Chapter 51
THIRD PERSON POV
Marceline’s rage was a palpable force, a tempest gathering in the modest hut where she challenged Darius. The atmosphere buzzed with implicit warnings as she questioned him regarding the assault on Ronan. In spite of his clear directives, his sentries had proven powerless against her warnings of harming herself. Darius, though indifferent to her welfare, couldn’t risk a derailment of his meticulously crafted schemes because of the folly of a lovestruck female.
“Why did your men assault Ronan? The agreement was to stealthily enter his territory without violence, abduct Elara, or do whatever you planned with her! Why on earth did Ronan end up injured?!” Marceline screamed, her tone piercing and blaming. The eight days following their previous encounter, which Darius had passed in a hidden flat distant from curious observers, had barely enhanced his tolerance.
Darius lifted his shoulders, his face inscrutable. “I didn’t realize they’d push it that much,” he remarked, his voice offhand.
“You didn’t realize?! Weren’t they obeying your commands?!?!” Marceline’s tone escalated in skepticism.
“Yes,” he replied in a weary manner. “They might have confused him for an ordinary wolf and struck to defend themselves. It’s known as self-preservation,” He elaborated in a dubious fashion, a fragile cover scarcely hiding his real motives.
“Oh no,” she mocked, shaking her head in doubt. “You might deceive others, but you can’t deceive me. I learned what occurred. They didn’t lay a finger on the girl; they all concentrated on Ronan like he was the objective!”
Darius released a breath, his forbearance eroding. “So what are you claiming? That I deliberately arranged an assault on Ronan?” His gaze shadowed, the relaxed mirth vanished, supplanted by a frigid ferocity.
A knot developed in Marceline’s throat. She remained motionless, her stare locked on the ground, incapable of holding his look. “I-”
“Speak louder!” He growled, his tone subdued and menacing.
She diverted her stare, confronting the ground. “I don’t know…..” She murmured in a faint voice, her bravery melting into terror. “I just…”
Darius emitted a puff, a noise laden with irritation. He rose and neared her, his digits raising her chin, compelling her to face him. “Learn to employ your brain, Marceline,” he stated, his tone perilously soft. “You’re an attractive woman, sadly you’re rather dumb.” He let go of her chin suddenly, his digit creating a keen slice on her flesh. He pivoted away from her, his tone now icy and rejecting. “For the time being, I’ll stay hidden. You devise a method to deliver the healer to me. You have five days, and if you falter…I’ll handle affairs myself directly.”
He then spun back to confront her, “I hope you grasp how lenient I’m acting. My daughter is fading daily. I can’t delay anymore. Deliver the healer or face the repercussions.”
~
It required Marceline a day to head back to the palace. On reaching there, she fell to the ground, her legs giving way under her.
“Lady Marceline!” Her servant hurried to her flank, trailed by two additional servants and a sentry. They assisted her to her rooms and placed her tenderly on the bed. All but her private servant departed.
“Shall I fetch you something?” The servant inquired gently.
“No,” Marceline breathed, her tone feeble. “Just…leave me by myself, please.”
The servant, detecting her lady’s turmoil, assented and departed, abandoning her solitary with the oppressive defeat and burden of Darius’s menace.
As she rested on the bed, she started to weep quietly. Her wolf meanwhile was conflicted, and sensed adrift.
Where had everything derailed? She pondered.
The response, she understood, was painfully straightforward.
Elara.
Elara’s attendance in the palace, her mere being, had served as the source of her suffering. Her fixation on Elara and Ronan, her distorted envy, had acted as the actual designer of her collapse. Still, she declined to release it, instead she wouldn’t hesitate regarding committing far graver acts.
Two days afterward, Ronan had healed, courtesy of Elara’s blood. The sight of Elara caring for Ronan, their nearness and the closeness of the deed tormented Marceline. She compelled herself to conceal her emotions, enacting the role of the worried consort while covertly scheming her subsequent action.
Since her return from Darius, she had been discreetly observing Elara, monitoring her activities, her apprehension growing as Darius’s ultimatum approached.
“You appear dreadful,” Zareth whispered softly as he neared her.
“Yeah, because I’m wretched beyond words,” She retorted, her tone clear with aggravation and hopelessness.
Zareth laughed while he rested against the barrier next to her. “You wouldn’t be wretched if you’d simply heeded Alpha Darius from the start,”
“Oh?” She faced him, a malicious ironic grin contorting her mouth. “Is that the case? Excuse me for lacking sufficient intelligence.” The grin dissolved, overtaken by a somber scowl. She redirected her focus to Elara, who was abruptly being tugged aside by Kael, the Lycan King, to a secluded spot in the gardens.
Her gaze tightened as it tracked them. “Hmmm,”
“What’s the matter?” Zareth questioned as his interest sparked.
“Can you investigate something for me?” Marceline requested, her tone subdued and fervent.
Zareth lifted a brow. “And that is?”
“Elara and Kael. Something regarding them feels off,” she whispered, her stare still pinned on the pair across the yard. “I initially observed it at our gathering. He repeatedly looked at her with a feeling…one that solely a person with affections would display.”
Zareth moved restlessly. He couldn’t fathom her direction or why it concerned her until an idea struck him. “Are you implying?”
She shook her head, releasing a breath as she rested against the barrier beside Zareth. “I don’t know, I’m not entirely certain. But I sense something’s amiss with those two, and I plan to discover it.”
She positioned her hand beneath her chin, pondering internally. ‘If I handle my strategy well, I could possibly eliminate her permanently without jeopardizing anybody else.’