Chapter 10: 'Banish the maid and kill the boy'

Amelia gritted her teeth at the sudden impact and stifled a groan after she spitted out the metallic taste that quickly pooled in her mouth,

She looked down, and a shiver ran down her spine as a pair of green eyes stared back at her. Strong large claw-like hands wrapped around her ankle. With one snap, the unidentified man could easily break her like a twig. Her hands that managed to grab onto the second branch were numb. The man pulled her so hard; she scraped her knee.

Amelia faintly grunted as she struggled to kick her leg free of the man's grasp, but the more that she did, the more he pulled her.

Struggling was futile; the duchess was sane enough to admit that, so she counted to three and swung herself enough that when she jumped, she managed to tip the man's balance off and heard a large thump on the ground and some intense cursing.

Murmurs and metals clanking were heard from a distance—probably some barely sober men from the group that was drinking near the stables she passed by earlier.

If she was just like every noble lady, she would've cried and pleaded or screamed her lungs out for help—but she wasn't like every noble lady. However, she wasn't dumb either to stay and wrestle.

So, while the man was on his back, the weeds pricked the duchess' hands as she pushed herself off the ground. The stinging was bearable, but Amelia had to drag her foot out of the woods.

"This wasn't part of the plan—at all," she wheezed, but just as she could almost see some light at the end of her tunnel, she was pulled back to wrestle with fear as her scalp felt like it has been ripped off.

Amelia's face distorted. Her eyes narrowed at the moon as her hand made its way to the back of her head. She grabbed the hand that held her head back and twisted herself to face him. Quickly, her hand slid and pulled the man down by the wrist. With one leg anchored to the ground and her elbow pinning the man by his spine, Amelia twisted his arm and forced him to let go.

But it was easier thought than done.

The man was bigger and heavier than her. His arm felt like a hundred-year-old tree.

"Tell me ya name," he demanded as he wriggled his way out, but Amelia didn't have the time to think. One second of doubt and it's the end of her already shortened life.

Amelia panted and gasped for air at the same time. Then there was that metallic taste in her mouth again with the addition of the salty beads of sweat and dirt from struggling.

The moment the man's hold loosened, and the duchess was able to sit straight, her ankle sent a strong pang of pain that pinned her to the ground. In that moment's weakness, the man pushed Amelia down and mounted her.

"Tell me ya name," his voice was low and icy. When Amelia did nothing but struggle herself free, he grabbed her by the hair again, and the young duchess choked when a rock-like fist landed heavily on her gut.

Everything suddenly turned dark as tears pricked the back of her eyes, but deep inside her, Amelia knew she didn't have time to feel anything.

Hopeless as it may seem, her hand grabbed the man's wrist, and she dug her fingers deep into his flesh. The man grunted low, but Amelia kept her fingers locked as she controlled her breathing. Her other hand reached for the dagger that the man failed to notice because of the darkness.

The metal tip shone in the darkness and with a swift swing, the man hissed "Shit!" and "Ya bitch!" before a loud sound rang in Amelia's ear as she was forced to look the other way.

Nonplussed, Amelia placed her hand on her warm and tingling cheek as a part of her stiffened at the impact.

But that wasn't the end of it.

The man grabbed the young duchess' hand so tight and smashed it on the ground that her dagger slipped from her.

'Am I this weak?' she asked herself as hopelessness began to suck her remaining strength away.

Memories of the past flashed before her eyes—the pain and hardships she endured during her training with the Mulfords weren't exaggerated. But one thing's for sure… she didn't want to die.

No, not like this. Not when she doesn't even have a clue of who killed her parents—not when she hasn't even plotted her revenge to those who did it.

With the last handful of strength left in her, Amelia extended her arms and locked the man's elbow. She folded her knees and swallowed the pain from her ankle. After a deep breath, she lifted her hips as high as she could; she trapped the man's foot, tipping off his balance, and soon fell on his side.

Amelia rolled and then quickly transferred her weight to her hand that grabbed the man on his neck. She raised her elbow with one swift move and landed a perfect strike on her attacker's face causing another small tear.

But it wasn't enough for the duchess.

As if bewitched, her hand tightened around the cold metal that shone faintly under the full moon; but as soon as she raised her hand, her world shattered again as another pair of equally strong hands grabbed her wrist and cupped her mouth. If her unconscious attacker was big and wide, the other man was slimmer with a strength of a giant of a whole different level.

The duchess' feet hovered from the ground as the other person dragged her deeper into the garden. No matter how much she kicked and flailed her arms, her assailant just groaned occasionally.

"Duchess," the man turned her towards him, "Keep still… you're safe now." It's an unfamiliar voice.

But how could Amelia trust a man after another tried to kill her? The only thing in her head was to survive—and to survive was to kill. She still needed to repay whoever the person behind the attack against her bountifully.

"Duchess!" the man repeated. He lowered himself enough so Amelia could see him.

But Amelia was balancing between sanity and the opposite. Her eyes stared at the longsword by the man's hips, but her thoughts were distant and in disarray.

