Page 8 of The Darkest Knight (The Cursed Kingdom #3)

Chapter Eight

T he kingdom had two kinds of warriors, sentinels, whose main form was as a wolf and shifters, who remained in human form mostly. Along with Atlandia’s mounted warriors—most of whom were also shifters—Niall and Padriag held back as the battle against Meliot’s forces began. As soon as the black wolves descended over a hill, Atlandia’s sentinels sprang forward with so much speed it was a blur as they charged. The sounds of snarls and howls filled the air as the shifters and wolves fought.

Niall did his best to keep up with what transpired, but it was hard to tell as the wolves and shifters moved at supernatural speeds. It seemed Atlandia’s wolves were larger and were winning so far.

Deep growls sounded as mounted armored horsemen came into view. Niall looked to his left, where Argo sat upon a huge warhorse. All the horses wore magically warded plates around their breast, sides and legs. The animals pawed the ground and grunted, filling the cold air with the steam of their breath. It seemed they were anxious to enter the fight.

“Arms!” Argo called out and swords were yanked from scabbards, mines swung in the air and lances fell forward. Niall held his longsword in his right hand, leaving his other weaponry on his body. Daggers were strapped across his armored chest, a short sword at his right hip and a claymore on his left.

The pounding of the horses’ hooves on the ground was like thunder as they rode through the tangle of wolves still battling and on toward Meliot’s soulless warriors. One last glance to ensure Padriag was next to him was reassuring. An excellent archer, Liam had been recruited to the archery group and remained behind with the archers.

Battle was one of the few times Niall was grateful for being a warrior in his past life in the other realm. With a wide swing, his longsword sent several of Meliot’s warriors flying from their perches and onto the ground, deep cuts through their mid sections. Within moments, the enemy fighters gave him wide berth, hoping he’d be taken down by an arrow.

Not relenting, he turned his horse around and charged to where Padriag fought. While the young knight fought one opponent, another came from behind. The fighter screamed in pain at an unexpected strike across his waist and back. Niall followed the hit with a second blow, his blade cutting the fighter’s head off.

Padriag’s sword plunged into his opponent’s stomach and the warrior fell from his steed onto the now bloody ground.

“I had it all under control,” Padriag called out, frowning at Niall. “I knew that guy was behind me. I was ready with my Ninja moves.”

“What about him?” Niall motioned with his head as a warrior charged toward Padriag, a sharp lance dangerously close.

Letting out a long breath, Padriag flung his left hand toward the lance-carrying man, sending him flying through the air until landing atop several wolves, who then attacked him.

“If you can use your magic, why are you not?” Niall yelled as he dispatched another opponent. “You are an idiot.”

“Not as fun,” Padriag yelled back.

Although both forces were about evenly matched, Niall wasn’t sure who was besting the other side. As the fight continued, arrows flew, hitting both bands of warriors.

“Do something,” Niall called out, glaring at Padriag.

“It won’t be a fair fight,” Padriag waved his hands as if directing music and yelled out words that sounded like gibberish. Instantly, the arrow seemed to stop midair and fell to the ground, neither side able to penetrate the invisible barrier.

Padriag directed his horse towards Niall. Both fought off opponents and the younger man blew out a breath. “Unfortunately the shield blocks arrows from all sides, but it’s better than nothing. I don’t want to get pierced through when I’m about to get freed.”

Without looking, Padriag yanked a dagger from his belt and flung it over his shoulder, the blade impaled a warrior charging toward him right between the eyes. “I don’t wanna look,” Padriag said with a mock shiver. “Is it bad?”

Niall ignored him.

It wasn’t much longer before it was apparent that Atlandia’s forces were winning the battle. Meliot’s warriors retreated, leaving behind the dead and injured.

Niall was finally able to sag with exhaustion, his entire body wet with sweat and blood. He’d not kept count of how many he’d killed. Considering the lack of blood on some of the fallen, most of Meliot’s warriors weren’t human.

Liam rushed toward him and Padriag, his gaze moving over them. “Are either of you injured?”

It took a moment for Niall to assess himself. As far as he could tell, none of the blood was his. After flexing both arms and running hands over his torso, he was satisfied he was uninjured.

