“Men,” the king said flippantly, as casually as one may beckon another drink. “Bring her.”
Too late to leave. My opportunity faded. Instead of running as I’d longed to, I waited for the fate I’d attempted to avoid – an audience before the king – to unfold.
A man and a woman grabbed my arms. They funneled me to the king. My heart beat in cadence with our pace as resolve settled over me, heavier than fear ever had.
They pushed me to my knees before the king. That itchy feeling of a curse ran across my skin again.
“If you want your sister to live, you must kill this wench.” The king gestured vaguely at me.
The two Reapers forced me to bend forward. One grabbed my hair and held my neck exposed and open. I barely saw Dray from the corner of my eye, but tension locked his body.
“What?” he asked quietly.
“It’s simple, Dray,” the king said. “You can kill this curse-bearer, not worth more than a good screw, or I will kill your sister, her children, and anyone you’ve dared called even an acquaintance in this life.”
Dray shifted on his feet. He looked between Rylla, then down at me. His expression remained flat.
“My lord.” The king rolled his eyes. “Do I have to take the hand to prove my point? Let’s try a finger, then.”
The man holding Rylla raised his arm faster than my limited view could follow. Rylla screamed, then blood poured onto the ground. A pale, fleshy item rested on the foliage, but my eyes couldn’t comprehend what my mind already knew.
They’d cut her finger off.
“What’s next, Dray? Your sister’s hand or this whore’s head?”
Silence.
The king opened his mouth again.
“I’ll do it,” Dray said.
The king paused. “What was that?”
Dray straightened his shoulders. “I said, I’ll do it. I’ll kill her.” He gestured at me.
“That’s right.” Tension left the king’s shoulders, and he stood straighter. “Of course you will.”
Dray bent down and plucked his sword from the ground. He twisted it in his fingers, as though contemplating every motion.
“A hint of your magic, and they’ll both be dead.” The king must have seen the same defiance in the Reaper as I did.
“Release her.” Dray paused beside me, all that barely contained rage whirling around me. “At least let her die with her freedom.”
The two holding me glanced at the king. He nodded, and they dropped me. I almost lost my balance, but I didn’t dare draw my hand from my pocket and risk releasing my grip on the knife.
“Well, Elys.” The Reaper squared up for the best strike at my neck. “I told you it would come to this.”
I feared my sweating palm may slip on the hilt yet. I drew a breath, studying the Reaper’s feet, watching for the hint of tension before he raised the blade.
Panic itched at me. My heart pounded.
The tightness in Dray’s stance loosened.
“I can’t,” he whispered.
“You… can’t?” the king asked, his voice barely audible. Disbelief soaked the words. “You’ve chosen a–”
I didn’t let him finish the word. I surged forward. The blade caught on the apron, but it didn’t slow my strike. The meager fabric pulled free of my waist and billowed around the knife like some falsity of surrender streaming toward the king’s chest.
