Page 78 of The Masked Princess

Their tortured screams rang through the throne room, and everyone with any sense hurriedly backed away, leaving Nelan and his guards alone in the center.

Annalise stood frozen in horror until Soren pulled her away and enfolded her in his arms, positioning his body between her and the horrific scene. She buried her head against his chest, but then thought better of it and instead forced herself to watch Nelan’s convulsions and those of his subordinates.

She still had much to learn, but as Nelan and his guards finally stopped moving, their cries turning to whispers and then silence, a strange sense of satisfaction settled in her breast. Goddess willing, he would be the last person her curse ever killed, and she could think of no better ending for such an evil king.

CHAPTER 58

Soren held Annalise until the last of Nelan’s guards stopped twitching and then, as everyone stared in shock at the deceased king, he picked up his sword and pulled her behind him.

“Soren, what are you doing?” Annalise asked, one hand steadying herself against his back.

During the gruesome display, Priscilla and Elsabeth had drawn closer, and now the four of them stood in a small open space in the center of the room.

“These Rhinneans watched your curse kill their king. I won’t risk them retaliating against you,” he said, widening his stance as if in preparation for an attack from all sides.

“But your injuries…”

“Are no more. I’ve never felt better, darling, thank the Goddess.” His eyes scanned the room as he held his sword at the ready. “Which is good because I think I’m going to need every ounce of energy to get us out of this.”

Annalise’s heart swelled at the sight of the man so willing to put himself at risk to keep her safe. Gently, she placed a hand over his to steady the sword, then reached out and ran a finger over the length of the edge, leaving a thin smear of blood behind.

She looked up at him and raised her voice until it rang through the silent room. “If they attack us out of some kind of misguided revenge, they can deal with the consequences.”

Soren’s mouth opened, shut, and then his lips pressed together in a grim smile before he nodded. “Yes, my queen.”

The throne room doors slammed open, and a cavalry of horses burst through. At first, Annalise thought it was her Dovean guards making a rescue attempt, but upon a second glance, the horses had wings, and their riders were dressed in foreign armor that shone like the sun. Behind her, Elsabeth let out a strange shriek, which the riders echoed back, their battle cries reverberating through the room.

The rhys flowed around their little group like a river current around a boulder until they were surrounded. The lead rider dismounted and lifted her leather helmet, revealing Helene’s smiling face.

Annalise’s heart stopped, then stuttered to life again. “Aunt Helene? What are you doing here?”

“Rescuing you, in case that wasn’t obvious. You should thank Elsabeth for telling me what was going on.” Helene hefted a short spear in her hand and stepped up to Annalise’s other side.

“But… how… Elsabeth?” Annalise’s brow drew together as she turned to her lady’s maid, who wore a sheepish smile.

“When I heard about your father, I snuck into the dovecote and sent a messenger pigeon. We’re fortunate they had one available for Murana, and more fortunate that the keeper of the messages was busy informing King Nelan of the news,” Elsabeth said.

“I’m glad to see we were in time to at least be of some assistance, although it seems you’ve been busy. I take it that’s King Nelan?” Helene added as she stared at the charred remains in the center of the room and the bloody crown on the floor.

Next to Helene, Brunen shook her head and stamped her foot, her wings held halfway out, making the large rhys appear almost monstrous.

Annalise looked around at their group. They were small—only a handful of warriors her aunt’s age or older—but the sight of the rhys, creatures of legends, appeared to have frozen most of the Rhinneans in awe. “I thought that Murana’s policy was not to intervene in foreign affairs.”

“It is, and this isn’t an official action.” Helene donned her helmet again, and for the first time Annalise noticed the slash of black that crossed diagonally across its face. “I heard you were in trouble and decided that I couldn’t stand by while another kinswoman made a terrible mistake. I’ve renounced my throne, and the rhys and riders you see with me are here of their own accord. We are here as mercenaries of our own free will, not as Muranan soldiers, and we will return you to Dovea safely, no matter the cost.”

A piercing scream echoed through the throne room, and Annalise jerked her attention away from her aunt to the throng of Rhinneans. Princess Codela stood in the front, clutching her throat. Behind her, General Anar lay supine on the ground, a crimson pool of blood spreading beneath him.

“What—what happened?” Annalise asked at the sudden turn of events.

“When everyone was distracted by the Muranans, this snake attacked the princess,” Captain Risebach said. He pulled his sword out of the general’s chest and kicked his body.

When Annalise turned her gaze to the princess, her blood ran cold. The front of Princess Codela’s dress was drenched red, and her eyes were wide in shock.

She took one faltering step toward Annalise, then another, and reached out her hand. “Please help me.” Her voice was sickeningly wet, as if she was trying to talk with her mouth half-full of water. She coughed, and a trickle of blood ran from the side of her mouth.

Annalise was no stranger to violence, but the blood running freely from the ugly gash in Princess Codela’s throat threatened to turn her stomach. Somewhere far in the back of her mind, she wondered how the woman could even stay standing, let alone speak, with a wound so hideous.

When Codela drew closer, Brunen snapped at her. The woman stopped, one hand held out, the other still clutching at her throat, as her blood continued its steady stream to the floor.