“I think I broke something,” Padriag said. He held up his left hand to show the two outer fingers were bent unnaturally. “Ouch.”

Liam tore a strip of fabric from the hem of Padriag’s shirt and, after straightening the broken fingers whilst Padriag gritted his teeth, he bound them together and tied them to the other two to keep them immobile.

The warriors began inventory of the dead and wounded, the latter being loaded onto wagons to be brought to healers. As night came, the human warriors hurried toward the safety of the castle to avoid the impending icing.

Upon reaching the safety of the castle, the men’s clothing was removed by servants, and they were directed to the bathing rooms. It was like a cave. Water streamed from shallow trenches that stuck out from the walls into two large bathing pools. From one wall, cylinders protruded spouting water onto the wet stone floor.

Niall went directly to one of the cylinders, deciding he didn’t want to bathe in water filled with men who were covered in blood and other unrecognizable things. It seemed most had the same idea as soon lines formed at the waterfalls.

As the tepid water washed away the battle soil, Niall closed his eyes, allowing the falling water to massage his battered body.

Once satisfied he was clean, he accepted a drying cloth from a servant and went to find fresh clothes.

After a hearty meal and plenty of ale, Niall could barely keep his eyes open. He prayed for a reprise from Devina, as he knew it would be impossible to stay awake.

The familiar dampness of the dungeon crept through Niall’s clothing, the icy moisture clinging to his skin like a second layer. The fetid stench of rot and decay curled into his nostrils, forcing him to gag. Blind in the oppressive darkness, he groped his way toward the rough stone wall, leaning against its cold surface to steady himself.

An uneasy stillness hung in the air, unnatural and foreboding. Devina’s guards were usually swift, their heavy footsteps echoing before they even reached him. But now, only silence answered. His heart pounded in the hollow of his chest, each beat bringing rising dread.

A faint shuffle broke the quiet. Niall froze, his senses straining toward the sound. Torchlight flickered ahead, throwing grotesque shadows across the damp cell walls.

“She’s nae here,” a gravelly voice rumbled from the darkness, rough and callous. The figure holding the torch stepped closer, revealing a hulking, rotund man with bleary eyes and a cruel smile. “I donna ken when she’ll return.”

“Then why am I here?” Niall demanded, his voice steady despite the threat before him.

The guard sneered, stepping closer to the bars. His grimy fingers curled around a whip hanging from his belt, its straps ending in jagged, rusted hooks. “I suppose I can still torture ye. Devina’s nae here to stop me.”

“She must be near, else I wouldn’t be here,” Niall said sharply, his gaze unwavering.

The man chuckled, a low, malevolent sound. “Did ye nae hear me? She left.” He began to unlock the cell door with deliberate slowness, savoring Niall’s tension.

Niall edged closer to the door, weighing his options. He could outrun the heavy man—if the opportunity arose. But before he could act, another guard appeared, tall and wiry, his expression grim.

“Our Mistress has returned and wishes to speak to him first,” the newcomer said, his tone clipped. He shoved the door open, gesturing for Niall to follow.

As Niall stepped out, the hulking guard grinned, revealing rotting teeth. “Aye, I’ll be here waitin’ for ye.” He hefted the whip, letting the cruel hooks dangle menacingly.

The guard escorted Niall to a room that was blindingly bright, the stark contrast to the dungeon almost disorienting. The whitewashed walls gleamed with a false purity, and carefully curated illusions.

Devina stood by a massive window, her silhouette framed against an ocean view he knew was fabricated. Everything about her was deliberate: the thin linen dress clinging to her curves, the way the light danced around her, the coy tilt of her head as she turned to face him. Her beauty was a weapon, as calculated as the cruelty she wielded.

“You haven’t slept,” she said, her tone laced with amusement. “Do you really think staying awake keeps me away from you?”

Niall kept his gaze fixed beyond her, refusing to engage.

“Tell me,” she murmured, stepping closer, her voice like poisoned honey. “Did you not miss me? You belong to me and only me.”

She circled him, her fingers grazing his shoulder, sending an icy dread down his spine. She leaned in, her breath warm against his ear. “We should have a child, Niall. What do you think about that? An offspring, a product of our joining. Will that make you happy?”