She wondered who wanted her dead—did Alexander want her dead? Was he the one who poisoned her? Why was the man in front of her not reaching for his sword? What time was it? Where is Arabella and Ancel? Where's her Uncle Vance? How badly does she look?

Questions barged through her mind in huge waves, and with each unanswered question, another few arose.

"It's me, Duchess. I'm Duke Clement—Alexander's knight!" the man dressed in black pulled back his hood.

"Do you think I'd believe you?! If you're going to kill me, face me fairly, you coward!" Amelia said in between gritted teeth. She wanted to crash her head onto his, but he got her pinned on the tree like a cage.

The man let her wrists go, and all the duchess wanted was to tackle him, but she couldn't move an inch. When she decided to swallow the pain again for her life's sake, the man took out his sword and showed her the polished handle with the head of an eagle engraved on it. As it shone faintly beneath the fading moonlight, Amelia swallowed her breath and glared at the man.

"Where's the duke?" When the man ignored her, and instead inspected her wounds, Amelia pushed him with the strength left in her and asked again. "Where in the damn Heavens is Alexander?"

"Duchess, you're hurt, you need to----"

Amelia cursed, and as quickly as the man could draw a breath and unsheathe his sword, the duchess has already pinned him against the nearby tree with her fingers clawing at his throat.

"Bring me to him."

The man sighed and raised his hand, "I am Jyver, your grace."

Amelia stared at him for a while. He didn't look like he was lying, and now that there's a name for his identity, his face and voice seemed familiar.

**********

The man kneaded his shoulders, and so did Amelia. She held her side and tried not to drag her foot.

It's been a long time since her body ached so much that every time, she breathed she could feel her bones cracking. And with every step she heard from her now-mute guide, she wanted to lurch at him and kill him. Of course, she hasn't killed anyone before, but she managed to break a few bones before.

"Duchess, you should really go back and—"

"I can handle this much pain," she lied.

Her head was heavy; breathing hurts; her cheeks hurt; she could taste blood from the inside of her mouth. Her throat was dry, and her hair was a mess. Her clothes were damp, her shoulders hurt, and her foot throbbed with every step.

It was still dark out, and Amelia's eyes have barely adjusted to her surroundings. But she followed Jyver as he led her around the garden and into one of the statues fountains scattered on the palace grounds. She noticed how the knight's shoulder slumped as he let out a long sigh and bent his knee to reach out for something.

Her eyes widened when a trap door suddenly appeared in front of her. She didn't know such a thing existed in her mother's favorite garden of all places.

"I warned you, okay?" Jyver said as he reached out his hand to assist her.

Amelia swallowed some air. Her lips quivered as she stared at the entrance of a possible underground dungeon she never knew. But her uncertainty was partnered with the thrill of discovering what's lying in wait. Her time at the Mulfords must have turned on a switch in her brain somewhere.

Amelia took a small peek inside, but Alexander's knight wasn't as patient as she thought when she shuddered at the pain that ran from her ankle to her consciousness as he impatiently pulled her hand, forcing her to take a step. She threw a flaring glare at him, but he dismissed it like swatting a fly.

Further ahead were several paths leading to who knows where. Dim flickering lights held by rusty metals, stone walls that haven't seen the light of day and have been accumulating dirt and moss, and a smell that tickled Amelia's nostrils—it smelled musky and damp and old and forgotten. Fortunately, it didn't smell like someone recently died and was left at a corner until the rodents were so full, they could hardly fit in their holes.

Amelia shook her head and crinkled and pinched the bridge of her nose. She couldn't afford to alert anyone. The tall, slender man who walked in front of her rarely glanced to check if she's keeping up with him. He was as quiet as a mute—Amelia felt slightly uneasy.

'Is this connected to the secret passage in the palace?' Amelia asked herself. When she looked back to her childhood, she was too young when her parents left, and when she returned, she became too busy to explore further than where her guardian allowed her to. 'How did the duke know about this?'

The two passed several empty cells with nothing but small critters scampering away at the sound of her footsteps—much to the duchess' relief. She wasn't in the right state to see anyone hanging by a thread between life and the underworld. Then a sudden—rather very unwelcome and shivering—thought crossed Amelia's mind.

Footsteps, she repeated in her mind, the footsteps she could hear all this time were only hers! Why did she come with a stranger in a place she didn't know, alone, just because he told her that he was Alexander's knight? The sword could be forged and the shadow that caught her attention earlier could've been his!

Amelia cursed silently as her hand trembled its way to her belt. The room felt so small all of a sudden, and the air thin. She took shallow breaths with every step she made. The adrenaline that ran amok all over her body started to calm down, and the pounding pain from her bruises was second to none that she ever felt before, but she knew better than anyone that she must remain impassive. She might have broken a bone or two somewhere. Surely, her ankle was already damaged.

"Whe-Where are w--" Amelia was stopped in her tracks as she heard faint cries from one of the wooden doors at the far end of the trail. She gulped.

Jyver looked back at her for the first time since coming down and said in a low voice, "I already warned you."

