"Error is not a fault of our knowledge, but a mistake of our judgment giving assent to that which is not true." - John Locke
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30 minutes pass by and still, Alia can't seem to get Bertraim out of her mind.
Golden furniture gleams as she wipes them down for the tenth time - to say she is bored is an understatement. To be cleaning the room of the man she despises all the while picturing herself slicing his throat makes the female smile to herself, her expression hidden from the others occupying the bedroom.
Is there something wrong with me?
Killing used to be normal in the Lycanthrope Kingdom, it was a way of punishment and the determinant of Title challenges, but now it's just used by Bertraim's Warriors of the Throne for he uses them to execute his cruelty on the innocent.
Blonde hair temporarily blocks her vision and she tucks the strand behind her ear, momentarily surprised at the sight. Wearing a wig is something she'll no longer have to worry about in a few hours time as she'll either be dead or miles away from this place. She hopes for the latter. Her scent would be all over the crime scene, which is unavoidable, so that means Alia would have to lead her trackers to the idea that she was dead. And she has it all planned out perfectly.
A few days prior, she had slipped a note into her Uncle Darian's bedroom, in the pocket of a jacket she had bought him a few years ago. It was too small for him now, but he still kept it. The placement is discreet enough that if people came looking through the house, they wouldn't find it.
Smiling softly at a memory of her adamant Uncle telling her that the jacket still fits him, Alia begins to find her self saddening. She hopes he does find the letter because the thought of him grieving her loss was already hurting her.
The note details her plan to fake her death, Darian would be the only Commander who would recognise her scent, so him being unaware would cause unnecessary pain and suffering, which is the last thing she wants.
After her 'death' she would cover herself in dirt and mud, masking her scent until she was able to carefully return back home. At that point it wouldn't matter if Darian had read the note or not.
A few more minutes pass and Alia has finally had enough, she'll be damned if she has to clean one more thing in this godforsaken bedroom. Grabbing her trolley, she swiftly makes her way out of the room and the others pay her no mind as they scrub away, continuing their poorly paid duties.
She digs into her tunic pocket and pulls out her timetable along with the map of the castle. The dining room is next and it's to be cleaned twenty minutes from now, meaning there's someone using it - she hopes it's Bertraim.
Her fingers twitch with anticipation and her mind goes to the sharp blade strapped against her torso along with two smaller ones against each lower leg.
The corridors of the castle were empty, which surprises her as she was expecting to run into a few other workers, but there was no one.
Almost at the dining room, Alia pushes her trolley into a large, dark crevice in one of the castle walls, hiding it from view. She quickens her pace as she has to reach there before the occupant leaves, which could be any second from now. There was no other opportunity like this and she can't risk losing it, so she swiftly manoeuvres into a run. The once quiet halls are filled with the sounds of her quick feet, it would have bothered her if she had not seen how the staff acts around here. If anything, her walking would bring her the unwanted attention, not the opposite way around.
She sends a quick glance to the map in her hand and slows down for the room's entrance lies after the next turn. Alia tidies her wig and tunic before making her way to the unmanned entrance. There lies large double doors graced with intricate patterns of gold. Made from black wood, the gold metal is accentuated significantly, presenting a grace of wealth. In awe of the beautiful architecture, Alia's admiration for the Palace grew even further, wishing to explore it all some day.
With a small push, the door silently opens. Alia looks through the small gap to see a man sitting alone at the long, grand dining table. The back of a blonde head stares back at her.
It's Bertraim.
He seems to not notice her presence as she further pushes one of the black doors open to slide her agile body through and into the room.
Comprising of dark brown wooden-panelled floors and obsidian-black walls with pillars and an artistic ceiling of gold adorned with ancient paintings, this room is a masterpiece of darkness - far too extravagant for its current uses. The dining table is a sable brown and reaches around 15 metres long and the rest of the room was barren, adding to Alia's suspicion that this room was not made for dining. There are no windows, the source of light coming from three shining, golden chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. Diamonds shimmer on the ornaments, reflecting shapes of distorted light to the surroundings.
In a few moments there will be one person who leaves this room and one who will not.
Without allowing herself another thought, Alia pulls out the blade from under her tunic and walks over to the man. Her movements silent and graceful as she closes the distance between them.
He remains calm, oblivious to his oncoming demise as he reads an old book that lies open on the table.
The dining table held many plates of food stemming from a variety of cultures; it was a feast and Alia wonders why one individual would need that much food. Clearly most of the plates haven't even been touched, a nibble at most. His thin frame now understandable, other than the fact that he obviously hasn't picked up a weight in his life.
It was fine for other wolves to be thin, they can do as they please as they're not responsible for the well-being of an entire species. A King should be strong, strong enough to protect his people if deemed necessary - not hide away in the Palace and have others protect you.
Protect the King, she scoffs mentally, what a coward.
