Stephane stood up, his face still drawn in agony. As she closed in to land another blow, he caught her in the face with his fist, sending her reeling back into the men who formed the circle. They caught her before she fell and pushed her back into the ring.
Blood ran from her own mouth now, but she didn’t bother to wipe it. She exploded in a flurry of action, pushing her brother back as she landed a series of punches and kicks. Pressed against the men, he caught her ankle and yanked her into the air.
She landed with a painful thud to the floor, and he jumped down on her, a knife suddenly appearing in his hand. She caught his wrist as he plunged it downward, his intent to drive the knife into her heart.
Merrick was right. Stephane would not fight her honorably. He would do whatever necessary to achieve his goal. Sadness pierced her heart in place of the dagger’s blade. Her brother—her childhood confidant and protector, a person she had mourned deeply for—would kill her without thought.
Sweat poured from her face as she struggled to keep the knife from descending into her flesh. But he was just as determined to end her life as she was to stay alive. Their eyes connected, and the moment seemed frozen in time. She searched the depths of his ocean green eyes, eyes just like hers, for some semblance of the man she knew. But all that stared back at her was madness.
She reared back and slammed her head into his. Pain exploded through her skull, but it had an equally devastating effect on Stephane. The knife clattered to the floor, and he rolled away, blood pouring from his eye.
Still lying on the floor, she rotated with lightning speed and kicked him in the side of the head. She bounced up, her other foot catching him under the chin on her way up. His body arched, and he flipped over onto his back with the force of her kick.
She reached down and grasped the knife, the temptation to end his life so strong, she nearly plunged it down into his heart. Putting a tight rein on her emotions, she leaped on him and wedged her forearm under his chin, pressing into his throat so he was unable to draw a breath.
She held the point of the knife to his chest and straddled his body. “Tell me of your arrangement with the French. Did you enter into a devil’s bargain with them to secure Bonaparte’s escape?”
He attempted a laugh though the sound gurgled out of his throat. “I entered no such bargain. His supporters…needed money to free him. I supplied it…in return for their help in removing certain members of Leaudor’s ruling family. What they do afterwards is of no consequence to me.”
“When is his escape planned?” she demanded.
He smiled an evil, triumphant smile. “You are too late.”
“I should kill you,” she whispered, loosening her hold on the knife. “You don’t deserve to live.”
“Then do it,” he taunted, sucking in a deep breath as the pressure against his throat was lessened. “End my miserable life. You know you want the throne as badly as I do. Kill me and it will be yours.”
She shook her head and slowly rose. “I’m not like you. I’m not willing to kill for personal gain.” She stepped back, her rage leaving her in one fell swoop. She had dreamed of this moment. Of having revenge for the deaths of her parents. So many times she had imagined ending the life of the person responsible, but now when it was all within her reach, she couldn’t bring herself to do it. It would make her no better than Stephane.
“I claim victory,” she said calmly. “For I could have killed you. But I want you to live with what you have done. I want you to rot in prison. I want your last thoughts before you go to sleep at night to be of the mother and father you killed in order to take something that was not yours.”
“Kill me,” he said raising his head. “I won’t go to prison.”
“You have no choice,” she replied. “Everyone here has heard of your deeds.”
She dropped the knife at her feet as the royal guard surged forward to apprehend Stephane. Strong arms wrapped around her shoulders, and she looked up to see Merrick standing beside her, his eyes dark with concern.
She wiped the blood at her mouth with the back of her hand and let out her pent-up breath in a long, painful sigh. “It’s over.”
“Yes,” Merrick said quietly.
Father Ling held up his hands once more and all attention turned to him. He spoke softly, and everyone strained to hear. “I stand before you as witness to Princess Isabella’s completion of the requirements to ascend the throne.
“She journeyed into the caves and returned triumphant. She is truly worthy to be queen and the rightful heir. Her heart is pure, and she is free of the betrayals that have rocked our nation.”
He turned to face Isabella. “If you would kneel so that I may place the crown on your head, I would offer blessing on your reign and pronounce you Queen of Leaudor.”
She hesitated for a moment, the enormity of the event overwhelming her. She had done it. Avenged her mother and father. Hot tears slipped down her cheeks and the crowd blurred before her.
Merrick urged her forward, his hand steadying her. On shaky legs, she knelt in front of Father Ling and bowed her head.
Father Ling turned to address the crowd. “Hear me, people of Leaudor. Today, the righteous have prevailed. Princess Isabella shall hereto forth be called Queen Isabella. Long may she reign.”
A monk beside him produced a brilliantly cut tiara, and Father Ling gently placed it atop Isabella’s head. Then he offered her his hand and helped her rise.
He then bowed before her. “I give you Queen Isabella Genevieve Elizabeth Chastaine.”
The crowd erupted in cheers.
