Chapter 16

The moon hung high in the sky, its pale light casting eerie shadows over the village as Malcolm and his men rode through its narrow streets as its hooves thundered against the dirt road. Behind him, a contingent of soldiers followed, their faces hard and unyielding, their torches casting long, flickering shadows over the forest path.

The village came into view as they descended a hill, its modest homes huddled together as if seeking warmth and protection from the night. The sight of the king’s arrival struck fear into the hearts of its inhabitants. Word of Malcolm's ruthlessness had traveled far and wide; his presence in their quiet hamlet could mean nothing good.

Shutters slammed shut as villagers caught sight of the advancing party. Doors were bolted hastily, and the streets emptied as people scattered like frightened rats. Shopkeepers abandoned their wares, pulling down stalls in a flurry of movement.

The guards reached the edge of the village, their torches crackling and illuminating the frightened faces peeking through cracks in shutters and doors. Malcolm pulled his horse to a stop in the center of the main square, his men fanning out in precise formation.

"Spread out," he ordered, his voice calm but carrying an edge of authority that brooked no disobedience. "Search every house, every barn, every cellar.

His guards nodded, their faces grim, and dispersed without hesitation. They moved with practiced efficiency, kicking down doors and storming into homes. Screams and shouts erupted as families were dragged from their hiding places, the soldiers showing no mercy as they overturned furniture and ripped apart bedding in their search.

Malcolm remained in the square, his posture relaxed as he sat astride his horse. His cold gaze wandered over the chaos unfolding around him, but there was no trace of emotion on his face. To him, this was a necessary inconvenience, a mere task to be completed.

A short, fat man with a scraggly beard was hauled into the street, his protests cut short by a gauntleted fist striking his jaw. He crumpled to the ground, groaning as blood trickled from his split lip.

“You saw her,” one of the guards barked, his voice harsh and unyielding.

The man whimpered, clutching his face. “I saw a lass,” he mumbled. “Long dark hair, bronze skin, hazel eyes. She looked lost—like she weren’t from here.”

Malcolm’s gaze sharpened, and he urged his horse closer. “And where did she go?” he demanded, his voice low and deadly.

The man scrambled to his knees, his hands raised in a pleading gesture. “She was with a young lad,” he stammered. “I don’t know who he was. Please, my lord, I’m just a father—”

The guard’s boot slammed into the man’s side, cutting off his plea with a pained cry. The villagers watching from the shadows gasped, their fear palpable.

“Where does this man live?” the guard snarled, drawing his sword and leveling it at the trembling villager’s throat.

“I-I don’t know!” the man sobbed, clutching his side. “Spare me, please! I have children!”

The guard raised his sword, his eyes narrowing, but before the blow could fall, a voice broke through the tense silence.

“I know where he lives!”

The crowd parted as a young woman stepped forward, her hands trembling as she clutched the shawl around her shoulders. Her eyes darted nervously between Malcolm and the guards, her fear evident.

The guard closest to her grabbed her roughly by the arm, yanking her forward. “Speak, girl. Where is he?”

The woman swallowed hard, her voice shaking. “He… he lives on the edge of the village, near the woods. I can show you.”

Malcolm raised a hand, silencing the guards. He studied the woman for a long moment, his cold gaze making her squirm. Finally, he nodded.

“Put her on a horse,” he ordered.

The guards lifted her unceremoniously, ignoring her protests as they set her on one of the horses. She clutched the saddle horn tightly, her knuckles white as she tried to steady herself.

“Lead the way,” Malcolm commanded.

The woman nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. “This way, my lord.”

The group set off, the sound of hooves echoing ominously through the village. Malcolm’s silence was oppressive, his presence casting a shadow over the group as they followed the woman’s hesitant directions.

The villagers left behind watched with a mixture of relief and dread, their whispers filling the air once the riders were out of earshot. The king’s wrath had descended upon them like a storm, and none dared to speak out.

As the party reached the outskirts of the village, the houses grew sparser, their dilapidated state a testament to the harshness of life so far from the capital. The air was heavy with the scent of damp earth and pine, the woods looming dark and foreboding in the distance.