Reaching the pathetic wolf, Alia roughly grabs the top of his head, her fingers pulling back against his hair before she plunges the sharp blade into his neck. He is unable to say a word, spluttering as she drags the base of the blade, tip deep within his flesh, from one side of his neck to the other.
Slicing his arteries, veins and nerves along with his oesophagus and shattering his trachea, Alia has almost decapitated the man.
Blood pours from the gaping wound, drenching the book and table crimson as it travels to the floor, creating a pool of death. She listens through the sounds of gurgling and panic from the male, hand still on the handle of the blade before smirking as his heart comes to a stop.
She has killed the King.
Try and heal from that, you piece of shit.
With a rough tug, Alia removes the blade from his throat and releases his hair, causing Bertraim's head to fall onto the blood-soaked book with a thud and an arm to fall to his side.
The arm grabs her attention.
Curious to see his ring, she lifts the hand, but sees nothing. Thinking nothing of it, she grabs the other hand and... nothing. Surely he wouldn't wear the ring all the time, she muses, her anxiety suddenly making itself known.
She stands there, shoes covered in blood along with her right hand holding the now scarlet blade.
Only to calm her nerves, she once again grabs the man's head and pulls it back. Taking a step around the chair, she sees his face and quickly drops his head. It's the Beta.
Fuck.
Panic overcomes her as she takes quick steps away from the body. She needs to leave, right now.
Before she can open one of the double doors, it's pulled back to reveal a guard with short, ginger hair and very fair, freckled skin.
He is tall and muscular, his black uniform consisting of a shirt and blazer along with dress trousers hug his body tightly as he stands, not sparing a glance at the wide-eyed female before him. Noticing the unmoving and hunched over bloodied man at the table, the man's expression becomes one of utter shock.
What did he just walk into.
As he quickly looks down at the female in front of him, she shoves her blade up through his jaw and twists, piercing his skull and killing him almost instantly.
The stiff body drops to the floor after she pulls out the weapon and leaving no second to spare, Alia takes off in a sprint, weaving through the empty corridors with an agility like no other. Adrenaline pulses through her veins whilst she runs, her blade now tucked back into its strap around her midriff. Blood coats her right forearm and her shoes leave behind bloody prints against the marbled floors but it quickly dilutes into nothing. This was a total fuck up. She needs get out of the Palace before anyone sees the two bodies or she'll be dead by midnight.
Her memory of her journey through the Castle has served her well as she finds herself outside the locker rooms. Slamming the door open with her body, Alia is graced with no other presence. Thank the Gods. She runs to her locker, uncaring that she is still wearing a wig and contacts as there is no one here to identify her. She feels stupid for thinking she could get away with her plan.
She pulls the locker open and grabs her duffel bag, cussing at herself before rushing into the only bathroom. Almost breaking the tap, she turns on the water and scrubs the still warm blood off of her forearm. She grabs some tissues and wipes the bottom of her shoes clean along with tugging off her wig and shoves them both into her bag, uncaring of the mess. After taking off her contacts and also shoving them into the bag she pulls out her change of clothes. Tearing off the tunic and trousers, she slips on a green hoodie and black leggings. The casual outfit helps to make Alia less noticeable and that is something she desperately needs right now. She flings her torn work clothes into her duffel bag, zips it closed and walks out of the bathroom and locker room.
With a faux calm composure, Alia walks through the remaining few corridors and nods her head at any passer-by, all whilst freaking out on the inside. A familiar staircase meets her and she lets out a quick breath of relief for she is almost at the exit. Forcing herself to remain calm, she walks up the stairs at a regular pace, reaching the floor where the exit lays.
Just as she reaches the open door, she notices the same guard from earlier standing on the other side. She clenches her jaw in order to help keep her trembles at bay and walks through, holding her breath as she passes the man. After many seconds of walking and hearing him not say anything to stop her, Alia inhales quietly and brings a trembling hand to her mouth to quieten her shaky breathing.
Hurry up, hurry up, hurry up, she chants to herself, it will be a matter of minutes until the Beta and guard are found and she needs to be in the forest by then.
"Hey!"
Alia swings her head around to see a familiar face jogging over to her; Aeron. Wearing the usual training top and shorts, he looks like he's about to head over to the training centre or go for a long run. Whatever it was, Alia doesn't want to find out - not in a time like this.
She spares a quick look at the guard to see him completely disinterested and in his own world. Her best friend reaches her with a smile. Her grip on the duffel bag hung around her left shoulder tightens and she looks up at him with wide eyes, her mouth parted in surprise and dread. Ignoring her expression and silent pleas, he throws an arm around her shoulders and guides her to start walking, "About time you finished work!"
Alia quietly whispers that she needs to leave, her tone now becoming desperate. Aeron continues to ignore her, "Come on, you owe me a rematch." His arm tightens around her shoulders as he looks away from Alia and into the nearing forest.
