She staggered as she yanked it back. He staggered as he helped pull it out of his flesh, knife in hand.
Look down at it, you dumb fucker. Look down at it! Give me a second to adjust.
But he didn’t look down, knowing what would happen. He advanced, shaky on his feet, losing a lot of blood but not falling. Great, she’d gotten a highly motivated one.
She backpedaled. Her foot slipped, and she went down, catching herself on a knee. Her breath turned ragged from the searing pain in her side. It had been a full break. A bad one, as she’d thought. The bone hadn’t totally stitched back together.
“Fuck,” she said through gritted teeth.
The male slashed with his knife. She ducked away but couldn’t stomach rolling under him to the other side. She was worried she wouldn’t get back up.
To give in to one’s pain is to give in to death,Zorn’s voice echoed in her mind.
The pain wouldn’t kill her.
The wound would not kill her.
Failing to act because of either wouldcertainlykill her.
Fucking Zorn was always fucking right.
She ground her teeth as the knife slashed down, and then she rolled out of the way. The agony welled up, flashing like lightning through her middle. She didn’t stop. Couldn’t if she wanted to survive in one piece. She completed the roll, forced herself to kneel, and struck with everything she had.
Her scream punctuated her shortened spear sticking through the side of his ribcage. Magically sharpened, it sliced through bone and lung and kept going, elongating on its own until it hit the heart. She wondered if it had bent inside his body to get it. The sword wasn’t relying on her; it was acting on its own, doing what was required to get the kill.
The male screamed with her, the hand that held the knife spasming. He released it and grabbed for the spear, but it was too late. The damage was done.
He collapsed as she did, withering to the ground. The difference was, he wouldn’t get back up. She would. Eventually. Some day.
The guards grabbed her upper arms, and she screamed again as they lifted her.
“I got it.” She tried to struggle away, straightening her legs. “I got it?—”
“Bring her here.”
The king’s voice stopped her heart. She clutched one of the guard’s arms, looking back for her sword. Faelynn crouched beside it, her face slack. She’d been collecting Daisy’s items and frozen. That wasn’t good.
Daisy couldn’t go with the king. Not like this. Not without the ability to fight back properly. Not without a weapon!
Her body started to shake with very real fear. The kind of fear that spoke of the soul and not the body. That spoke of wounds worse than mortal wounds.
Help me, she wanted to shout. Please, Tarian,help me!
But she wouldn’t. He’d already said when it came to the king—when it came to the royal chambers—he could do nothing. Some battles she’d have to fight alone. Which had been fine…when it didn’t feel like a spiked hammer hit her in the ribs every time she fucking moved.
The royals sat to the sides, one of the males interested, the other picking at his nail. The queen swished her gown, not looking at Daisy. The king choosing a sex toy right in front of her had to be so demoralizing, though not as demoralizing as being that toy. The princess had a smug grin. She knew what the king planned to do—how he longed to break the human.
A teardrop of blood dripped out of the king’s left eye. His lids were hooded, lust burning brightly within.
Everything in her recoiled as she walked closer, then was dragged, not wanting to go. Not able to stomach this. Not able to save herself.
“No, please,” she begged. “Please.”
30
Daisy
The guards stoppedin front of the dais, and the king stood. His robes swirled around his slippered feet. An item glittered in his hand.