Niall’s jaw tightened, his hatred for her burning brighter than his fear. This was his nightmare—to be trapped here, to have the others above believe him dead, to be buried alive in this cursed realm with her forever.

“You tensed,” Devina observed, her lips curling into a cruel smile. “The thought terrifies you, doesn’t it?” She moved in front of him, her gaze locking on his. “But you’ll join me in bed. And—” Her words cut off, and her nostrils flared. She leaned closer, sniffed. and without warning, she slapped him hard across the face. When he didn’t react, she splayed her fingers, palm in his direction sending a burst of energy that felt like a huge boulder flattening his face.

“You bastard!” she shrieked.

Warm blood trickled down his chin from his nose and split lip. Niall remained still. His lack of emotion was not something he had to force, because in reality, he’d stopped caring what she did. For a long time, he’d lost the ability to fear death or suffering.

“You fucked someone. Do not try to deny it,” she hissed, her voice venomous. “I will find her and when I do, you will watch as I torture her.”

When he didn’t respond, Devina hit Niall again, her fury unbridled.

Devina let out an unhuman screech, her eyes burned red, and her dress transformed into a murky gray, hanging limp on her now much thinner body.

Despite seeing her react to the many times he’d rejected her, this time her transformation was shocking. Niall took a step backward. What stood before him was a demon, there was no doubt in his mind. The being stretched until about a foot taller than him, and Devina’s face sunk into the bones of a skull that was elongated, long teeth filling the gap of its mouth. Long skinny arms hung down past its knees, the long talons at the tips almost touching the floor. Feet like hooves and a hunched back made for a terrifying sight.

Devina turned away for a moment, seeming almost as if not expecting to have shown her true form. Then screeching again, the sound like that of many voices, Devina whirled to face him. “You will pay.”

The guards rushed into the room their heads swiveling between the demon and Niall.

“Take him,” she commanded, her now deep voice dripping with malevolence. “Beat him until he passes out. Then wake him and start again.”

When the guards grabbed his arms, Devina neared and grabbed his face, the long talon nails digging into his skin. “One chance to save her life,” she whispered. “Give yourself to me, body and soul. Remain here in this realm away from Meliot, away from the useless games he forces you to play. Be mine.”

“Never,” Niall spat, his voice cold as steel.

The demon's eyes closed slowly, then opened, staring directly into his. “Then you will suffer.”

In the dungeon, they chained him to a post, the rusted iron biting into his wrists. The hate he’d felt in Devina’s presence grew deeper, soon replaced by a seething rage he couldn’t unleash. The first lash tore into his back, the hooks rending flesh and leaving behind searing trails of agony.

He gritted his teeth, refusing to scream, waiting for the sweet release of darkness to claim him.

Suddenly, he wasn’t in the dungeon any longer. Instead, Niall lay on a soft blanket, the sun warming him.

At the sound of waves crashing against the shore, he inhaled the salty air, refusing to open his eyes and face reality. No doubt another trick of Devina’s.

“Da are ye asleep?” The sweet voice caused him to jerk to a sitting position.

“Maribel, leave your Da alone,” Caitlin called from nearby, holding his younger daughter Beatrice’s hand. A seashell glinted between the chubby fingers of the child’s other hand.

“Da!” Beatrice called out with a giggle.

Struck speechless, he watched the scene before him. It was the summer. He and his wife had taken the girls to the seashore for the day. He never forgot the day, the last time he’d spent time alone with his family.

The wind blew Caitlin’s skirts flush against her and her large stomach became obvious. She was expecting their third child. His son.

“Here, love, come to me.” His wife spread her arms calling Maribel to her. The four-year-old ran to her giggling. Niall tried to focus on Caitlin’s face. It was blurry, and he blinked and squinted trying to see her clearly. But the sun shone too brightly behind her, and he couldn’t make her features out.

“Go back to sleep Niall, rest.” Caitlin’s voice was like a whisper in the breeze.

“No!” He screamed, but their faces grew fainter. He scrambled to his feet and ran toward them.

The scene faded and he fell to his knees.

