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“This was a waste of time.”
The voice of my torturer dragged me back to consciousness, but I didn’t lift my head or open my eyes. He left me alone when I passed out, which was more and more frequently. And he wasn’t talking to me. Not that eavesdropping would do me any good.
“Not necessarily,” Baron Flandre replied. “Prince Gilbert will almost certainly agree to the deal, whether we have any extra information to give him or not, and-”
“Prince Gilbert?” I asked, lifting my head with some difficulty. My throat was raw from screaming, and my voice sounded so harsh that I barely recognized it.
“Maybe you haven’t been asking the right questions,” Baron Flandre said to the bloody man beside him. “What do you know about Prince Gilbert?”
I wanted to laugh, but it hurt too much just to breathe. “You’re…worse than…dead,” I gasped out.
The baron’s eyes narrowed, and he stormed over to me, grabbing my chin roughly. “What are you saying?”
If only I had the strength to explain. I had to choose my words carefully, though, as each one came with a stabbing pain in my chest. “Two tigers…hunting…you down.”
His eyes widened with realization as he caught my reference to Prince Chevalier and Prince Gilbert’s crests - a white tiger and a black tiger. He released me and rounded on the torturer. “What is she talking about?” he demanded.
“Nothing, that’s what. Prince Gilbert got her alone a few times for questioning, but never for long, and-”
“He didn’t…want…information. Just...me.”
“You idiot!” the baron exploded. “If he finds out what we’ve done to her, we’ll be lucky if he abandons us to punishment by Rhodolite!”
“She’s making it up to rattle us,” the torturer argued.
I really wished I could laugh, but I couldn’t even hold my head up anymore. This was probably why Prince Chevalier couldn’t prevent this from happening. He couldn’t account for sheer stupidity.
“Baron Flandre,” a third man interrupted nervously. A young man, by the sound of his voice.
“What is it?” the baron snapped.
“Our scouts say Prince Chevalier is almost here,” the young man replied shakily. “And…”
“Speak, you coward.”
“He’s riding ahead alone, but there’s an army behind him, led by Prince Clavis. Estimated to be…about five hundred men,” he said, his voice faltering.
The silence was deafening. I closed my eyes and smiled.
“We only have two hundred, and they’re all green,” the torturer said. “And without reinforcements from Obsidian-”
“Back to your post,” Baron Flandre said. “You’re with me.”
“Whatever you say,” the torturer mumbled. I felt cold metal on my back and flinched. “Keep this safe for me, will you?” he said mockingly, and then their footsteps and their voices retreated, leaving me alone with a bloody dagger tucked into the waistline of my shredded nightgown.
This was almost over. Now it was just a question of whether I lived long enough to be rescued.
A commotion echoing down the cold, stone corridor dragged me back to consciousness again. I listened - metal on metal, shouts, screams - and I knew he was here. And I was still alive.
Unless this was a dream.
I was in too much pain for this to be a dream.
“No. You’re insane. I’m taking the escape tunnel, and I’m getting out of here,” the torturer shouted, his voice approaching with fast footsteps.
“Nobody leaves,” Baron Flandre countered. A solid thud just a few feet away made me open my eyes and lift my head. The wavering torchlight illuminated the two men just inside the doorway. Baron Flandre had shoved the torturer up against the wall.
“We all die here,” he growled.
“Baron-” another man started, his white face slick with sweat as he appeared in the doorway, but the point of a blade piercing through his chest stopped his words. He froze, his eyes fixed in shock as the light left them, and the sword swung hard to the right, shaking his body to the ground. Baron Flandre and the torturer separated and jumped back.
Prince Chevalier had arrived.
Blood dripped from his sword and his chin, splattered across his cheek and soaking his clothing from head to toe. His pale blue eyes were colder than I’d ever seen them, narrowed and coated in ice, set in a face so hard it could have been carved from stone. He was inhuman, beastly, a hungry predator, scanning the cell in a split second and locking on his prey, cowering in a corner. He strode toward the baron, who barely had time to draw his sword before Prince Chevalier’s blade clashed with it. The torturer grabbed the flaming torch from the baron’s left hand and jumped away just in time to dodge another strike.
