Chapter 24: The Whispering Audience - How the Stars Fall

Squeaky wheels grated on his ears, a relentless noise that cut through the haze clouding his mind. Horse’s hooves slammed against the rocky ground, their even pounding residing with the dull ache at the back of his head. Every jolt of the cart sent a fresh wave of pain coursing through his skull, making him wince involuntarily.

Muffled voices floated around him, indistinct and distant, like they were underwater. He couldn’t make out the words, but the tones were harsh and urgent. He tried to focus, to grasp onto something concrete in the swirling fog that filled his mind. It was like trying to catch smoke with his bare hands.

Ryker’s eyelids felt heavy, almost too heavy to lift.

He was no longer in the cave, delighting in the arms of a certain star—Nova.

The last thing he could remember was her crying out his name before black engulfed him. Trying to swallow against the dryness of his mouth, Ryker rolled onto his back. It was semi-dark inside the carriage, with only the smallest crack of sunlight coming through the door frame. There was no way of knowing how long he’d been inside, and there was no way of finding out either.

His hands and feet were bound to bolts on the floor, with just enough chain length to let him move his limbs and possibly sit up. However, standing was impossible.

His head throbbed, making him feel nauseous. Closing his eyes against it, Ryker took in a deep breath, trying to focus on Nova. Where was she? Was she okay? Whoever took him hadn’t locked her in the carriage with him, so obviously they were after her and he was just in the way.

Why not just kill him?

He was grateful they hadn’t, but you don’t take a prisoner unless you’re a guard or a . . . bounty hunter.

Well, at least that narrowed down who the culprits might be.

Ryker groaned as he rolled back onto his side. They must have dealt him a dose of dreamroot. He could taste the bitter taste on his tongue. The stench of it was all too well known. His body rocked with the sway of the carriage, lulling him into a state of unconsciousness once again.

* * *

This went on for days. At some point, a chunk of stale bread and a small canister of water had been tossed carelessly into the back of the carriage, though Ryker couldn’t remember exactly when. It was far from enough to sustain his strength, barely enough to keep the edges of hunger from gnawing at him.

The only hope that held his sanity together was the flickering thread tied to one of his left ribs that invisibly tethered him to the woman with the floating white hair.

He would find her again.

* * *

There was no longer movement, or the sound of carriage wheels against the ground, as Ryker came to again. In fact, there was barely any sound at all, except for the agonising cry from someone in the distance, echoing through the silence. The smell of wet stone and burnt oil emanated from wall sconces, a pungent the first clue of where he was—a prison cell.

He slowly cracked his eyes open. The very dimly lit room was definitely that of a prison cell. The walls were damp, with moss creeping between the decaying stones. Iron bars lined one side, offering a view of a dimly lit corridor where shadows danced from the flickering flames of torches. A heavy, oppressive silence hung in the air, broken only by the occasional drip of water from the ceiling.

He shifted slightly; the chains clinking softly as he moved. His limbs ached from the restraints, and he could feel the rough texture of the stone floor beneath him. As his eyes adjusted to the gloom, he noticed the cell door—solid iron, with a small, barred window at the top. Escape seemed impossible, but Ryker’s mind was already working, assessing his surroundings, searching for any weakness or opportunity. Listening for any signs that might help him figure out his location.

How long had he been here and where was Nova?

Ryker forced himself to sit up, his muscles protesting with every movement. The stone wall was cold against his back, a stark contrast to the burning pain that coursed through his body. As he struggled to breathe, flashbacks of men hitting and kicking him—vivid and brutal—came rushing back.

He remembered the sharp pain of a boot connecting with his ribs, the dull thud of a fist against his jaw. He could almost hear their taunts, their laughter, as they beat him down.

Someone wanted to see him suffer. Unfortunately for Ryker, that could be a multitude of people. He needed to get himself together, and he needed to do it with haste if he was going to make it out of here alive.

Wherever here was.

Footsteps echoed outside the door and keys jangled as someone unlocked his cell door. As soon as the two guards stepped through, he recognised the kingdom’s colours.

He was right back at square one.

Branoc’s castle.

“Get up,” one guard gruffly commanded.

With pain and a lot of struggle, Ryker used the wall as support to push himself into a standing position. He nearly blacked out, but managed to stay upright.

The other guard moved towards him and reached to chain his wrists. “The king wants to see you.”

“I bet he does,” Ryker uttered.

He refused to let them believe they’d broken him. There was nothing these guards could do to him that would make him bend to their king’s will, but if they harmed Nova in any way . . . that would be a different story.

Ryker climbed the stairs with heavy footsteps, flanked by the two guards as the prison cell faded behind him. Rough hands pushed him through a wooden door into a grand hall. Noble men and women turned their gaze towards him—some with pity, others with judgement, as if to say you should have known better. But Ryker kept his head held high, walking forward with as much dignity as he could muster.

It felt like days passed as they walked from the cells to the throne room and Ryker couldn’t help the exhausted relief that coursed through him when they finally reached it.

