Burning Castles | ✓

Chapter 28 - Deals

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∞ | Chapter 28 - Deals | ∞

Antro Tower, Carvensland

Rhydderch looked out of the window, eyes staring unseeingly at the sea.

Dangling from the cliff's edge hadn't been part of the plan but with Vlad dead, he wasn't about to complain.

However, the death of the former Regnant of the Carvensland was indeed part of the agenda. He had done his part of the deal. All four Regnants were dead and there weren't any signs of an uprising on the horizon.

Now, all he had to figure out was to outmanoeuvre her.

With two days left to spare before they advanced to Vallisrem, he had to think of a plan.

Izla was a wildcard, a wildcard that she had unknowingly given. But, on the other hand, he couldn't completely discard the thought of her having a purpose for sending Izla to him.

There had to be a reason.

A distraction? Could Izla be a spy? He had entertained that thought before but now, he highly doubted it.

Not after what she had done.

And not to mention, he had given her a test of sorts. He had written some false plan to do away with the Regnant of Vallisrem and left the papers in his study where she had been lounging about.

And up till now, there wasn't any word or retribution delivered to him.

No, he decided, mind ticking away. Izla was firmly on his side and she would do what she was supposed to do.

Briefly, he wondered if he had ought to fake his death. That way, he could have a far superior advantage that no one would see coming.

However, his mind came to the conclusion that people will revolt and whatever that they had accomplished would be a waste. Undoubtedly, some power hungry fool would attempt to take his place.

And well, one could call him a possessive man. He didn't like sharing.

Not a single thing.

Lightning suddenly flashed across the sky and involuntarily, he flinched and he slammed his hand down on the wooden desk. He shouldn't have been this affected by the entire ordeal.

But he was.

Sometimes, he could still feel the salt water around him, choking him, pulling him under, drowning him as they entered his lungs and on some nights, he would wake, panting heavily as sweat beaded down his back and forehead.

Almost drowning had an effect on him. He guessed that Adrastea would describe it as a traumatic experience for him and he snarled.

Traumatic.

A word to describe weak fools.

He wasn't weak. He hadn't been for years.

And he wasn't about to be weak again.

He clenched his fists and took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to breathe and compose himself. It wouldn't be ideal for him to be seen and observed to be this out of control.

His soulmate didn't even know. And she wouldn't, he vowed. No one would.

Word would spread and it would turn into a weakness for others to exploit. And he had made a promise to himself almost two decades ago that no one would ever be able to manipulate or exploit him.