Forsaken Blood [Weekly Updates]

Eighteen (I)

Charlotte looked away. She had seen enough death for a lifetime. Surrounding her were Lord Hayden and Lord Edwin, swords held in front of them in a defensive stance.

They had protected her. Saved her when she could so easily have died at the end of the many blades.

"Lord Edwin," her voice croaked and she hadn't realised how drained she felt. She gently laid her father's head down and rose to her feet.

It took all of her willpower to turn away from her father but she did. She felt unsteady on her feet but took a few wobbly steps away from the scene.

The old lord turned to her and she wasn't surprised to see him on the verge of tears as well. He held himself together better than she was able to and motioned at the carnage around them.

"Some of the traitors got ahold of guard uniforms and snuck in. They attacked when the King-" he hesitated before continuing, "-fell. Diego and Graham led the defence inside and Gabriel led his men out there. We have some casualties, a few guards and a member of court, but on the whole it's a better picture than could've been expected."

That's when she noticed how Lord Edwin's right sleeve was torn and bloody. She insisted on him getting it checked but he shook his head slowly.

"I'll be fine lass. Can't believe he's gone."

Charlotte turned slightly to once again face her father lying dead on the floor. She couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that he was no longer with them. That she would no longer hear his booming laughter or his ill-timed jokes. That his blue eyes would never smile at her again.

She wrapped her arms around herself and settled the sobs that threatened to break free. Charlotte looked up to the sound of heavy footsteps approaching them.

Rochelle came to a stop a few feet from her, her evening gown was splattered with blood but she seemed otherwise unharmed.

"Charlotte-"

The rest of her sentence remained unfinished. What would one say in situations like these? We are sorry for your loss? We understand? Time heals all wounds?

Words were useless. They couldn't change what had happened amd Rochelle of all people knew that very clearly.

Charlotte started backing away. She didn't want to hear their condolences. None of them could understand. She could hear Rochelle calling her name and moving towards her.

But she shook her head and kept her away. If her cousin hugged her, Charlotte knew she would break down and she couldn't afford to do that at the moment.

Her watery vision focused on a golden cup. The goblet she had abandoned when she had stood up. Its surface gleamed and in it she could see distorted reflections of them all standing around trying to make sense of the world.

She clung to the sight of the golden cup in a desperate attempt to push her growing hysteria away. It seemed to work. Her vision cleared and her body stopped shaking.

She forced her mind to work. Her father had been poisoned. The basilisk venom had been mixed into the wine from Weardom.

Weardom.

Her head snapped up and she looked around for her former fiancé. Her vision sharpened as her mind bent on a single purpose.

The courtiers had been escorted out and guards-actual guards-milled around clearing the room of the dead. She spotted Gabriel, Damon's second in command, shouting orders to the men.

Charlotte didn't know what she was doing, but almost on their own accord her feet hastened towards Gabriel.

"Your royal highness, we didn't kno-"