“We have to leave,” he insisted, tugging her toward the forest.
Aurora looked back at the clearing.
Screams echoed through the clearing, some filled with agony, some terror. One by one her ladies fell.
Some of the guards were locked in combat with the Hungars; the clangs of their weapons mingled with the screams and the sound echoed through the clearing. One of the guards slashed at one of the horse’s legs as it galloped past him and the animal tumbled to the ground, head over heels.
Adam pulled hard on her arm. “Run,” he said urgently.
She hesitated. How could she leave her people? How could she abandon them? How could she...? Damien. Damien! She had to reach him. She had to make sure he knew her people were in danger, that Acquitaine was under attack.
“Run!” Adam called.
Aurora turned. It was too late. A large Hungar stood behind her, his face twisted with hate.
Damien led the Acquitaine soldiers back into the castle, thundering across the drawbridge, through the outer ward and finally to the inner ward. His jaw was clenched, as were his fists. They had ridden hard to the waterfall that Aurora was going to picnic at. But she wasn’t there. There was no sign of the picnic, no basket, no guards, no ladies. No Aurora. He dismounted without acknowledging little Joseph who took his horse’s reins and rushed into the keep. She had to be here. She had to... He burst into the Great Hall.
The servants looked up, startled.
Steward Thomas, a tall man with curly hair, immediately moved toward him.
Damien crossed the hall, calling, “Is she here? Did she come back?”
Steward Thomas stopped approaching and sadly shook his head. “No, m’lord. They have not returned.”
Damien felt despair threatening to drag him into the darkness, but he refused to give up hope. He whirled to find the doorway lined with peasants and nobles alike, all staring. Their eyes were blank and lost. He hated them. Looking to him as if he had the answers when he didn’t give a damn about any of them.
Gawyn moved through the crowd and came toward him, but Damien brushed past him. Gawyn put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“I’m going to look for her,” Damien growled. He jerked his shoulder away from his brother’s hold. Nothing was going to stop him. He would find her.
Gawyn didn’t let go, tightening his grip on Damien’s shoulder. “Something came for you.”
Damien looked at him. It was the first time he saw the apprehension, hesitation, and sadness in his brother’s eyes. He felt an abyss opening around him and steadied himself. “Show me.”
Gawyn dropped his hand and looked down. He nodded once. “In the Judgement Room.”
Damien didn’t hesitate. He moved out of the hall, past the people who congregated like vultures, waiting. They silently opened a path for him. He walked swiftly down the corridor. His senses heightened, the darkness inside of him shifting, waking. She had kept it at bay. He had always known it was still there, hiding from her light.
Damien threw the door open and entered. The room was empty and dark; only two torches flickered in the breeze from the doorway. He scanned the room. But there was nothing there. Nothing except for the chair Aurora sat in to give sentence. “Where?” he began, but then his gaze caught on something. Something golden and glittering. Every nerve froze. Every sense stopped functioning. No. He moved toward it like a statue, numb, cold, stiff. It lay on the chair where she had sat.
He stopped before the chair, staring. A bloody braid of golden sunshine wrapped in a sparkling scarf.
He was afraid to move. Afraid it might be real. He wanted so badly to blink and have it disappear. Her hair. He remembered seeing her that very morning with her hair braided. And the scarf. Maybe it wasn’t the scarf. He reached out to touch it. His fingers brushed the material and it shifted. The sparkles reminded him of her eyes. That was why he had purchased it. Now, the glimmers were muted with smears of red. He pulled his fingers back to see the stain on his skin.
Her blood.
“Damien,” Gawyn called softly from behind him. “It might not be hers.” But his voice lacked conviction.
He knew the truth. Damien knew the truth. Tears blurred his vision. “Out,” he said so softly that his voice barely escaped his lips. His life. His love. Aurora.
“Damien,” Gawyn said more firmly. “You are Lord of Acquitaine. The people will look to you now. They --”
The darkness seized him, and he whirled on Gawyn. “GET OUT!” he hollered.
Gawyn stood immobile. Finally, he nodded and bowed slightly before retreating. He closed the door, sealing Damien in the tomb of death and darkness. Damien turned back to the braid. Complete and utter anguish swept over him in a wave of despair. His fists clenched. He didn’t want to touch her hair. He didn’t want to remember her this way. Had they tortured her? Raped her? In that brief second, it didn’t matter. The only thing that mattered was that she was gone. And all that was left for him was darkness.
He dropped to his knees before the judgement chair. His chin fell to his chest. He couldn’t protect her. He had failed. His gaze shifted to the braid in the chair. It couldn’t be. It just couldn’t be. She was everything to him. She was his life. She was his light. He felt himself swirling, falling into the dark, hopeless abyss. He threw his head back and a savage, anguished cry tore from the very depths of his soul.
