304: Her great escape (part 3)

Her great escape (part 3)

As the masked man urgently tugged at her arm, Adela complied without complaint, casting a final look at the throne hall. Her eyes captured the scene: Aldric had been moved, and Samandra lay on the carpet, her once-white gown now saturated in red blood.2

Forcibly pulled away from the throne hall, Adela noticed Kaiser's anguished eyes following her every step. A torrent of thoughts swirled within her. Did he truly recognize me, or was it the Oracle he was trying to save?

Being seized by the massive, masked figure was unsettling. Their identity hidden behind a golden tiger mask, it felt as if the person had committed deeds so heinous that they dared not reveal their face to the world any longer.

Her contemplations were abruptly interrupted by the hastening rhythm of her breaths. Adela cast a sideways glance at the lifeless face of the man pulling her. Such disrespect was entirely foreign to her as Lady de Lanark. Moreover, his brisk pace, driven by long strides, was wearing her down. She stubbornly insisted on carrying her own weight, adding to her exhaustion.

But where was he leading her? Could there possibly be a dungeon hidden beneath this seemingly flat palace?

Oddly, under the current circumstances, the idea of ending up in prison didn't seem as dreadful as it should.

Adela mustered all her strength to detach herself from her immediate surroundings, clinging to the parting words her father had left her with. She had faith that she could convey the message – that the Archduke of Lanark would find a way to protect her. After all, he was not only her father, and she his daughter, but he was also a king who could bestow protection upon a Healer.

Glancing at her hand, she winced upon seeing the blood staining it, undoubtedly from when she had stabbed Aldric in the leg. Yet, she felt no remorse for her actions. She believed that if she was indeed carrying Egon's and her son in her womb, it was her sacred duty to protect that life at all costs, even if it meant harming those who posed a threat to her.

At some point in their endless journey, Adela began to notice a distinct change in her surroundings. The most notable difference was the doors. They had shifted from being constructed of sturdy metal – the kind that Aldric could easily manipulate – to plain wooden doors that palace personnel could freely use. It made no sense. Why were the security measures becoming less stringent as they moved further away from the throne room?

Could their destination possibly be something far more sinister than a jail?

Fear constricted her heart. She began to entertain the suspicion that her captor might not be leading her to a dungeon as she had initially assumed. Instead, he could be escorting her outside to extinguish her life right then and there, away from prying eyes and potential interference.

Desperation for escape surged within her, and she mustered every ounce of her strength to wrench her arm free from his grip. To her astonishment, an unexpected surge of power coursed through her, granting her an agility and strength she didn't know she possessed.

Despite her determined effort, the silent struggle only seemed to provoke her captor's silence into a more profound subjugation. Without a word, he bent down, effortlessly scooped her up, and threw her over his shoulder before resuming his rapid stride forward.

Adela was about to launch a more vigorous struggle when the scent of pine inexplicably transported her senses back to Lanark. The rigid muscles beneath her felt oddly familiar, sparking an outrageous notion that she hardly dared to entertain.

Egon?

Despite the mask shrouding his identity, an enchanting connection that had nothing to do with a mate bond pulsed between them, undeniable and vivid.

The possibility was almost too good to be true, but Adela clung to it with every fiber of her being, fervently praying that the masked man who bore her upon his shoulder was none other than her beloved husband.

She surrendered herself entirely to this fragile hope, and her choice to cease struggling prompted an immediate response from her captor. His pace quickened, almost shifting into a run. 

Though Adela's hope surfaced over all else, persistent doubts crept in. What if this masked figure was not her husband but an assassin, exploiting her surrender to eliminate her without interruption? It was a gamble, but she had to trust the intuition of her heart.

The only reason Egon would be in disguise was to rescue her, and this meant that her husband must have recognized her, regardless of the unfamiliar face that was forced upon her.

Abruptly, her mysterious savior veered to the left and pushed through a concealed door. The blinding lights were left behind, plunging them into complete darkness. The man who carried her moved with an unerring confidence through the blackness. She felt rather than saw him opening a hidden door in the ground, descending further down with her.

In the subterranean maze, they moved with choreographed precision, as if these passageways were ones he moved through every day. The pervasive scent of dampness and neglect clung to her lungs, but Egon's scent was ever so comforting.

Adela's silent plea reverberated in her mind, please let this be over soon. She simply knew that the exit was close by now. Her intuition held true, as the final set of stairs they ascended led to a door that seemed to be a portal to the ceiling of the underground passage.

They emerged from one darkness into another, a different kind of stark reality greeted them. This newfound space was open to the night sky, clean and untainted. Yet, it came with its own set of challenges, foremost among them the biting cold that clawed at her skin and the oppressive humidity all around her.

Moving through the snow-covered terrain, Adela sensed a momentary loss of balance in the masked man's step, as if the journey so far taxed his strength, his breath quickened as he pushed forward until he came to an abrupt stop.

Was this man truly Egon?

The answer to this question meant Adela's life or death at this very moment.

pqdm.com