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Since I don’t know if there are cameras out here, I don’t openly mention his internal wound that’s still healing.
“I’m fine, agápi,” he murmurs soothingly. “How can I not be when you’re here with me?”
His words penetrate my heart, and I am consumed by my love for this man.
Liam cups my face with his beautifully tattooed hands and pulls my face up so I look into his amber eyes.
“What the fuck were you thinking following us in there? I’ve told you before, nothing matters as long as you’re okay.”
Closing my eyes, I shudder at the thought of what might have happened had I not ran in there. Instead of arguing, I bite back the retort on my lips. Later, I can fight with him about this. With all of them, because I’m sure neither of my men are happy about what I did.
I’ve only just managed to pull myself together when four Drákon guards join us, forcefully pulling us to our feet and instructing us to come back with them. Staring them down, I place my hands on my hips, and demand they carry Lupa and Liam. One of the guards laughs condescendingly until I casually flip my knife in the air. Then the bastard finally gulps and quickly picks Lupa up. One of the others carefully lifts Liam, and I make sure to make a mental note of them for later.
Once we’re back, I avoid looking at Gus and Kai, instead I focus on the Tribunal.
“Were you sufficiently entertained?” I ask scathingly.
“Cia!” Morgana calls out my name, and I can’t stop myself from looking in her direction.
Her eyes are glassy, and her cheeks are streaked with tears.
“Isolde… Isolde didn’t make it.”
At the mention of his fellow Hatt dying, Mordred lunges towards the dais, the only thing stopping him is Remus who manages to catch his hand and pull him back. He bares his teeth, and shouts to be let free, but the Russo Leader keeps his hold on him.
The Hatt Heir doesn’t calm down until Arthur lays his hand on the Heir’s shoulder.
“Mordred.”
As though conditioned to do so, he deflates.
“There’ll be time to mourn Isolde later.”
Arthur’s words are clipped and formal, hiding his own grief.
I look around at everyone, hating how hopeless everyone looks. Anger flares to life inside me, settling like a fire in my stomach. I can barely breathe as it spreads through my veins, threatening to drown me. But instead of fighting it, I welcome the feeling.
“Cut the fucking ties,” I snarl at no one in particular as I realize Morgana and Gus are still bound.
My words seem to shake the people I call mine out of a stupor, and Arthur is quick to cut the rope with the knife Liam hands him.
I lock eyes with Gus and give him a sharp nod. Then I march closer to the dais where I look each of the Tribunal in the eyes. Joachim. Andreas. Ana. There are no good people here. Lastly, my gaze lands on the cunt bitch that thought she could overthrow and kill me.
“You and me,” I say coldly, gesturing between us. “We’re going to dance.”
Joachim opens his mouth, but I hold up my hand which miraculously works, and he slams his mouth shut.
“I don’t have to prove my worth. In fact, doing so is so fucking far beneath me it’s even further down than Tartarus itself. I’m done playing games. I demand to face Marian Drákon in single combat.”
The bitch has the audacity to gasp.
“Now!” I shout.
“If you truly are who you claim to be, it’s beneath you to fight a consort,” Andreas interjects in a bored tone.
Rolling my shoulders back, I look him dead in the eyes. “Every single one of you is beneath me, yet here we are.” I smirk as he looks uncomfortable at my words. “You claimed to have seen me die at the auction, which, by the way, was orchestrated by your consort of all people. The one you were fucking while her husband was still alive. In short, you lied, didn’t you, Andreas?”
“You have no idea what you’re saying,” he sputters.
