Conan kept dragging me away from the throne room, past the familiar hallways and into ones I rarely explored. Despite being in a state of shock from seeing my father die and having people turn their backs on me, I realized how wrong it was to be following Conan out of the blue — most especially after I'd rejected him. I began to protest, struggling to free myself from his iron grasp, but to no avail. He kept pulling until he finally pushed past a seemingly old door, tugging me inside along with him. It was dimly lit, but I could sense how stressed he was as the air inside the slightly stuffy room started smelling like burnt rubber.
I pushed away from him, covering the lower half of my face with my arm. I furrowed my brows. I had to put my mind to something, even if it was what annoyed me at present time. Because if I didn't, I would think about how my world had just fallen apart. If I didn't, everything inside me would break. "Your scent. It's nauseating."
I thought for sure that would make him aware of what he was doing, perhaps even glare at me with a snarky remark. Instead, he sat me down on a worn couch and paced while shakily, murmuring incoherent words. I watched him with narrowed eyes — patience thinning faster that the speed of light. I could feel the burn behind my eyes, and if I couldn't get somewhere private soon, I was going to meltdown in front of him.
"This is bad. This is really, really bad." I heard him say. That was perhaps the last straw for me.
"Bad? BAD?! MY FATHER'S GODDAMN CORPSE IS STILL THERE WHILE THEY ARE CELEBRATING?! AND YOU THINK IT'S JUST BAD?!"
I hitched a breath when he turned my way, a flash of what looked to be pity crossing his eyes before they became desperate again. It frustrated me — how dare he pity me? But, then again, seeing me now — exiled from the throne and hated by the people I was meant to rule — perhaps I was more than pitiful; perhaps I was pathetic.
"We need to get your sister off the throne. Fast." He spoke with urgency, lighting up a torch that hung off the cobble wall. He rummaged through drawers of knives, pulling some out before moving on to the next drawer. I scanned our surroundings, surprised to see a dark walk-way into an adjacent room. Even with my advanced sight, I could barely make out whatever lay inside.
Where have we gone to? I do not recall having been in this room at all. And how did Conan even know how to get here and what to look for?
I turned back, only to find him still frantically fishing through the drawers. Clenching my fists, I asked with a tight voice, "Are you not supposed to be overjoyed like the rest of them? I was not crowned. I was humiliated by the people and my sister, like I have done to you."
I heard him scoff. "Don't get me wrong, Evelyn. You are still the rude, spiteful girl who rejected me in front of the entire court, and honestly, I would have wanted anyone but you to ascend the throne. Except... except Cienna. We cannot have her in a position of power."
I blinked, stunned by his response. It took me a few moments to find my words. "But... it was I who belittled you. So why... why are you helping me?"
To my absolute shock, he snapped back, "Because there was never a surprise attack. It was coordinated."
"W... what?" I stuttered, taken aback and completely petrified. He sighed, ruffling his hair in frustration before finally looking back at me with seriousness.
"The king's death was planned." He paused, debating, but continued on in a bitter tone. "Cienna orchestrated it."
"What are you saying? I saw the look in her eyes that time she killed the enemy. I saw how shaken she was. I know she wanted the throne, but to kill our father is just pure evil."
"Pure evil is what she is," he replied almost instantly. "I'm sure she's been planning this a while, putting everything in place to steal the crown from you."
I felt cold to my feet, my chest aching at how I failed to realize she could do something so cruel to our own father. It all made sense now, what the killer had told me. There was a traitor, and it was from our own kin. Then, as if something in my mind flipped, I sneered at him. In an abrupt motion, I grabbed the sword that was nearest to me and pointed its tip towards him.
"How do you know all this? Answer me!"
He remained still, focused on me and not even minding the sharp blade that threatened to cut his heart. There was sadness in his eyes, but not because he knew he was telling the truth, but because he could feel my suffering and understood my doubts.
"Come on, Evelyn, think about it. A surprise attack in Aigaryn's court? Such thing is unheard of. This was an inside job, and something only a royal could pull off. What the killer said about there being a 'traitor'? That was to frame you. On top of that, he forced you to surrender your title in front of all your people, and then proceeded to kill your father anyway. That was simply to defame you. Now think, Evelyn, who is the one person in this world that would want nothing more than to defame you?"
"This is Cienna we're talking about, Conan! She is not some criminal mastermind -- she's a naïve girl who spends her time playing-dress up. She could not orchestrate our father's murder!" I argued, enraged by his inefficiency when it comes to rational thinking despite being buried in books most of the time.
