And then I was attacking him.
Attacking him with the broken bowl in my hand. Stabbing and slashing. The bowl cutting into my palm, but I didn’t care.
I would kill him. I would kill him for what he did. I would kill him killing Remy.
I didn’t even realise that I had taken him to the floor, that I had straddled his torso so I could stab the ceramic deeper into his chest and face. It was only when an arm encircled my waist and hauled me from the floor—until my legs dangled—and a hand ripped what was left of the bowl from my bloody fingers that I became aware of where I was again.
That I saw the man who had attacked me: bloody, broken, lifeless.
He hadn’t been that Vouna guard.
They didn’t even look similar—apart from sharing a smile.
But it had been him.
It had been.
Hadn’t it?
I saw the first man, moaning on the ground, a piece of bowl stuck in the side of his cheek, a pool of blood slowly forming.
The leader was nowhere.
He wasn’t in the dining room.
Had he fled?
Was he even there to begin with?
“Percy, what happened here?” Adamantia asked, shock evident in her voice.
I didn’t answer.
I didn’t know myself.
I felt heavy and disorientated.
23. What’s Going On.
Adamantia Ardens
How was it even possible that such a small creature could cause such damage? One dead and another left mangled. And yet she was near weightless in my grasp. How did this even happen in the first place—and no one rang any alarm? I had heard her screaming as I had been making my way to the foyer in anticipation of Lydia and Elliot’s arrival. It wasn’t a quiet quarrel. Percy’s animalistic, raging screams had filled the corridor, and yet no one had come to intervene—or even look on?
I tossed her limp form over my shoulder, leaving the dead and injured behind as I left the servant’s dining room and changed course for my chambers.
The girl was near catatonic as I slumped her into a high-backed chair.
“Percy!” Sasha exclaimed as she entered from the dressing room and rushed to kneel before the flower girl—if that was what she truly was. “What happened?” my love asked, her hands hovering over Percy’s.
“It’s not her blood,” I informed her quickly, to quiet her panic.
“Who’s is it?” she asked, turning to look at me.
“A dead mans,” I replied.
“Dead—what?” she questioned. “What is going on?” she demanded to know.
“That’s what I would like to know,” I replied.