Prince Chevalier held a clear advantage. He was faster, stronger, and though I knew nothing about swordsmanship, I could tell he was much more skilled than the baron, too. I watched, unable to look away, as his third strike forced another parry from the baron, and then he was immediately lashing out again before the baron had time to recover, sending his sword and hand flying. They landed between me and the torturer, who was edging toward me. The baron’s blood-curdling shriek echoed off the stone walls, and he gripped the bloody stump of his arm, sweat pouring down his white face.
“On your knees,” Prince Chevalier said, his voice as sharp and cold as his blade.
“I don’t take orders from you anymore,” Baron Flandre ground out from gritted teeth.
Prince Chevalier lunged forward, grabbing the baron by the collar and shoving him back against the stone wall with his left hand, stabbing his thigh in the same movement. The baron screamed again, his leg going out from under him, and Prince Chevalier yanked him down to his knees.
“Start begging.”
Prince Chevalier stepped back from the baron, suddenly sputtering and pleading for his life, and his frigid eyes landed on the torturer, frozen in place and staring in terror at the severed hand gripping the sword on the stone floor. He looked up as Prince Chevalier strode toward him, wrenching the torch from his hand and grabbing him by the collar, throwing him toward the prostrate baron.
“Get the key.”
The man stumbled and fell to his knees. He crawled toward the baron, grabbing his shoulder and pushing him back onto his knees to search his pockets with trembling hands while Prince Chevalier stepped over his legs to set the torch in its wall sconce. Even the back of his cloak was red with blood.
“I-it’s not here,” the torturer stammered.
“Unlock her.”
“B-but-”
Prince Chevalier grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him to his feet, shoving him toward me. “Neither of you are dying here. Unlock her, or I start cutting you up right now. Enough from you,” he added, kicking Baron Flandre in the head. The man fell silent, crumbling into a motionless heap on the ground.
I’d never fully understood what it meant when people called Prince Chevalier the Brutal Beast, but now I knew. He was terrifying. If he wasn’t here to rescue me, I would be cowering in fear, too. He was, though, and I wasn’t afraid at all. I couldn’t have been more relieved.
The torturer stepped toward me, blocking Prince Chevalier from sight and fumbling with the key he pulled from his own pocket. I closed my eyes and turned my head away from him. His breath was hot on my face, and he smelled like blood - my blood. The same blood that covered the floor beneath me and the wall behind me.
And the dagger at my back.
I remembered it too late. My wrists came free from the manacles and I fell, the torturer grabbing me and the knife, slicing the blade up across my back and making me gasp in pain as he whirled to face Prince Chevalier. The key clattered to the floor; the knife was at my neck. Warm blood oozed from the fresh wound on my back, soaking my torturer’s shirt, making the remnants of my nightgown stick to him.
“Drop that sword, or she dies!” he shouted, a cornered animal grasping at his last chance for escape.
My eyes met Prince Chevalier’s as he complied, his stony expression unchanging as metal clanged against the floor. If only I’d remembered in time.
“Now take the torch with your right hand, and hold your left hand up where I can see it.”
But, strangely enough, Prince Chevalier still seemed to be completely in control of the situation, even as he turned his back on us to retrieve the torch. Or maybe that was my wishful thinking.
No, there was confidence in his movements.
“Thanks for being such a doll and holding onto this for me,” the torturer snickered in my ear. “Now back up slowly,” he ordered Prince Chevalier.
His heart pounded wildly against my back as he took me out of the cell and down the corridor, keeping me between him and Prince Chevalier. The cold, sharp metal stayed at my throat, his other arm around my waist, completely supporting my weight. It was so hard to breathe, so hard to keep my eyes open as the edges of my vision blurred in and out. I wondered briefly how many ribs were broken, and then more torches threw light and shadows onto the walls up ahead, more booted footsteps echoed toward us.
“Stand down,” Prince Chevalier shouted back over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off of me.
