Goddamn it.
Eventually, our paths would cross. This day had to happen, same as day follows night. I’ve been waiting for it—I just assumed I would be prepared when it did. Fuck me, but I was wrong. And when I whip around, ready to strike, every muscle in my body freezes at the sight of Sir Stephan of Glasburg.
The fucker strolls inside the ruined hut as if he’s striding into a palace. I want to rip the smug expression clean off his face.
“Look at you, dressed up in the king’s colors.” I sniff the air. “But fuck, you stink like you crawled out of his ass.”
Stephan casts his cold, blue gaze at the carnage. “At home among the dead, I see.”
I lift a brow, my grip tightening around the hilt of my sword. “I’ll gladly add one more body to the count.”
“I’m sure you would, my friend.” His nasty laugh grates across my nerves.
“We wereneverfriends.”
“Weren’t we?” Stephantsksme. “Did we not grow up together? Were we not as close as brothers?” He steps toward me, and I raise my arm, leveling my sword at his black fucking heart. “Did I not keep my promise to elevate your family name?”
I should rip Stephan’s tongue from his mouth for that remark. I step over Red’s body, destroying more of the distance separating me from a man I once loved like family. “You served only yourself.”
Stephan shrugs, and his apathy—his greed—feeds the dark power flowing through my veins. “We do what we must to survive in John’s kingdom. You, of all people, should understand this.”
“I’ve become thisthingbecause of you!” My roar rocks the foundation of the hut.
The blast of fury sends Stephan back a few steps. He releases a sad sigh, but his eyes remain as cold as a winter’s day. “No, Quinn. You surrendered your soul because you were too stubborn to accept that I did what was best for all of us.”
Fury clouds my vision. Pushed too far, I charge Stephan. I propel him backward until he hits the wall. Slam my forearm against his throat. Use that pressure to pin him in place. “John wanted a pretty, young bride, so you gave him Eleanor. You traded your betrothed to sit at the head of the king’s army. You have no care that he beats her. That he abuses her—my sister. All you care about is power. But I have power now, too, Stephan, you narcissistic bastard.”
“He swore he would treat her well.” He struggles to speak against the stress I’m putting on his throat. Tries to pry my arm away, but my strength far outmatches his.
“You never believed that.” I press harder, cutting off whatever excuses he might try to make for what he’s done to my family. “You’re many things, but stupid isn’t among them.”
“You can’t win this, Quinn,” Stephan grinds out. “John is powerful. You’re…one man. Against the royal…army.”
With a humorless laugh, I sheath my sword. I offer him a cruel smile and flex my fingers. “I’ll show you power, Stephan, unlike anything you’ve ever seen.”
He must realize my intentions because he brokenly babbles for me to wait. Pleading, between gasps, to grant him time so he can explain. That he had only wished for the good of our families’ futures when he brought Eleanor to court and presented her to John. She was seventeen, and within weeks of their wedding, I received the first letter—the parchment stained with her blood.
The king was...hurting her.
She begged me to bring her home.
I told my father, but the fucker was too busy counting his newly acquired fortune to care.
Stephan’s pleas for his life are a distant echo in my ears. Barely audible above the memory of my sister’s cries.
I take a deep, calming breath before I plunge my hand into Stephan’s chest. My fingers tear through flesh and muscle. Crack bone and snap tendons. When I reach his heart, I grip it, wet and beating, and rip it from its cavity.
My movements are so fast and violent his mind remains conscious when I hold his heart up for him to see. Rivulets of blood stream down my arm when I look him dead in the eyes and drag my tongue over the warm organ. I savor his coppery taste. Then I grab his chin and hold his head captive.
“Your life is over, but your pain has just begun.”
Once I meet him in hell, I’ll have eternity to test the limits of my creativity torturing him. He deserves nothing less for the evil he brought down on my sister.
Watching him die, as exquisite as it is, distracts me. Fuck. The attack catches me by surprise. Stabbed in the back, I drop Stephan’s heart and grab my sword. As I spin, I’m struck again, sliced across the face. Blinded by pain and blood, I stumble backward and land on my ass. I count three men. No, two, I correct myself when I blink away the thick, stinging wet that floods my eyes. I shake my head, struggling to clear my vision. Two men shouldn’t be a problem…
…except it is, because my mind is muddy and when I try to push myself to my feet… I stumble and flop back down. My arms are too heavy, my limbs disjointed. I fight to regain my footing, and as each moment passes, it’s as if more weight gets added to my body. More fog clouds my mind.
“The fuck have you done to me?” My words are slurred at the soldier standing over me.