“There,” the woman said, pointing to a small, crooked house at the edge of the forest. Her voice quivered, and she avoided looking at Malcolm.

------

Amelia sat on the worn stool, her fingers tracing the grooves in the wood. The small, dimly lit room, a stark contrast to the vast halls of the palace she had fled from. Her thoughts swirled with panic and uncertainty. She wanted to leave—she knew she had to—but the tiny arms wrapped around her waist tethered her to the spot.

The little girl, clung to her with a desperation that made her heart ache. Amelia glanced down, brushing a stray curl from the child's face.

The man loomed nearby, barking orders at his grandmother. “Make the bed properly!” he snapped, his voice harsh and impatient.

The old woman moved slowly, her frail hands trembling as she adjusted the threadbare sheets. Amelia’s heart twisted at the scene.

She opened her mouth to say something when the sound hit her ears—a low, rhythmic rumble.

A sound so low and distant it could’ve been mistaken for wind stirring the leaves. She stiffened, her head snapping toward the window.

It grew louder, the unmistakable thunder of horses' hooves striking the earth became clear.

The ground seemed to tremble with their approach, the pounding intensifying with each passing second. Grass and dirt flew into the air as the riders charged forward, the sound like a storm rolling in.

The man froze, his sharp commands silenced. He moved to the small, foggy window, wiping it with the sleeve of his tattered shirt to peer outside. Amelia tensed, her heart hammering in her chest.

“What is that?” he muttered.

Amelia stood abruptly, gently prying Anna’s arms from around her waist.

A line of riders, cloaked in shadow and illuminated by the faint moonlight, charged toward the house. At the center of them, unmistakable even from a distance, was Malcolm.

The men breath fogging up the glass as he peered outside. “There’s a dozen of them—no, more.” He turned to Amelia.

Her heart sank. She didn’t need to look to know who it was. “You have to hide me,” she said, her voice urgent.

“Hide you?” he repeated, his tone laced with suspicion, he turned to Amelia, his expression dark. “Who are they?”

“There’s no time to explain!” Amelia hissed, stepping closer. “If they find me here, they’ll kill everyone."

The man scowled, clearly torn between fear and anger. Without another word, he grabbed Amelia’s arm, dragging her toward a small alcove behind a cupboard.

“In here,” he said gruffly.

Amelia ducked inside, the cramped space barely large enough to hold her. Her breathing was shallow, her heart pounding in her ears.

The sound of the horses was deafening now, like thunder crashing over the plains. She could feel the vibrations in the floorboards beneath her.

Anna whimpered, clutching her grandma's leg as the door rattled violently on its hinges.

“Open up!” a voice barked.

Amelia’s heart leapt into her throat. She knew that voice.

The man hesitated, his hand hovering over the latch. Before he could decide, the door exploded inward, splinters flying as it slammed against the wall.

Guards poured in, their armor clinking ominously as they filled the small room.

“Where is she?” barked a tall man, his helmet gleaming in the firelight

The man stumbled backward, his hands raised defensively. “There’s no one here but us!”

The guard didn’t bother with a response.

He seized the man, slamming him to the ground. His cry of pain echoed in the small room as blood splattered from his nose, staining the wooden floor.

Anna screamed, her shrill cries cutting through the chaos.

Malcolm’s cold, commanding voice rang out, silencing the room. “Search the house.”

Amelia pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle her own gasp, her body trembling in her hiding spot.

The guards fanned out, tearing through the modest home with ruthless efficiency. Pots and pans clattered to the floor, the bed was overturned, and every corner was inspected.

The man, pinned beneath a guard’s knee, sputtered through the blood pooling in his mouth. “There’s no one here!”

Malcolm stepped into view, his boots clicking sharply against the floorboards. He crouched beside the man, his expression one of cruel amusement. “Do you take me for a fool?”

He gestured toward Anna, who was sobbing uncontrollably in the corner. “If you care for her life, I suggest you stop lying to me.”

The man’s eyes darted toward the cupboard for the briefest of moments. It was all Malcolm needed.

“Over there,” he said, standing abruptly and pointing.

Two guards moved toward the cupboard, their swords drawn.

