“Kill them,” Arche ordered. “I’ll take my time with this one.”
My scream ripped through the room as soldiers grabbed my parents, and dragged them out back.
“No! Please don’t hurt them!” I begged, tears streaming down my cheeks. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry. I’ll be your wife! I’ll give you sons. Please! I’ll do anything!” The words tumbled from my lips, frantic and meaningless. Nothing I could have said would ever have changed his mind.
He was hurt.
Hurt and wounded, by me. And there was nothing I could do to undo it.
Arche stepped toward me, slow and sure. He was savoring the moment. Dragging it out.
“I always get what I want,” he said. “But I think I’m skipping the wedding this time.”
Then he lunged.
I stumbled back and ran for the kitchen.
There. On the counter.
A knife.
I grabbed it with one hand, my fingers curled tight around the handle, slick with sweat.
He was almost on me, so I turned and drove the blade forward.
It landed between the plates of his dark armor, right at the shoulder joint.
He let out a grunt. More startled than hurt.
I should’ve gone for his neck.
“That all you’ve got?” A smirk tugged at his mouth as his hand shot out.
Fingers clamped around my throat and everything else vanished. My head snapped back, then I was off the ground.
His grip tightened, and my lungs locked and panic surged like fire through my chest.
The room tilted. My vision blurred.
Outside, the chaos pressed in. Screams. Sobs.
My mother’s voice.
Raw.
Broken.
Then silence.
My father’s screams followed, hoarse and broken.
I looked up at Arche. Searched his face for the man who once acted like he cared, there was none of that left. No warmth. No mercy. Just cold, hollow malice.
I sank my nails into his skin, using the last of my strength to break his grip. His smile faltered, and I hit the floor.
The world spun, but I forced myself to stay awake. To stay alive.
He crouched over me, one knee jamming into my ribs.
