Capturing the Crown

Chapter 38- The Betrayed

Astrid's POV
I watch the new king, my former lover, leaving me with my heart tearing in half. He said he just needs time but I know it's my fault. I should have told him I wasn't actually dying in his arms. I faked my death for mine and his own protection. When Atlas looked at me moments earlier his face was a blur of emotions. Intense disappointment and resentment flooded across his features. I wanted to sob my heart out and tell him how guilty I felt but I did not. I let him walk away from me. My hands go up to my hood and I pull it back over my head. I start to sweep the castle's floors again with a broom. My mind reverts back to the idea I had plotted to survive. The Other Side, my original homeland, we had these rare unique arrows. These particular arrows have three colors. All with different meanings. The red meant immediate fast death, green meaning slow and excruciating slow death. Then the yellow arrow is a false symbolism of death. The arrow is painful wherever it is stabbed in the person and it can make you bleed but it doesn't and will not kill you. This arrow is the one I used. Removing myself as a target, I kept myself safe along with Atlas. If I was dead, he would be declared victory and king. One wouldn't have to fight the other. But Atlas doesn't see it like this because he doesn't understand my reasoning behind falsifying my own death. I cannot say I blame him. I remember hearing his aching wails of despair and sorrow and feeling the sobs racking his body. His screams of absolute torture and unbearable agony. It was almost too much for me. It took everything in my being not to reach out and end his suffering. But I didn't. I remained silent and made sure my body stayed motionless. I hope he will forgive me as much as I'd one day like to forgive myself.

Atlas's POV

I stand in front of my bathroom mirror, hands against the sink counter feeling nauseous. Images of her flash through my mind. I force the images away. I always thought I'd be relieved to find she was somehow someway alive but the main thing I feel is betrayal and resentment for her. How could she listen to me tearing my heart and soul in front of her and she just sit there and listen. I can't forgive her. Not right now. I am conscious of my love for her but a person cannot simply let something so erroneous.
I glanced at my reflection in the mirror and immediately looked away. My father crosses my mind and I suddenly remember what my father said about my injuries and I exit the bathroom closing the door behind me. When I find the room where my father is located, I open the door and take a few steps forward, taking a deep breath. Sure enough, Darius, my drunken father sits at his table, staring down at his bottles. His head turns around hearing my footsteps. His lips curl into a soft smile as he says, "Hello, my son. What brings you here?" A chair is placed beside him, his hands motion for me to take a seat. I do. I return him a weak smile ," I thought about what you said about my injuries and I recall telling you I'd come back." He replies, "Ahh. I'm happy you remembered." Darius instructs me, "Lay your hand down." I apply, placing my hand against the table. His fingers start to undo the used bandages. As he does this he asks me, worry in his gaze and tone, "You seem upset. What's up?" I shrug, "It's nothing." Pausing with my hand, he raises a brow at me, "And I believe that." I sigh, telling him the truth, "My supposedly dead girlfriend wasn't actually dead. I saw her today." My father gasps, "Oh wow." I say, "Yeah. She faked her death. Darius replies, "Well if I'm being honest her idea was smart but I can see why you are hurt." I don't say anything  I just watch as he cleans the dried blood on my hand.   He notices this ignorance and squeezes my hand gently, "Do you love her? Do you want her dead?" I reply, "Of course I do. I love her. That's why I feel betrayed. And no I don't want her dead. But I don't want to be lied to about it." My hand aches as the new bandages is wrapped around my palm. My father mutters an apology, "I understand." When he is finished with my hand, I quickly undo my pants and let him check the leg injuries. "Your legs are doing much better. Your hand is stubborn, though." I pull the pants back on and I hold my face in my hands against the table. My father rubs my back soothingly, comforting me. My father kisses the side of my head. The faint smell of beer hits me like a brick but I appreciate the shown affection. I wrap my  arms around my father and hold onto him tightly, "Thank you." I release him from the embrace and Darius responds, "You're welcome, my son." As I leave my father's room, My heart skips an extra beat every-time he says those two words they are said with so much meaning in them now. My son. It's one of the most comforting things I've ever heard.