Greyson sat leaning against the bars of the cell, wondering how he let Caleb talk him into this, when the door slammed open, allowing two men to enter the underground dungeon.
“Well, cousin dear, I always knew you would get desperate enough to attempt to storm the castle. I just never thought that you would be stupid enough to get caught without a fight; it’s so unlike you.”
Greyson felt his body coil, as he pushed himself to his feet, turning to face his cousin.
“Bart,” Greyson acknowledged his cousin. His soul pulsed with the desire to wrap his hands around the usurper’s throat, and squeeze the life out him, but his time would come. “You won’t get away with this,” Greyson promised him.
“With what? I did nothing wrong, I repaired a wrong and took back what was rightfully mine.”
“Rightfully yours? Are you crazy? My father was king, not yours,” Greyson spat at him.
“But my father was the true heir, not yours, which makes me the true King of Elden,” Bartholomew snarled.
“What fantasy are you living in?” Grey laughed. “My father was the oldest. Trying to rewrite history doesn’t change the facts. The people of Elden know the truth, and they will rise up against your false rule sooner or later.”
“You are so wrong, cousin. The people of Elden have embraced me as their true King. Especially after they discovered that you were the one responsible for your father’s murder.”
“You bastard, I did not kill my father, you did!” Grey yelled out, as he tried to get through the guard, making Bartholomew stepped back a bit.
“I’m afraid that’s not what our witnesses say.”
“What witnesses?” Grey demanded, “If they told you that I killed my father, then they are liars.”
“You dare to call my beautiful fiancée, and my loyal manservant, liars?” His words stopped Grey dead. “Ah, I see your shock. Yes cousin, my fiancée. You know her, I believe. Your former fiancée begged me to protect her from your out of control rages and beatings. She told me how you terrified her with your ranting against my beloved uncle. I promised to protect her from your violence.” Greyson turned away from Bart’s sneer. “I see you didn’t know that she had seen you.”
“She didn’t see anything,” Grey choked out. “I would never have hurt my father.”
“It won’t matter soon,” Dreyden stated as he joined Bartholomew.
“What are you talking about?” Oscar questioned. “What are you up to?”
“You have been found guilty of the murder of our beloved King Tyrone, so today you and your cohorts will hang for your crimes, at noon.” Dreyden watched them, his eyes sparkling with what Grey could only describe as lust.
“I so look forward to it,” Bartholomew boasted, as he rubbed his hands together, getting off on the idea of Grey’s hanging.
“You won’t get away with this,” Grey spat at him.
“Who’s going to stop me? Your pathetic rebels? My guards will make mincemeat of them when they even attempt a rescue.”