sounded through the door. "I can fill in the void temporarily."

"I respect you greatly for everything you have done for my brother. But I insist that you stop being so apprehensive about this. You're a powerful warrior and an experienced King. Please, consider making this a permanent role. There is no other who can compare."

"You need a steady leader who knows how to earn the respect of armies, prioritizes his soldiers' lives, and will lead them to victory. You need a leader who can rally the forces and mend the hearts of the broken. I am not the one you ultimately seek."

"Who is this mythological being who could make the great Dragon King feel inferior?" The frustration was heavy laden in Conrad's voice.

"He's lying in bed just across this door," Draco said.