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He ripped at the high collar of my dress, pulling at the fastening, his frigid blue eyes full of sick hunger.
I could see exactly where this was going. I pictured myself lying on the floor of the stable, Florian above me, my dress crumpled and torn.
I felt a flush of fury. My skin burned with rage.
His mouth descended, lips pressed against my throat in a twisted inversion of a kiss. All the while, his hand kept yanking at my dress.
As I felt the fastening at my neck finally give way, I raised a trembling hand to my ear and willed my rage to build, to bubble, to boil up and over.
Adrenaline flowed through my veins. I had trained for this. I didn't have a sword, but I was ready. Ready to fight back with everything I had. Arthur had been wrong. I had been unable to fight back the last time when Florian had played his dirty, despicable trick and poisoned me. But I wasn’t incapacitated now. I would not go down peacefully. Nothing would stop me from saving myself.
The sound of my own voice shocked me. A snarl of sheer outrage flew from my lips.
I watched Florian raise his head in surprise, just as I lifted my arm. With a swift, fluid motion I punched my hand into his throat as hard as I could.
Florian's face twisted in a mix of fear, shock, and disbelief. His eyes widened as he struggled to understand what was happening to his body.
I pulled my hand back, the bloody stem of the rose earring still positioned tightly between my fingers.
Blood spurted from the hole in Florian's neck. So much blood. It sprayed my face, my dress, his clothes. It poured onto the ground beneath us, soaking the clean straw as his life drained away.
I watched his mouth open and close soundlessly as he gasped for breath that would never come.
His face turned pale. He clutched his hands to his throat, finally understanding what I’d done, but it was too late. I could see his body already trembling, his strength fading rapidly.
When he fell onto the straw, I didn’t move. I didn’t try to help. I just watched. Watched as his expression became the frightened and desperate one of a little boy.
But Florian was no child. He was not innocent. He had made terrible choices and now he was paying the ultimate price.
Life went out of his eyes. His chest ceased to rise and fall.
Still I stood, waiting. For what, I didn’t know.
The stable was silent. Even the horses had gone quiet.
I stared at Florian’s pale corpse, and was suddenly certain I had made an equally terrible mistake. I had killed a man. The son of Arthur’s best friend. And I was sure to pay for it.
“What have you done?”
The voice came out of the dark. For a moment, I thought it was Gregor.
I lifted my head, preparing for the king’s justice to descend, for the stablemaster to shout for help as he saw Florian’s lifeless body at my feet, for soldiers to come running.
I would be restrained, locked away forever. I choked back a sob.
But it was not Gregor.
Kairos Draven stood silhouetted in the stable doorway, a torrent of falling rain behind him.
He stepped into the lamp light and I saw he had removed his jacket. The black silk shirt he wore had been unbuttoned down to his breastbone, revealing smooth, honeyed skin and curling dark hairs. His hair was wet and disheveled, the damp locks falling around his face.
“What have you done?” he asked again.
His eyes were on me, not the body. I watched as they narrowed.
“You’re covered in blood. Your dress is torn.”
I could have lied, said I’d found Florian like this. Or tried to run. But I wasn’t that desperate. Besides, as he’d said, I was covered in blood.