Niall was once again in Devina’s opulent bedroom, his body trembling with emotion and pain. He wasn’t sure what had occurred. The room shimmered with unnatural light, the air heavy with the scent of perfumed oils and something darker, more sinister. As always, his injuries were mysteriously gone—no bruises, no open wounds, no scars from the whip’s cruel hooks. But the phantom pain lingered, burrowing deep into his bones, a constant reminder of her torment.

“Lay with me,” Devina, back in her familiar form, circled him, her voice seductive but laced with evil at the same time.

“Never,” he rasped, his voice a broken growl.

“You will.” Her words, deceptively soft, carried the weight of a command. She flung her arm toward him, and an invisible force slammed into his chest. Niall flew through the air, colliding with the stone wall so hard it jolted the breath from his lungs. He crumpled to the floor, his weakened body collapsing under the impact.

Her laughter was cruel, echoing in the room, many voices at once. With a flick of her wrist, her dark magic seized him again, lifting him effortlessly and flinging him onto the bed. The silken sheets, cool and deceptive in their softness, mocked. He twisted, trying to roll off, but before he could move, straps of leather slithered around his ankles and wrists, binding him to the bed.

He struggled, his muscles straining, but the bindings didn’t budge. His strength, already depleted, diminished further with every futile tug. His head fell back against the pillows, and a guttural howl escaped his throat—raw, primal, and desperate.

“Do it, Niall. Accept me as your master,” Devina purred, standing over him like a queen triumphant. Her black eyes glinted with malice as her lips curled into a smile. “Or tonight, she dies.”

Her hands fell on him, caressing his chest and shoulders, their touch meant to seduce but only igniting disgust within him. Her fingers trailed down his torso, each movement calculated, each brush of her skin a cruel mockery of affection.

This time, though, he didn’t flinch. He didn’t give her the satisfaction. The fury he’d held back for so long erupted, his body trembling with its intensity.

“It matters not what you do. I will nae be yours,” he roared, the word carrying every ounce of defiance he could muster.

Devina straddled him, her nails digging into his shoulders as she leaned closer. “Don’t fight me,” she hissed, her breath hot against his ear. “You know you will never win.” Her lips pressed against his neck, her kisses like venom seeping into his skin.

Then, something shifted. The straps binding him snapped with a sudden, violent force. Before Devina could react, Niall surged upward, throwing her off him. She tumbled backward, hitting the floor with a cry of surprise. An ornate bedside table flew across to where she was and crashed beside her, its contents scattering across the polished stone.

Her face twisted with rage as she scrambled to her feet. With a snarl, she lunged toward him again. But an invisible barrier sprang up between them, shimmering faintly in the dim light. She slammed into it and stumbled back, her fists pounding uselessly against the clear, unyielding wall.

“Who is this witch?” she screamed, her voice shrill and full of rage. Her eyes darted around the room, wild with fury. “Who dares enter my private quarters?”

Niall, still slumped on the floor beside the bed, stared at her in confusion. His body was heavy, drained of energy, but a warmth began to flow through him—gentle, soothing, and unmistakably familiar. It wrapped around him like a cloak, healing the invisible wounds Devina’s torture had left behind. He took a deep, shuddering breath, his body filling with strength again.

Wake up, Niall. The voice was soft yet commanding, a whisper in his mind. Tamara’s voice.

“I can’t,” he groaned, fighting against a strong lull to remain asleep, in Devina’s realm.

Yes, you can. Wake up. Now.

With a sudden gasp, Niall’s eyes flew open. A golden light filtered through a window onto his bed, the high ceiling greeted him, and the chill of the dungeon was replaced by the bedchamber he shared with his friends.

He was back. Safe.

“First meal is being served. I’m going down.” Liam’s voice cut through the haze.

Padriag stood just outside the bathroom, his expression curious. “Whoa, Niall, you look ... different. Got some good sleep, eh?” the young man continued. “You coming?”

Niall stretched, his muscles surprisingly loose, his body renewed. “Aye, I am.”

As he rose to his feet, the weight of being in Devina’s realm seemed to slip away, replaced by a renewed and strange lightness.

He looked at Padriag, his voice steady. “As soon as the meal is over, I’m going to the other realm. Are you?”

Padraig grinned. “Sure, I’ll come along.”

For the first time in what felt like years, Niall allowed himself a faint smile. A sense of purpose was returning, and with it, hope.