"Exactly. This is Cienna. You've seen her wicked side, Eve. You know she uses that girly façade as a disguise!"
I stilled momentarily at my old nickname -- Eve -- then shook my head. I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to believe that Cienna -- snide, two-faced Cienna -- could possibly bring herself to do this. And still the image of her dry eyes flashed before my mind, as well that small smile she wore as her blood dripped upon our father's corpse.
My sword clattered to the ground, and I sank to my knees. How could I have been so blind? How could I, with all my trained strategy and calculation, have missed such an obvious variable? Heat licked the back of my eyes.
"Evelyn," Conan began -- reaching out -- but I swatted his hand away.
"No," I snarled, shooting back to my feet. "No. I will not allow her to get away with this. I will make--" I snatched the sword off the ground, its weight heavy in my palm, "--her pay."
With nothing more to lose, I started for the door — gripping the sword in my hand as if my life depended on it. At perhaps it was, because my life meant nothing now other than to avenge the death of my father.
I didn't see the way Conan trembled, did not notice I was emitting the scent of decaying metal out of sheer wrath. I was focused on how I could kill Cienna after what she had done. Carve her up, perhaps. Or maybe that was too kind. Maybe I should make her suffer like how our father had — humiliate her. Even so, any plans to kill were put on hold as Conan grabbed my wrist, trying his best to stomach the deadly scent I was emitting. He warned me about going after Cienna, how easily she could kill me now that her power had increased. I attempted to shrug him off, but he held on, putting his entire life on the line to stop me.
"Let go of me or I'll break your arm," I snarled, but he refused. Out of frustration, I growled at him; bloodthirsty golden eyes flashing with warning. He only gripped my wrist tighter, as though to tell me he wasn't afraid. If anything, he seemed more afraid to let go.
"I'm not letting you get yourself killed out there, Evelyn. Not if I have a say in it."
I froze, heart skipping a beat as I saw the determination in his eyes. It had been a while — a terribly long while — since I'd seen that look. The last had been six years ago — before my training had ascended from difficult to rigorous — and I'd been overly-curious about a certain thistle-like weed. Conan had insisted that I don't touch it, that the plant was toxic to werewolves. That had sparked the first of many arguments, and with it the beginning of the end of our friendship. He'd been right, of course, as I'd found out when red boils formed on my fingers. Wolfsbane.
I snapped back to reality. Why the hell was I reminiscing about that now? I furrowed my eyebrows.
"Why are you so hellbent on having me take the crown? If I kill my sister and she kills me too, anyone could be next in line. You of all people could be next in line to the throne since you were my mat-" I cut myself off, almost unconsciously admitting that he was my mate.
He took a deep breath, hand still firm on my wrist. "I don't need the crown. I never wanted it, and I never will. And though you are probably the most selfish, insensitive prude I have met in my entire nineteen years of existence, you at least live by some diluted code of honour."
Conan gave me a grimace. "Your sister? She doesn't. She hungers for chaos like no one else. I know that because I was her friend for the longest time until she let her own demons kill her humanity. You'd rather debate your way out of war if you can; she would start a war at any given moment."
I was astounded that Conan also saw her for who she was. Everyone else seemed to think Cienna was some saint that would bless their descendants. It didn't sit right with me that he knew how capable Cienna was of starting a war, especially after the last one had gravely damaged Aigaryn. It did not end well and despite it being centuries ago, its occurrence still haunting the lands to a degree than could never be bypassed.
"Lie low," Conan insisted. "Bide your time. Devise a strategy. Train until you are strong enough to launch a coordinated attack. Just please, Evelyn, don't go after Cienna now. Her strength has been bolstered now that she's Alpha; at least tenfold that of her former self. Fighting her would be suicide."
For a few long moments, I considered. And the more I thought about it, the more I realised he was right. With a grunt, I jerked my arm away the moment he loosened his grip. He only gave me a look but said nothing further as he watched me go back to my place on the couch. It was a bitter pill to swallow — my fear, my grief, my pain — but my instincts told me I was doing the right thing. At least, for now.
Not wanting to suffer in the suffocating silence for any longer, I gave in to my curiosity. I looked around.
"Where are we exactly?"
He stood in front of another chest box, ready to rummage for something I had not the slightest idea what of. With a single glance, he quietly responded.
"This, your highness, is The Den."