Whispers Of The Throne

Chapter 7

The storm rolled in without warning, thunder shaking the rafters of Hastings keep. Rain lashed the battlements, turning stone to rivers, washing filth from the courtyards. To Alice, the storm was no curse, “it was an opportunity.”

She had been waiting, listening, watching. Guards grew careless in foul weather, their shifts stretched thinner, their eyes dulled by drink. And tonight, fortune gave her more than rain, a loose hinge on the iron gate to the inner passage, revealed when the captain's men came too quickly and slammed it. Alice has counted the bolts, memorized their patterns. One was missing.

Now in the chaos of the storm, she acted.

When her guards slumped near the torch, drowsy from mead, Alice shifted her wrists. The chains rasped against her skin, the iron digging deep, but she forced herself to endure. With a stone pried from the wall days ago, she worked at the shackle pin until, with a soft click, the manacle gave. Her hands trembled as freedom kissed her raw wrists.

The guard stirred. Alice held her breath, hammering, until his head drooped again. Then she moved.

Barefoot, Silent, she slipped past him, through the dripping corridor, toward the gate she had marked. Rain blew in through its broken frame, cold on her face. She pressed her shoulder to the loose hinge. The metal groaned but yielded, swinging open just enough for help to slip through.

And suddenly, she was outside. The courtyard was nearly empty. Stormlight flickered in the sky, illuminating black banners whipping in the wind. She ran, feet slapping against wet stone, her hair plastered to her face.

Every breath was fire in her chest. Freedom was close, so close

Alice

Her body froze

He stood at the far end of the yard, cloak soaked, hair darkened by rain. Edmund.

For a moment, neither moved. The storm raged around them. Lightening etching his face in silver and shadow. His sword was sheathed; he made no move toward her.

You think chains were the only bars of your cage? His voice cut through the thunder, low and steady. The gates, the guards, the storms, you would have braved them all. But here you are, caught by nothing more than my voice.

Her fists clenched. You will not keep me.

Won’t I? His eyes searched hers, and in them she saw no mockery, no anger, only something darker, heavier. Even if you fled, even if you reached the rebels, what then? You think they would see you as a leader? Or a pawn to barter against me?

Alice’s breath came ragged. The truth of it struck like a blow. She wanted to deny it, but she had seen it in her father’s court, in the glinting eyes of men who weighed crowns like coins.

Edmund stepped closer, rain cascading down his shoulders. Chains can be broken. Walls can be climbed. But you… His gaze lingered on her, steady as the storms. You are bound to me in ways you do not yet understand.

Never, she spat, though the word trembled on her tongue

Lightning split the sky, thunder shaking the keep. And in that terrible light, she realized something, it wasn’t the chains that stopped her. It was the flicker of truth in his words, the awful fear that he was right.

She turned from him, forcing her legs to move, but her body felt heavy, her freedom slipping like water through her fingers.

Her grip tightened on the dagger. Stay back. Her voice shook, though she tried to pour steel into it. I’ll gut you where you stand. You killed him. You killed my father!

For a heartbeat, silence. Only the hiss of rain.

Then Edmund stepped closer, slow, deliberate, his expression unreadable but his words clear and cutting. No, Alice. That blood is not mine.

Her breath stiffened.

I took your city, he said, each word weighted, deliberate, but when I reached your father’s throne, he was already gone. Slain before I ever set foot in that hall. Betrayal did it, one of his own council, a man sworn to serve him, opened the gates and put the blade in his heart.

The dagger wavered. Her chest tightened until it hurt. You lie, she whispered.

If it were my crime, I would bear it gladly, Edmund said, rain sliding down the sharp planes of his face. His voice was raw now, threaded with something she almost mistook for grief. Hate me if you must, I’ve earned it a hundred times over. But not for your father’s death. That is a burden that belongs to his own.

Lightning split the sky, throwing his features into stark relief. Alice staggered back, her world cracking open beneath her. The chains on her wrist felt heavier than ever, not from iron, but from the weight of doubt.

She had built her rage on this truth. And now it slipped through her fingers like rain.

Edmund did not seize her. He did not drag her back in irons. Instead, he simply said, “When you are ready to know the truth, you will stop running.

Edmund did not seize her. He did not drag her back in irons. Instead, he simply said, “When you are ready to know the truth, you will stop running.”

Alice stopped in her tracks, fury and despair colliding inside her. Then, without looking back, she ran into the storm.

The night swallowed her whole.

But she did not get far. The forest beyond the keep was a labyrinth, its floor slick, roots hidden beneath rushing water. By dawn, she was found, shivering and half-mad from exhaustion, dragged back through the gates by soldiers who looked at her with something like pity.

Back in her cell, Alice sank to the ground, soaked and trembling. She had broken her chains but not her prison.

And worst of all, Edmund had known it.