Royale (Book #1 Royale Series) {Under Revision}

Bonus Chapter: A Heart of Fear and Revenge

Ashley's POV

I pushed back tears as I dug my nails into the harsh gravel of the floor below me. Once again, I found myself trapped in a prison. Only this time, I knew without a shadow of a doubt that I was completely and utterly alone.

The princess just made a very public departure from the royal palace of Isola in the wake of her resignation from the throne. She made no comments on her whereabouts. And yet, despite my pitiful situation, I worried for her.

I looked at my surroundings almost choking on a laugh. Who was I to feel sorry for anyone else, when my own death was imminent? I had no fight left in me. My only friend on the other side was at least thousands of miles away from the gates of Isola by now, and Willow...

No. I couldn't let my mind be flooded with thoughts of her. I'd drive myself into wishing I was dead.

"Well, this is surely a sight."

I whipped my head around, letting my eyes focus on the figure between the bars of the cell. She was probably the most beautiful girl I'd ever laid my eyes upon. She had sweet, innocent features, yet the look in her eyes was enough to snap the neck of any grown man. She had dark hair and smoldering green eyes that I wanted so badly to look away from, but they were a prison of their own.

I didn't know who this girl was, but it'd take a fool to not be able to realize she was deadly.

"Well, if it isn't the infamous Albionian rebel who managed to escape both the Albionian and Isolian rebel bases at least once, just to end up here," she said, smiling with a venomous curve of her lips.

I held my chin up higher as if that somehow evened the playing field between her and me.

Two Isolian rebels stood on either side of the girl, towering over her small form, yet it was obvious who was in charge.

"This is the best you could do with her?" She said to the rebel on her left.

He cleared his throat, glancing at the other rebel, seemingly for help.

"We've been a bit preoccupied with Paulie's death and our failure to entrap Prince Aspen."

Suddenly, she whipped her head around to the rebel in one swift, graceful movement, inching dangerously close to him. He towered over her easily, yet it was he who cowered.

"We've failed at nothing." Her voice was small but poisonous. "Paulie was irrelevant. Just a mere pawn to do my bidding. We all know who the real leader of this rebellion is. And that prince escaping was naught but a small mishap. The royal family is more vulnerable than ever. The exile of that weak, little girl they had the nerve to call 'Princess' has left both countries in complete disarray. And well, the death of the queen was just icing on the cake." She once again curled her lips into that vicious smile.

The rebel didn't respond, but she didn't seem like she was speaking to him anymore anyway.

"Won't it be quite the success story once I finally have my revenge?" She asked no one in particular. "The poor, little orphan, Ceanna Kingston, abandoned by her parents and robbed of her true destiny, finally rising from the ashes to claim what's rightfully hers." Her eyes were wild, and she reverted them back to the rebel to the left of her.

"We have lost nothing. So, Prince Aspen and King David's bitch, Samuel, want to declare war? Well, a war there shall be. And once it's over, I'll use their corpses to climb atop my throne once we've won."

The fear that rose within me was so prominent, I thought it might burst through me. I was astonished at the way she spoke about people who, biologically, were her family. Though she'd never known them, the prince whose dead corpse she's envisioning stepping over is, in fact, her half-brother's. And the queen whose death she referenced as something to be celebrated, was her mother. Regardless of the circumstances, was there no part of her that mourned the relationship she'd never get to have? Is there no part of her that wants to understand why she was given up? My blood ran cold knowing the type of evil she'd have to be to completely ignore the relation she shared with these people, or at the very least, picturing their deaths in this manner.