Married To The Mad Vampire Lord novel Chapter 402

Chapter 402: Reap what you sow

The next day, no noble who had attended the ball remembered who Isabelle was. They took Lady Althea’s death to be a tragic accident that had nothing to do with Belle, and that morning became the day of her burial, where many went dressed in mourning attires.

Only one person, who had left earlier before the mass compelling in the ballroom, still held the memories of the entire event the next day. His excitement for the morning had made him refuse to stay with the grieving guests, who had wanted to hear the outcome of the king’s decision from last night. Instead, he had left the palace the very moment he was given permission to take charge of Lady Isabelle’s execution.

Hence, this morning, Jamie Marchant left his house in his carriage and headed straight to the madhouse to get the criminal to the execution center. He had prepared the kerosene and wood to burn her last night after leaving the palace.

He knew men would already be waiting for him in the asylum to take Lady Isabelle to where she would face her death. She would die a madwoman with no one to stand up for her, and he would watch her burn away for breaking his arm and almost killing him, had it not been for Lady Althea being there.

"Hurry with the ride, will you?" he urged his coachman impatiently, unable to wait to reach the madhouse and get this over with.

Only when Lady Isabelle died would he be at peace, because her being alive held the risk of people finding out that he had, indeed, purposely pulled his wife-to-be in front of him to take the fire, and that he could have stopped the fire by pulling off a curtain and covering her with it to save her life, but instead had let the fire consume her until she burned down to the very flesh and bones.

Last night, after Althea had run out of the room burning, he had seen in Belle’s eyes the look of horror and the dawning understanding of the situation, that he had pulled the woman to save himself. She had understood it enough to want to run out after the burning lady to help her, almost forgetting him entirely until he pulled her back. And that was how they had ended up on the floor, struggling, him trying to avoid her frantic hits with his good hand, and her desperately trying to reach for the tinderbox to light him on fire again.

"You let her burn, just like you did to me, Deven! You are a monster!" she had screamed. Whatever that meant, Jaime had held her down until the guards rushed in, and he reported her crime to them.

Now, inside his carriage, he smiled again at his luck in life.

When they reached the gate of the enclosed building of the madhouse, where everything from the windows to the doors was bound with thick iron to prevent any escape from the insane, Jamie got down from his carriage and walked to the entrance. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

He was slightly taken aback when he didn’t notice any palace guards waiting for his arrival, nor any of the eager nobles who wanted to witness Lady Isabelle’s death. But then he brushed that away and made his way into the house, where, immediately upon entering, he could hear screams echoing from the underground section where the insane were tortured back to their senses like it should be.

He walked to the clerk’s desk, where the young man greeted him and then informed him, "It’s not the visiting or viewing hours, sir. You can’t be here unless you have come to admit a mad person," said the young clerk, who had his ears stuffed to block the screams coming from below.

Jamie looked at the clerk as if he couldn’t believe who the man thought he was speaking to with such a casual tone. But he let it slide, too eager for the purpose that had brought him here to waste time dwelling on the disrespect or dealing with the young man.

"I am Baron Marchant," Jamie said firmly, straightening his shoulders, "and I am here under the king’s direct order to carry out Isabelle Dawson, who was admitted here yesterday. The palace guards should already be here, waiting for my arrival."

The clerk frowned, then let out a small, disbelieving laugh. "I may be just a man who works in a place like this and rarely steps out, but I keep up well enough with society matters to know there has never been any Baron Marchant in Aragonia. And as for yesterday, no Isabelle Dawson was ever admitted into this institution. Are you certain you know what you’re saying, sir?"

The clerk began to eye Jamie suspiciously, trying to consider whether the man was one of the many people in the asylum who had claimed they were kings when, in truth, they were commoners who had gone insane and forgotten their identity.

Jamie, who ever since he was granted his title had demanded respect from commoners, as if he had never been one himself, didn’t like the way the young clerk regarded him or how easily he brushed off his words.

"Get me the head doctor," Jamie snapped. "I spoke with him last night when Lady Isabelle was brought here. You must be new to this institution, not knowing that I was titled Baron and—"

"Sir," the clerk interrupted, keeping his tone polite but firm, "with all due respect, I assure you I was here last night, and you are no Baron. The true Baron is Lord Wexford. There was no Lady Isabelle admitted here, nor any order from the king—"

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