Dreamwalker's Bride - Chapter 448

Chapter 448: Emotional upheaval
Trace froze, finding it harder to ignore his own feelings when Sapphira’s were written so sincerely across her face.

Pity, horror, despair, and every other negative emotion Denholm could inflict on her was warring in her eyes.

“I can’t take it, please, Trace!” The princess sobbed.

“I’ll make it stop,” He promised tightly, and with a firm but gentle wind, picked her up physically and moved her aside, locking her in place with an invisible wall.

Magic was plentiful here in the forest, and the princess beat futilely against the barrier he’d made.

“TRACE STOP!” She screamed, so overwhelmed with emotion that he was forced to restrain her further.

Disgusted. He felt disgusted with himself for treating the princess this way. It was shameful, horrific.

Trace shook his head and stared at Denholm as tidal waves of emotion nearly brought him to his knees.

Hopelessness, Worthlessness. Shame. Anxiety. A depression so deep he wanted to lie down here and never get up again.

But he couldn’t let himself. That couldn’t happen.

With effort, he fought. One step. Another.

What was the point? Why was he doing this? Everything was meaningless, the world dark and without hope.

Trace fell to one knee, ready to end his own life, for there was no meaning in continuing it.

Gritting his teeth, he tried again to ignore the feelings. Ignore the lies. Logic. Only logic.

He conjured Anaisa’s face and tried to pull up hope, and love, but all that came to mind was the flash of his father’s body hitting the cold stone floor.

Products of the emotion that slammed into him again and again.

He struggled forward, the knife gripped tightly in one hand. Each movement was a huge strain on him. Not physically, but the will to carry on was being eroded every second.

Trace avoided looking at Denholm’s face, knowing that the moment the man died, this relentless assault on him would end… and he needed it to end, more than anything in the world.

It was like a cage for his mind. With both hands, he lifted the blade.

Sapphira screamed in protest. In despair. In outrage. Screeching until her throat sounded raw. Trace dared not glance in her direction, but tightened the restraints on her movement lest she harm herself in her fervor.

But what was the point?

The knife lowered a little.

Would killing solve anything? The depression washed over him, but with a small hint of relief. He lowered it a bit more, and the sweetness of peace beckoned him. He knew that all he had to do was give up, and it would flood his soul, give him rest from the hopelessness, the helplessness…

“It’s not real,” He urged himself, and plunged the knife directly towards Denholm’s heart.

A guttural roar shook the earth before he could complete the execution.

Knocked to his side, Trace lost grip on the knife and it clattered against the roots of the nearest golden tree.

A dragon landed there, crashing through the jeweled canopy with snapping jaws. A wight on its back looked as impassive as ever.

“Come,” It commanded with the authority of the earth in its voice, and then wavered as the dragon groaned and whined.

The wight raised one ethereal hand, and the crushing despair Trace felt suddenly evaporated… along with the restraints he’d put on Denholm.

Villainous and enraged at the suppression of his magic, Denholm dove towards the knife and turned to plunge it into Trace’s chest.

Though he was rusty in hand to hand combat, reflexes borne of war never really died completely. Trace feinted left, struck Denholm’s fist aside with his forearm, deflecting the blow, and then delivered a crushing hook to the former nobleman’s jaw.

Before he even hit the ground, the wight was between them.

“Stop.”

“He started it,” Trace frowned.

The wight fixed him with an even stare, and the dragon flapped its wings, now free of Denholm’s influence.

It grabbed both men, in each of its claws, and the wight picked up Sapphira.

The princess had fainted, perhaps under the weight of emotion.

Trace sighed in deep dissatisfaction as the dragon flapped its mighty wings and lifted them through the forest canopy and back up towards the bedroom window of the Emperor.

“Looks like you’ll have to face your fate along with the rest of us,” He glared at Denholm.

Without the heavy emotion barraging his mind, Trace felt almost lightheaded. There was still despair, but there was also hope… precious little now that Denholm had been caught trying to steal a tree even as Anaisa was negotiating peace between the Emperor and the humans.

At least if humanity was going to be eliminated, Denholm wouldn’t escape unscathed.

That was a small comfort considering that Trace’s wife was in the line of fire. His own emotions flared. Anger and resentment and even hatred bubbled up after having been suppressed by Denholm’s powers.

The dragon flew through the window and tossed the pair onto the bed unceremoniously, where Trace rolled and tumbled until he came to a stop against the pillow… next to Denholm.

He nearly lunged to continue his attack on the evil man, but a rumble of the enormous Monarch stopped him cold.

“Thieves,” The Emperor snarled.

Trace lifted his eyes, up, and up, and up, to the terrifying face fitted with an obsidian crown studded with blood-red rubies.

“I didn’t try to steal the tree. I tried to stop him,” Trace defended himself, but Anaisa’s voice took over arguing his case before he could rant about the evildoer.

“Denholm was due to be executed over a decade ago by our people for his wrongs. His actions are not the rest of ours, as I showed you before,” Her voice rang out, steady and calm. “If he tried to steal a tree, he alone deserves punishment.”

Trace looked over at her, shining red hair in the lamplight as she stood, facing down the Emperor. How could she be so halcyon? And yet, he saw something wild in her gaze.

“Incapable?” One of the wights on the bed intoned.

“No! We are not usually incapable of punishing wrongdoers,” Anaisa spoke quickly. “This is one of the only examples of incomplete justice. In fact… any human that attempts to steal from you, I believe we would be willing to hand them over to you, Your Majesty, for whatever punishment you deem fit.”