Amelia’s heart raced as she heard the scrape of wood against wood. A hand reached in, grabbing a fistful of her hair and yanking her out.

She cried out, stumbling as they threw her to the ground. Her knees hit the floor hard, sending pain shooting up her legs.

For a moment, she stayed there, her hands pressed against the rough wood. Then, slowly, she looked up.

Malcolm stood still, towering over. His cold eyes bore into her but his touch was disturbingly gentle as he reached down and clasped her arm, pulling her upright.

“There you are” he said softly, his voice low and measured, as if speaking to a disobedient child. The softness in his tone only made it more terrifying.

Amelia kept her gaze down, her body quaking. She said nothing, biting the inside of her cheek so hard she tasted blood.

Malcolm let out a quiet chuckle, a sound devoid of humor. He leaned in, his lips brushing near her ear, “where exactly did you think you’d go?”

Still, she remained silent, but her shoulders shook under his grip. He pulled back to look at her, tilting his head.

“I…” Her voice cracked, the words barely audible.

“I can’t marry him,” she stammered, her voice raw with desperation.

Her words came out in a stutter, barely above a whisper, but Malcolm heard them clearly. His brow arched slightly, and he released her arm just enough to step back.

“Ah,” he said, as though she had confessed to a small, childish transgression. “You ‘can’t.’” He enunciated the word mockingly, drawing it out. “And why, pray tell, can you not marry Viktor?”

Amelia sank to her knees, her hands clasped together.  “Please, Malcolm,” she begged, her voice cracking with desperation. “Do not force me into this. I beg you to understand—”

“Do not beg me,” he cut her off, his voice devoid of emotion. “You will marry him. Whether you like it or not.”

“Please don’t do this,” she sobbed, crawling toward him. She wrapped her arms around his waist, burying her face against the cold steel of his breastplate. “Malcolm, I beg you. I cannot live this way. Please, don’t force me.”

He looked down at her with a mixture of irritation and disdain. “Its for you protection,” he said sharply.

“Protection?” she cried, pulling back to look up at him. Her face was blotchy with tears, her voice thick with disbelief. “By marrying me off to a man who hates me?”

Malcolm’s jaw clenched. “Enough of this pathetic display,” he snapped. “I’ve tolerated your insolence long enough.”

He turned to his guards, his voice dripping with malice. “As punishment, kill every one in here."

His tone was icy, each word clipped.

“No!” Amelia screamed, throwing herself in front of the man who had helped her. “Please, no! Don’t do this!”

Malcolm’s smirk was slow and cruel as he raised a hand, signaling the guard to pause. He stepped forward, grabbing the man by the neck and hauling him to his feet.

“A lover, is he?” Malcolm asked, his voice low and mocking.

The man shook his head violently, his eyes wide with terror. “N-no, my lord! I swear it!”

“Did you touch her?”

The man shook his head again, his voice trembling. “Never, my lord! I would never—”

Malcolm’s lips curled into a cruel smile cutting him off. “Then you won’t mind losing something you don’t use.”

With a swift, brutal motion, he brought the sword down.

The man’s scream tore through the room as blood splattered across the floor. The guards erupted into laughter, their cruel amusement echoing off the walls.

Amelia scrambled to her feet, tears streaming down her face. “There’s a child here!"

Her words seemed to give him pause. He released the man, who collapsed to the ground, clutching at his ruined body. Blood pooled beneath him, the air thick with the stench of iron.

Malcolm turned to Amelia, his expression unreadable. Without a word, he grabbed her by the arm.

“Enough of this,” he said sharply. “You’ve caused enough chaos for one day.”

She struggled against his grip, her sobs choking her. “Please, Malcolm—”

He dragged her outside, where his horse awaited. With little effort, he lifted her onto the saddle before climbing up behind her.

Before they rode off, Malcolm gestured to one of the men. “See that their compensated.”

The guard nodded, and moments later, they were galloping away, leaving the ruined house behind.

Amelia sat stiffly in the saddle, Malcolm’s arm wrapped tightly around her waist. The wind whipped at her face, mingling with the tears that wouldn’t stop falling.

She didn’t speak. There was nothing left to say