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“Why?” he asked with a boisterous, evil laugh. “Is it because you love Augustus? Because you love my son? You’re nothing but a whore. You don’t know what love is. It’s a weakness. It’s a weakness that plays you. It’s a weakness I own.”
Oh God. He was truly evil. “Fuck you,” I spat.
“Marry him or I’ll kill them.”
“You’d kill your own son?” I choked out. “Why can’t I marry Atticus?”
Atticus screamed as the two men holding him down pressed a gun to his temple. Theodore’s eyes turned dark. “I’d kill anyone not strong enough to lead. And you can’t marry Atticus because you aren’t good enough for him. You’re just like Isabelle.” He frowned, as if her memory angered him. “I needed Lord Nathan’s army, and he needs your hand in marriage. This is nothing more than a business transaction, and you’ll be the person to pay.”
“Christine,” Atticus pleaded. “Don’t give in.”
“No,” I said.
“Kill them,” he snapped.
The man hovering over August pulled back the safety on his gun, the clicking sound ricocheting against my skull.
I took another step forward. “No.” I shook my head, tears streaming down my cheeks. “Please don’t hurt them.”
Theodore DuPont clenched and unclenched his jaw. “Then marry Lord Nathan.”
“Fine,” I whispered.
“What?” Atticus’s eyes burned through the tears. “Christine, no.”
“You can’t marry Lord Nathan,” Leo moaned.
“I have no choice.” I slumped in defeat, my heart shattering into a million pieces.
“I will kill you!” Atticus roared at his father. “I will kill you!”
I dropped the knife in my hand, seemingly having no choice. “Fine,” I whispered, making Leo and Atticus scream in protest. August’s finger twitched. “I’ll do what you ask.” I swiped away the tears and soaked in the horror around me. Leo’s moans and Atticus’s pleas faded into the background. I couldn’t think about them. I couldn’t think about their pain. Everyone was staring at me. They were waiting for me to decide everything. I had the power in my hands and the weight of their lives on my shoulders.
“Don’t do it, Christine,” Leo wheezed. “Let me die.”
I looked at Leo and Atticus. Atticus was holding his ear, blood flowing from between his fingers. Leo was clutching his stomach and sweating like crazy. I couldn’t do that to either of them.
“No,” I whispered. Theodore snapped his fingers. Two men grabbed my arms and held me still. Their hot breath feathered over my skin. “If you hurt any of them, I’ll ruin you,” I promised. Theodore DuPont would die a slow, painful death.
Theodore walked over to me, a gleam in his eye. “I’d like to see you try,” he said before grabbing my chin.
Epilogue
LEO
My body ached; every joint felt as if it had been shattered. Sweat poured down my forehead as a fever raged through my veins. The doctor plucked the bullet from my abdomen and stitched me up, but I could feel the infection gradually taking over. I only had a limited time before the pain consumed me entirely.
Atticus paced around the cold stone cell, his face a mask of fury. He held himself responsible for our current plight, and I couldn’t blame him for it. His father was the one that betrayed us. His father was working with Lord Nathan to steal away Christine and make her marry someone else. Just as I had finally won her heart, she was torn away from me again. I had been cursed ever since I laid eyes on Christine.
I knew what I had to do: break free and stop his father’s insane plan.
I wrenched myself upright, fighting past the searing agony crawling up my ribs and the onslaught of dizziness that threatened to drag me down. It was no surprise that this had happened. I was dying. If I couldn’t acquire the antibiotics to save me, I knew I’d become another faceless tragedy in this political battle for power, consumed by my own guilt and sorrow.
And then her fate was sealed, for it would be another man that she’d marry, not me. My heart sank and my lungs grew shallow, as if I had no more breath to take. The pain that overwhelmed me felt like it had no bounds, as if I was a prisoner of my own despair. All the guilt and sadness I felt swirled around me like an unending tornado of agony, leaving me feeling so intensely lost and broken.
I’d been down in the dungeon plenty of times as a guard, but never as a prisoner. The cramped, dark space was barely lit by a flickering torch on the wall, its dim light casting eerie shadows about the rough stone walls and damp, blackened floor. Every time I inhaled, I was sucker punched with the musky scent of decay and raw sewage.
Atticus watched me, worried. “Sit down and rest,” he growled. “You’re no use to us dead.” He had a dark bruise on his jaw, and his clothes were covered in splatters of blood.
