16 Chaos in Waiting

"Who ordered the assassination?" he asked as soon as his people arrived. A lot of them were injured, some had a slash or two on their sleeve carrying the bodies of crippled and dead men.

When someone had informed him about what happened at the woodlands, he immediately sent the children and women back into their cabins. He didn't want anyone to witness the mess his men made when they returned. And now that they are here, he can't help but be furious seeing their faces and the victims of their carelessness.

He looked at them one by one, the calmness etched on his face. Others would say they preferred the raging him, his emotions were more vulnerable and visible thus it was easier to understand. But right now, they just couldn't read what's on his mind. They don't have any idea of his plans for those who defied him.

But he wasn't the only brave one.

The coachman whom he ordered to spy on the King and Queen stepped forward, his face a deadpan expression, "I did it."

"Why?" he was already fuming mad but still, he kept his composure. He placed his hands in his pocket and observed him with gritted teeth.

"Because it had to be done," he said, his face still devoid of emotion.

"It had to be done?" he scoffed, rage pulsed through his veins. "For what? Tell that to the men whose lives are lost because of your betrayal."

The coachman balled his hands into fists, his teeth clenched with every step he took until they were finally eye-to-eye.

"We are done taking your orders. We are tired spending every second of our lives hiding in this shithole," he looked around, taking in the surroundings with every bit of loathing and distate he can muster, "We're tired waiting while those monsters are in that damn of a castle having the time of their lives!"

"I ORDERED YOU TOO LOOK AFTER—" his sentence was cut off after the coachman suddenly landed a fist on his face. His jaw clenched when he felt a drip of blood from the gash. Though it caused a little bit of discomfort, his face remained to look unaffected by the pain.

He wiped the blood from his lower lip and glowered at him. The coachman was obviously not build for fighting but he sure had skills after all the training everyone in camp, mostly men, went through.

He had men for everything. That was the reason why he divided them into divisions to make everything easier. He sent spies to the castle to look after the royal family. He was aware that a civil war was possible inside the circle but he never expected to be betrayed this way.

They didn't believe in his plans. They preferred to attack than to wait for his orders. Now, the Royal Guards will be searching for them. They will be sought after in every corner of the country.

As much as he didn't like the idea, one wrong move and everything could fall into pieces.

Before the coachman could land another punch, his men immediately grabbed his arms and dragged him away.

"Get off me!" he resisted and pulled his arms from their unyielding hands, "I said get off!"

Once he was finally successful, he glared at the sight of him, "You are weak. You don't have what it takes to lead. Huh," he snickered as if what he's saying was funny enough, "You are nothing but a boy still hiding under the skirt of his dead mama."

This time, he finally let go of all the patience he had earlier, anger welled up in his chest. If his eyes just spit fire, they would have already burned. He marched his way onto the coachman and threw an uppercut straight to his face. He swore he heard his jaw crack when he crashed to the floor.

"Get him out of my sight," he said to nobody in particular. The men close to the coachman scurried on the floor to bring him up.

"Mr. Gadoury," he took a glance at the Security Division head, "Prepare his things and take him out. Make sure he's already gone by sunrise."

The 30-year old man nodded, "Yes sir."

"If anyone still wants to protest, you can leave with him. I don't want a bunch of impulsive rats on my camp," he sized each one of them, his authority evident. The rest just bowed their heads in fear or shame, he wasn't sure. "The time has almost come. I'm only asking each one of you to wait," he addressed to the men in front of him.

People were already losing their patience; he had to at least show these people that all those days of training and suffering weren't just for nothing. If hope is what will save the camp, he will use it.

"Just a few more months, we will finally take what's ours."