With a yell of frustration, she kicked the door handle and heard a satisfying crack. She walked back a few feet and then ran toward the door and kicked it with all of her strength. The double doors fell and pieces of wood flew into the crowd. A silence fell over the room and every eye was on her. Running into the crowded room, she threw the cleaver at the netting. It cut part of it, but Alexandre still dangled in the air.
“The door is open!” the bloody duchess called. “We are free!”
The mob bolted for the door, while Nora pushed through them the opposite way. She ran to Alexandre’s body and grabbed his legs, lifting him into the air so that the rope noose couldn’t finish hanging him. She heard him take a sharp breath. Alexandre was still alive. But King Pierre’s body was at her feet, a grim reminder of what would happen to the prince if she failed.
None of the courtiers tried to help her. They were stampeding for the doors. Pushing. Shoving. Trampling each other to get out.
“Can you talk?”
“B-barely.”
Nora lifted him a little higher. “If I let you down, will you promise to stop the attack on Urka?”
More gasping sobs. “I-I promise.”
“Hold on, Alexandre,” she said in a kinder voice, and used her feet to kick the dead body of the king underneath him. Nora let go. Alexandre’s feet hit his father’s chest, but it wasn’t enough height. His lips turned blue. Nora reached into her pocket and pulled out the paring knife. She scaled the wall and started sawing at the ropes that held the prince up.
One.
Two.
Three.
The last one.
The prince fell to the ground with a thud, his arms and feet still tied together. Nora jumped down and knelt beside him.
“Zoots!” he said, his voice raspy. He stared at Nora incredulously. “Thank you. I thought you were dead.”
“It takes more than you think to kill an Urkan witch.” Nora quickly untied his hands and then his feet. “But I’m still going to need your oath in blood.”
Alexandre sat up and nodded. She waited for him to catch his breath. He’d nearly died.
After a few minutes, he held out his hand. She gave him the paring knife.
“You cut it lightly across your palm through your lifelines because it is an oath to the death,” Nora explained.
He gave one more shuddering breath before running the knife across his palm, bright red blood dripping from it.
“Now raise your bloody hand and repeat after me,” she said. “I give my blood oath of loyalty to break the soul that I will recall my armies, my navies, and I will never attack Urka or Sania again in all my days.”
“In all my days,” he echoed.
Nora handed him a handkerchief to wrap around his bloody hand. She watched him press it against his wound before standing up and holding out her hand to him. “Where is your mother?”
But the prince didn’t say anything.
“Where is your mother?”
Alexandre took her hand and stood up, swaying. Nora grabbed his arm to steady him. He glanced down at his father and held his breath as if he was trying not to be sick. She felt a small twinge of pity in her heart. King Pierre was not a good king or a good father. But he still was Alexandre’s parent, and his death caused the prince pain.
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re not.”
Nora shook her head. “You’re right. I am not sorry that he is dead. But I am sorry for your loss.”
“He hated me,” Alexandre said. “I was never good enough for him. Never strong enough. Smart enough. Brave enough. Not manly enough. He would not forgive me for wishing to marry Yvette. After we learned that she was barren, Father wanted to replace me with my half brother so that he could have his heirs. He thought that no one would notice or care if I was gone.”