Large, ornately carved wooden doors were pushed open in the centre, revealing the grand throne room beyond. Ryker was a little disappointed; he had hoped for a more private visit with King Branoc. Instead, the room was filled to the brim with people—courtiers, nobles, and guards all gathered to witness whatever spectacle was about to unfold. The murmur of voices hushed to a whisper as the doors swung wide.

Of course, Branoc would have an audience.

A long red carpet divided the crowd into two, leading straight to the opposite end of the room where King Branoc sat on his imposing throne. One guard shoved Ryker forward as they started their journey from one end of the hushed room to the other.

Rage simmered beneath the surface of his skin as he flicked his eyes around the room, but he couldn’t locate Nova. If they’d captured him, it was most likely they’d caught Nova too.

The trio reached the foot of the dais and the guards shoved Ryker to his knees before the king.

He kept his eyes glued to the floor while he waited for Branoc to speak.

“Subjects of the realm, today is a day of grievous disappointment. Ryker, the once-trusted bounty hunter, has betrayed not only his king but the sanctity of the kingdom itself.”

The king’s voice rang through the hall as he continued, his words laden with disdain. “I’d welcomed him into my service, and in return, he dared to steal away a jewel more precious to me than actual diamonds.”

A heavy tension settled over the hall as a door behind the throne swung open. Ryker slowly glanced up to see a few ladies-in-waiting, hurrying through. In tow was a very forlorn-looking Nova.

Her appearance spoke volumes.

They’d piled her glistening white hair on top of her head, adorning it with ribbons and jewels. Rouge on her lips and cheeks hid what Ryker knew would be bruises underneath. The dark-green velvet gown swallowed her. It hung on her bones like fabric caught on the dead branch of a silver birch with a gust of wind threatening to carry it off at any moment.

Yet beneath the facade the king had tried to bury her in, Ryker saw it all.

Tear-stained cheeks. Sea-green eyes once filled with light sank into her skull—hollow and dark. They darted to and fro as she scanned the room. Her body was rigid in its movements, as if every step she took was pure agony. She looked frightened, like a deer running from the crushing jaw of a Lycan.

Every fibre in Ryker’s being screamed her name. He wanted to wrap his arms around her and tell her everything was going to be okay. That he would get them both out of this situation. He wanted to bind his hands around Branoc’s neck and snap it.

Nova’s sad eyes met his from across the distance. A silent plea resonated within them. A cry of help, yet also comfort. He saw the relief wash over her face at the sight of him.

The courtiers exchanged uneasy glances as the king gestured towards Nova.

“Ryker, I believe you’ve met my soon-to-be queen,” King Branoc proclaimed with a twisted sense of triumph. “She will wear the crown by my side, and she will be mine for as long as I live.”

The announcement sent shockwaves through the court, and many exchanged uneasy glances. Nova closed her eyes against the king’s words.

“Wife? No. Another trophy. Another show of power.” Ryker tried to stand, but the guards held him firm. There was very little strength left in his body. Days without food would do that to a man. “You can trap her in a marriage, but she will never love you.”

“It is of little consequence to you,” Branoc sneered. “As for you, Ryker, the traitor who dared to defy a king, your fate is sealed. You shall meet the executioner’s blade for your treachery.”

“NO!” Nova cried as she rushed towards Ryker, but armoured hands held her back. “Let him live. I promise I will do anything you ask of me if you will just let him live.”

Nova’s voice cracked and Ryker’s heart broke in two. Their eyes met, and he mouthed ‘It’s okay,’ to her, but her eyes didn’t believe him.

Gasps and whispers swept through the assembly as the king descended from his throne, saunting towards his prized star. “You will marry me, whether he lives or dies, do you understand?”

King Branoc turned to look back at Ryker. “Let this be a lesson for anyone who tries to defy me.”

Branoc sauntered back towards Nova, gripping her frail arm in his hand. “Come, let us be gone from this filth.” He yanked on her arm as they left the room, his grip cruel and unyielding.

Ryker tried to lurch after them, his heart pounding with desperation, but the guards held him back, their grips like iron shackles. He struggled, but it was no use. He would have to think of something, and fast.

King Branoc would not have her—Ryker wouldn’t allow it, no matter the cost. Nova was more than a prize, more than a possession for a ruthless king. Ryker would find a way to set her free, even if it meant sacrificing everything, including his own life.

The guards dragged him to his feet and marched him from the room. Ryker’s eyes scanned the room, frantically searched for something, anything that might help him get free. His mind raced with potential escape plans, but none seemed feasible in the moment.

Then, amidst the sea of faces, a pair of familiar moss-green eyes met him. His heart leaped in his chest, mending the fractures of despair. Pete. Pete was here. His friend and palace chef—there was hope for him yet.

As the guards pulled him closer to the exit, Ryker’s resolve hardened. He refused to meet his end at the hand of King Branoc, whether by noose or blade. He’d fought too hard, endured too much, to let it all end like this.

He locked eyes with Pete, silently conveying his need for help. Pete gave a barely perceptible nod.

Ryker would live to see another day.