A coarse voice pierced through Amelia's ears and alerted all the hair in her body as she came nearer to where the awful sound was coming from. Her eyes followed Jyver's hand on its way to the door's handle. From the small rectangular opening on the door, she only saw more men clothed in black and a familiar broad back.

The old door creaked and opened ever-so-slowly. Amelia gasped; her trembling hands covered her mouth as she tried to regulate her already restricted breathing. There were three more people clothed in black fitted shirts and trousers with matching leather boots, like Jyver, who looked back to see her, but their eyes were devoid of anything.

Amelia didn't know how much or how long she held her breath, but the moment her eyes and the amber eyes which belonged to the man with a bloodied shirt met, it wasn't the same as the eyes she came to adore—it was dark and furious and full of malice. What stood on the other side of the room was more like the reincarnation of the devil than the man who gave her soft, playful gazes. The two chairs in front of him sat a man she wasn't familiar with and a woman that she couldn't distinguish because her messed up hair covered her face as she cried with her head low. They were bound by ropes from their hands, around their bodies, and to their feet. But her clothes—

"It's one of my maids," she whispered, but still, no one paid heed to her presence.

The man's—rather, the boy's—right eye was swollen shut. Blood crawled from the cut at the end of his brow. Blood mixed with saliva also dripped from his partially opened mouth. He's got bruises all over his body and a severed finger. He wasn't moving at all.

The woman—the maid that she instructed to prepare her tea—was not new to her household. She's been in the duchess' employ for about a year. Amelia was taught never to get too close to the servants to prevent misunderstandings and hierarchy between them, so she wasn't particularly attached, which was both a good and bad thing.

Good because it would save her from any emotional strings with the people in question, and bad because Amelia didn't think that she would be so willing to take another's life in exchange for hers.

"These are the people who tried to kill you," the duke's voice was icier than the mountain peak at the northern territory. "They did not only try to kill a duchess but also a duke."

Amelia remained glued to where she stood. She didn't move an inch in any direction; she didn't dare to make a sound either.

"N-no please, I didn't know anything. I-I didn't know him!" the maid wailed and fought against the ropes that only dug deeper into her flesh with every movement.

"Tell the duchess what you've gathered," Alexander waved his hand nonchalantly as Amelia's eyes followed him toward a chair nearby.

Another man cleared his throat.

"The boy was employed in House Florence as a new stable boy about a month ago. The stables master said that the boy begged him for the job to feed his family even for a short time. He conspired with the maid to—"

"Did my maid knew him beforehand?"

The knight looked to his master, then to the duchess, then back to the duke again. Amelia's eyes never left the woman's, but she saw that Alexander nodded at the side of her eyes.

"No, she didn't, your grace." Was the meek reply.

"Then why is she all tied up and beaten?" Amelia's voice was firm. She threw a glare at the knight, who visibly flinched when he looked her way again. She wanted to shout and throw something at Alexander for being a little prick by trying to pin her maid as well just because she served the tea.

"B-because—"

"Because, my dear beloved duchess," Alexander spoke, looking at his captives, "the mere fact that they tried to kill me is enough reason for me to kill them. Hell, I could convict a whole lot more from your House if I wanted. I could kill some of your knights for the lack of security, or the stables master for bringing in the boy, or maybe I could take down House Florence for harming the Duke of House Clement."

Everyone was silent.

"But," the duke continued with his eyes on the duchess. Amelia's breathing hitched. She wasn't aware of this side of Alexander; she's heard rumors, but never did she ever imagine the day would come so soon that she would witness it herself. "But because of you, my love, I'll only convict these two."

The duchess' eyes trembled as she looked back at the duke. Impending tears pricked the back of her eyes, looking for a release, but she held it in, not in front of the duke, not to anyone.

And as if the duke once again read her mind, he got up from the chair and started to walk towards Amelia. He reached his hand and caressed the bruise on her face.

The warmth of his hand felt like a sudden relief as her eyes closed for a moment to stop her emotions from pouring out. When she opened her eyes, the duke was just inches away from her. His eyes were different; the furrowed brows and soft gaze demanded her an explanation for her state.

How can the touch of someone so indifferent to killing be so—warm?

"Spare the maid, please." She whispered low enough that only the duke heard.

The duke shook his head, "You're too soft."

Amelia pleaded with her eyes, and the duke stiffened as the duchess raised her hand to cup his.

They've kissed—twice. But it was Amelia's first time holding his hand. It was big and heavy and slightly calloused with remains of small scars.

"Banish the maid and kill the boy," Amelia's gulped as his breath touched her ear. "That's all I can do for you."

"N-no. I can't ki-kill a person," she stammered, but she knew Alexander wasn't negotiating with her.

Her eyes shifted between the crying maid and the unconscious boy. When Amelia took over House Florence, her House became her whole family. Even though the maid only served for a year, she couldn't fathom the thought of killing someone she once shared food with—but it doesn't mean that she'd go ahead and kill the boy who seemed to have yet thought of his future. He must've had a lot of dreams for himself too.

"Banish the maid and kill the boy," Alexander repeated firmly, and Amelia heard her dagger being dragged out from her belt.

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