The torches stopped, the footsteps stilled. My captor’s hands shook, the knife biting into my neck, another warm trickle of blood rolling down my skin.
“Chev?”
Prince Clavis, his voice echoing down the corridor. This was almost over. They were going to find a way. I just needed to hold on a little longer.
“Fall back, and none of your usual tricks,” Prince Chevalier called.
“Got it,” Prince Clavis’ voice replied.
The torches and footsteps hurried away.
“Good, you’ve got the idea,” the torturer said, his voice tinged with madness. “Now keep moving, slowly.”
None of your usual tricks? Was that a message? Some sort of code?
I watched Prince Chevalier’s eyes as we made our way down the corridor, my feet dragging across the stone, and I felt certain it was. He was waiting for an opportunity, ready to strike at a moment's notice. How, I didn’t know. He had no weapon, and a torch occupied his dominant hand. But every inch of him was tense.
A flash of something small glinting in the torchlight flew past my face, and glass shattered against the stone wall beside me. I squeezed my eyes shut and held my breath. The torturer took a sharp breath at the sudden explosion, swinging around and slamming his back into the wall, jarring me with the impact and sending an extra shot of pain through every aching bone and muscle. He was coughing, his grip around my waist tightening, the knife cutting deeper. The breath in my lungs escaped and didn’t return. It wasn’t just hard to breathe - I couldn’t breathe. The knife vanished from my neck, clattering to the ground with a strangled cry. My head was swimming. Everything was a jumble of sounds and sensations - footsteps echoing around me, a hand grabbing my arm and yanking me from the coughing man behind me, the crackle and roar of flames, another jolt of pain as I collided with someone’s chest, ear-piercing screams, the smell of burning flesh.
Strong arms scooping me up, extraordinarily deadly but impossibly gentle.
“Let him burn,” Prince Chevalier said to Prince Clavis. And then, dropping his voice to a low murmur for me, “You’re safe now, Ivetta.”
I wanted to say thank you, I love you, but I couldn’t speak. Every inch of me was in pain. I was fading in and out of consciousness, sounds swirling and mixing around me. Footsteps echoing, walking, running; the flickering, snapping flames of torches; voices that were familiar but I couldn’t quite place; Prince Chevalier’s heartbeat, his breath, in and out. Then I felt his grip loosen, another set of arms reaching under me.
“No,” I whimpered, my eyes suddenly wide open, fear overwhelming the pain shooting up my arms as I clutched desperately at his shirt.
“It’s alright,” he said reassuringly, gently prying my hands loose. The Brutal Beast was gone, leaving a face twisted in pain, looking down at me.
“Don’t leave me,” I pleaded.
“Wow. I’m right here, Ivetta,” Prince Clavis said lightly, pulling me away from Prince Chevalier. “Don’t I get any credit for saving you?”
I tore my gaze away from Prince Chevalier to look up at Prince Clavis. His golden eyes were as predatory as Prince Chevalier’s had been earlier, though he tried to give me a comforting smile. It came out more like a grimace.
“I’m ready,” Prince Chevalier said.
“Alright, up you go,” and then Prince Clavis was lifting me up in the air and Prince Chevalier’s arms were under and around me, cradling me to his chest. I was struggling to keep my eyes open, struggling to maintain consciousness, staring up at his beautiful, blood-streaked face.
“Flandre is back in the cell,” he said to Prince Clavis. “Keep him alive.”
And then we were in motion, horse's hooves pounding beneath us. The edges of my vision were blurring, I couldn’t breathe, but if I closed my eyes - if I didn’t wake up-
“Just hold on,” he murmured. “Not much longer.”
“Prince - Chevalier-” I gasped.
“Be quiet and save your strength. We’ll be at the hospital tent soon.”
Hospital tent. He was going to leave me there.
“Please-”
“I won’t leave you,” he said quietly. “Never again. Close your eyes.” His fingers lightly touched my eyelids, and I obediently closed them. “Get some rest, little dove.” His soothing whisper eased my fear, and I finally let go and slipped into the darkness.
ns 15.158.61.23da2