"You don't understand - I need to leave." Alia has become almost frantic, it would be a matter of time until she starts to hyperventilate.
Aeron replies in a quiet voice, his body tense as they pass the first few trees of the forest. "Just a few more seconds." He looks behind them moments later and determines that they are now out of view from lingering eyes. Removing his arm from Alia's shoulders, he grabs her wrist and pulls her into a run.
Alia gasps and grips onto her duffel bag with her free hand as she runs.
The pair jump over fallen trees and dodge through low-hanging branches as they travel further and further from the Palace. Alia begins to cry for the reality of the situation has finally set in. She rapidly blinks away the blurry tears as she continues to manoeuvre in-between the trees at high speed.
After a few minutes Aeron begins to slow down, leading Alia to do the same until they eventually reach to a stop. Aeron's rugged breathing along with her own is all that is heard in the forest, their arms pressed against their hips as they try to regain themselves.
"What the fuck Aeron?!" Alia's tears fall freely and she puts a hand to her forehead, trying to compose herself. She receives no response from her friend, but instead another voice speaks.
"I saw your note."
Startled, Alia twists around and comes face to face with her Uncle Darian. He stands before her in his Commander uniform, a black athletic top, combat trousers and tactical shoulder holster with a horizontal strap across his midriff. The holster holds many blades of various sizes, stressing the man's dangerous position - a Commander of the Throne is to not be taken lightly.
"Are you fucking serious Alia?" Darian glowers at his niece, completely enraged by her idiotic plan. "Did you really think they'd be fooled by some fucking dirt!"
Alia begins to cry harder, "I'm sorry, okay!" She throws her hands to her sides, "I messed up!"
They stand in silence, Darian's glare unwavering as the female roughly wipes at her eyes, she's sick of crying. Aeron stands quietly, looking between the two.
"Come on, we don't have time to wallow in self pity" Darian turns and motions for the two friends to follow.
Alia and Aeron trail close behind as Darian leads them through a large cluster of trees and into an open field. A small plane lies in the middle of the grass and a man leans against it, shooting to a stand as he notices the three wolves nearing him. Alia wipes her tears and takes a deep breath, glancing at Aeron who remains looking ahead with a hardened expression.
Darian greets the man and they converse. Alia's mind is frazzled and she cannot comprehend what the pair are saying as she studies her surroundings with her arms crossed. Her duffel bag now at her feet.
"I killed the Beta."
Aeron turns to look at her with his eyebrows raised in surprise, not knowing how to respond.
Alia's lip quivers as she looks at her dearest friend.
Aeron sighs and pulls her into a hug, wrapping his strong arms around her as she cries into his chest. "You're so brave, Alia." He whispers, stroking her hair. "Your determination for change is something I will always admire." He rests his chin on top of her head and closes his eyes as they both take in this moment. For it will be the last one they'll have in a long time.
Reluctantly, Alia removes herself from her friend's embrace and sniffles, turning to face her awaiting Uncle. He looks at her with sad eyes and gestures to the man beside him. "This is Robert, he's going to fly you to the Pack of Rosía. He's the best pilot I know - plus he owes me one." He chuckles, glancing at the amused man beside him. "When you arrive, you'll be met with Gamma Christian. I trust that man with my life and he'll make sure you're safe in his Pack."
Alia watches him in silence, her thoughts racing as the inevitable meets her. She'll never be able to come back here.
Sensing his niece's anguish, Darian opens his arms. She rushes to him, wrapping her arms around his waist as he wraps one arm around her shoulders with the other palm against the back of her head. She feels numb.
"Aeron and I will come and visit you when we can, I promise you that."
Alia nods into his neck and whispers, "I'll miss you both so much."
Darian places a kiss to the top of her head just as Robert announces that it's time to leave.
Letting go of Darian, Alia picks up her duffel bag from the floor and follows the Pilot into the plane. Fit to occupy six individuals, Alia could choose any seat she wanted, so she chooses the seat nearest the two men she cares for the most. The plane starts up, its engine roaring to life. Alia looks out the window and mouths that she loves them just as the Pilot begins to move the plane away from the males.
Watching them hug each other before being lost from her view causes her heart to clench with despair. Blankly looking out of the window until all she can see is the top of the forest she grew up in, Alia sits back in her chair, feeling completely empty.
•
Sorry guys for the long wait, uni took up all of my time and now that I've completed my final exam, I can spend my time writing!
How do you guys like my little photoshopped door? I couldn't for the life of me find anything similar to what I was envisioning so I had to get creative.
Not sure how you've got this far, my writing is terrible.
Also, there is going to be lots of graphic, bloody, gory gifs throughout this book. If you're squeamish, scroll past them.
Please leave a vote and comment and all that stuff, next chapter up soon.