He catches my arm and throws me back against the wall, knocking the wind out of me.
I gasp and gasp but can’t catch my breath to call for help. Not that anyone could hear me down here. I am on my own. No one is coming to save me.
Falling forward, I brace my hands on my knees, still struggling to breathe.
“You forget your place, Tuath,” the guard spits, freeing the hem of his shirt from his trousers and reaching for his belt. “Your job is to serve your Scathian masters.”
“You’re not my master?—”
His hand snaps out, slamming into my cheek. Pain explodes behind my eyes. Coppery blood fills my mouth.
“Talk back again, and I’ll take your tongue.” His belt buckle jingles as he yanks the leather strap through. “You Tuath make me sick, fucking your way up the tower till you get to the top. Wonder what the duster prince will do when he learns his little whore’s throat has been slit?” His dark chuckle pulses through my ears. “Probably just find a new one.”
Everything falls away.
The panic, the fear, all of it. I’ve been a victim once before. Never again will I lay down and let someone hurt me without a fight. I’m not foolish enough to believe I can beat this bastard outright or that I can outrun him. There must be another way.
I feel around for something—anything—to help me. My hand meets something hard. Wooden.Heavy. A laundry paddle like the one I used in the factory.
The guard’s trousers drop to his ankles. “On your knees, whore.”
Only one of us will be on our knees, and it won’t be me. My hand tightens around the paddle’s handle. I spring to my feet and swing with all my might.
A sickening crack echoes through the room. The guard curses, stumbling toward me. “I am not Prince Senan’s whore,” I seethe, adjusting my grip while the pathetic man struggles to right himself. “I am his mate.”
Wide eyes fly to mine, pleading and tearful, but I do not give this man the chance to beg.
I lift that paddle once more and bring it down on his skull, striking him over and over again. How dare he try to take me from my mate. How dare he try to take my life. I cannot let him hurt anyone else the way he tried to hurt me. I cannot let him live to tell this tale.
It’s either him or me, and I choose me.
Forty-One
ALLETTE
The paddle slipsfrom my fingers, clattering to the floor, splattering the dark liquid pooling around my feet.
So much blood.
My hands vibrate, and my heartbeat roars in my ears. As the adrenaline coursing through my veins slowly subsides, reality strikes with a vengeance.
I just murdered a man.
Not just a man, a royal guard.
What the hell do I do now?
We really are cursed…
Senan’s words become a chant in my mind as I kneel beside the man’s limp body to search his pocket for the key so I can escape this place. When I go to stand, I slip. My hands fly out to catch me, landing in warm, wet blood.
I have to get it off. I have to. I can feel it seeping into my beautiful silk skirt.
Panicking will only make this worse. I need to breathe, but every time I do, all I smell is the coppery tang of blood. I push to my feet and back away from the body. Everything will be all right. I just need to think.
I’ve been in this room before. This is where all the castle’s laundry is washed, dried, and pressed—including our uniforms.
They keep the uniforms right over there. My blood-soaked skirts stick to my legs as I hurry for the cupboard, only to find the damn thing locked. It’s a long shot, but I try the key the guard used to get in here.