Ruined (Ruined, #1)(56)

“The window,” he said, gesturing for Cas to go ahead of him.

Cas ran into the dark room and to the large window, unhooking the latch and pushing it open. A gust of smoky air blew across Cas’s face.

“Where did they go?” a voice yelled.

He whirled around just in time to see a warrior running into the room, making a mad dash for the king. His father was ready, sword lifted. “Go!” he yelled.

Cas ignored him, lunging at the warrior instead. The knife in the man’s left hand flashed across his vision, and he opened his mouth to yell a warning to his father.

The warrior drove the knife into his father’s chest.

The king gasped, his sword clattering to the floor. The warrior gave the knife a shove. The king toppled over, hitting the floor with a thud.

Cas froze. Red spread across his father’s shirt, but Cas was sure he wasn’t going to die. He couldn’t.

The warrior darted toward Cas, and his brain snapped to attention. He surged forward, surprising the warrior, and his blade immediately nicked the warrior’s arm. The man sprang out of the way, and then lunged for Cas.

Cas blocked his attack, taking two quick steps back and darting around the warrior. He jabbed his blade straight into the man’s side. The warrior gasped as Cas yanked it out of his flesh.

He sliced the blade across the warrior’s neck.

Cas turned away as the man fell. The king was sprawled out on his back on the floor, his white shirt entirely red.

Cas dropped down on his knees, his body cold and shaking. Would he be able to pull his father through the window? Maybe Cas could put him on his back.

His father’s eyes were drifting open and closed, his head lolling to one side. His lips parted, but only a weird squeaking noise came out. His chest stopped moving.

Cas’s hands were on his father’s chest, and they were red with his blood now, but he’d lost feeling in them. Cas’s whole body seemed to have departed, actually.

He realized suddenly he was whispering his father’s name over and over, but it didn’t seem to be doing anything to wake him up.

He wasn’t waking up.

His father was dead.

“Put the castle staff in the wagon!” The yell from behind him made Cas jump, and he quickly moved his hands off his father’s chest as feeling returned to them.

“Find the prince!” the voice yelled. “Kill him on sight.”

Cas stumbled as he got to his feet. The sounds of boots thumping and voices yelling echoed all through the castle. He was surrounded.

He wiped his bloody hands on his black pants and darted to the window, sparing a glance at the dead warrior on the ground. He had to resist the urge to drive his sword into the dead man’s chest. The blood seeping from his neck and pooling on the floor didn’t seem like enough punishment.

He peered around the windowsill. Smoke curled up into the night sky in the distance, near the center of town, and his heart jumped into his throat. Were they killing innocent people? Were they going to burn the whole city to the ground?

Was he the one who was going to have to decide how to retaliate, now that his father was dead?

He pushed the thought out of his mind. Now was not the time to panic about the fact that he’d just become the king. He wouldn’t be ruling anything if they caught him.

He looked left, to the front of the castle, and saw two warriors standing at the corner, their backs to him. He squinted to the right, at the dark wall that led to the gardens. He couldn’t see anyone in that direction, but there was a lot of noise very nearby. Light spilled out onto the grass, and he suspected there were quite a few warriors in the gardens.

He eased his foot out the window, his sword still gripped in one hand. He didn’t turn back to his father. Somehow he knew that if he turned around now, that was the image that would stay burned into his brain forever.

His feet hit the ground with a soft thud, and he crouched down next to the wall, stilling for a moment as he made sure no one had caught his movement.

He had three choices: make a run for it, which was likely to draw attention; try to sneak out the front gate, which was near impossible; or try to make it to through the gardens to the tree in back and attempt to jump over the wall. The latter was probably his best choice. He suspected there were more warriors in that direction, but that might work in his favor. He’d be harder to spot in the chaos.

He stayed low to the ground as he ran next to the castle wall.

Kill him on sight. The words rolled through his brain again, and he looked down at his clothes. His shirt was gray, without any royal insignia on it. Many of the Olso warriors had never met him, but they must have seen drawings of him.

He leaned down, grabbing some dirt and rubbing it across his cheeks. He ruffled his hair as well, pulling a few strands down into his eyes. It wasn’t the best disguise, but perhaps they wouldn’t recognize him right away.

He continued along the wall until he made it to the rear of the castle. He peered around the corner.

Horses led a wagon into the gardens. The wagon was a completely sealed wooden box on wheels, usually used to transport prisoners. The warriors must have stolen it.

Some of the castle staff were lined up to get in the wagon. Where were the warriors taking them?

He glanced out at the gardens. At least fifty Olso warriors milled around. Some ran back and forth, clearly in search of something.

“The king is dead!” someone yelled from the back door. “No sign of the prince.”