Page 53 of The Duke’s Bloody Bargain

“Fiona.” I rushed towards her or tried to. “Where is⁠—”

She screamed and pulled the curtains of a window open. I shouted too, covering my head with my arms. She scurried away, and I slogged onwards, breathing heavily.

I pushed Cara’s bedroom door open.

“Cara?” My voice sounded raspy.

A maid screamed when she entered the room. I was growing tired of people screaming in my face.

“Your Grace.”

“Where’s Carabosse?”

She pointed a trembling hand in the direction of the hill. “Willow Grove.”

She rushed to hide in the lavatory, and I had to use every ounce of my control because her heartbeat pounded quickly and hard in my ears.

Instead, I focused on the long walk under the sun waiting for me.

Footmen and maids scattered away at my passage, dropping trays with glasses and piles of fresh linens. Darius must have warned everyone to stay away from me. Clever man.

I loitered in the entrance hall, gathering the courage to go out. When I opened the front door, a wave of scorching air engulfed me.

What the bloody hell? Was I still in England?

I left the house as fast as I could. Better be quick and be done with it.

The speed died quickly. Sweat soaked my shirt and plastered the fabric to my skin. My breath produced a rattling noise, scratching my throat. The glare of the sun blinded me. I had to pause under the sycamore to take a breather.

The mighty tree rose over me with its protective shadow, its lower boughs touching the top of my hat. The light scratching was comforting.

After I rested for a few minutes, I left the sycamore.

The steep path was sheer torture. I was thirsty, sweaty, and exhausted. My mouth was as dry as parchment. My lips might fall off at any moment.

I had to crawl the last few yards, wincing as the hot rocks dug into my flesh.

It was bloody winter. But I could be in the middle of the Sahara in summer for all I knew.

And there was something else I hadn’t thought about in my haste to come to the cemetery. Crosses everywhere. They loomed over me from the graves, glared from the tombstones, and flashed in the sunlight. Their shadows crept towards me.

It was too much. I fell to the ground, wheezing and tasting my own blood.

“Carabosse.” My voice was nothing but a thin whisper. “Cara—” I coughed. “Carabosse.”

Footsteps approached, and I hoped it was Darius finishing me off with a blessed stake.

“Look what we have here.” That was Carabosse. Despite her words, she sounded concerned. But the sun might have affected my judgement.

I wasn’t sure if I should consider myself lucky or cursed.

“The mighty Duke of the Dark Court at my feet.” She crouched and tilted her head, filling my limited field of vision. “What is it? Is the sun too hot for you? Or don’t you like the crosses?” Concern again.

I didn’t understand her.

Just kill me. “I lost control over my thirst. I’m a rogue.” Talking scraped my throat. “You lied.”

“I did not!” A hard glint crossed her gaze. “I told you there was a price to pay. I don’t choose the price. It’s the spell that does.”