Chapter 59 #3
He straightened, the smile still lingering as he turned back to the audience, leaving Rell reeling in the aftermath of those words.
The guards tightened their grip, but Rell barely felt it, his focus locked on Elora—the way her fingers trembled against her ankle, how her breath quickened with every passing second.
She didn’t even look mad about what he said to Thorn. Only terrified.
“This is what betrayal looks like. Defiance dressed as wisdom. Sentiment disguised as insight.” Thorn gestured toward Rell. “This man is a traitor. He has interfered with Institute business and attempted to manipulate my ward.”
Florence’s face betrayed nothing, her posture rigid.
“As my heir,” Thorn continued, “you must learn to recognize such threats and eliminate them decisively.” He extended his hand toward her. “Which is why I am assigning you the task of delivering his punishment here and now.”
The silence in the hall deepened, expectant and horrible.
“You will kill him.”
“No!” Elora’s voice shattered the silence, desperate and raw.
She lunged forward, the chain jerking taut as she reached the limit of her tether.
“Please!” She strained against the chain, metal links biting into her skin as she reached toward him.
“I’ll do anything—anything you want! Just let him go! ”
Rell’s breath caught at the desperation in her voice.
Tears, panic—he could have understood that.
But offering herself back to Thorn to save him—
He finally, stupidly, realized why she kept trying to push him away.
He hadn’t protected her from Thorn.
He’d given Thorn someone else to take away from her.
The man didn’t even glance in her direction.
His attention remained fixed on Florence, though the satisfied curl of his lips and the gleam in his eyes betrayed how much he savored Elora’s desperation.
Her cries were merely pleasant background music to him.
Nothing but a nice soundtrack to his little power play.
A guard stepped forward, presenting a short blade to Florence.
The ceremonial knife gleamed in the colored light streaming through the stained glass, its edge wickedly sharp.
Florence claimed the knife as if it had always belonged to her, fingers curling around the ornate hilt without the slightest tremor.
Not a flicker of recognition crossed her features, no hint that she’d spent years working with Rell, no suggestion that any of this had been orchestrated between them.
There was no trace of the woman who claimed she wanted something different from Thorn’s rule. No hesitation. No hidden signal. Nothing.
“Remove his leathers,” Florence instructed the guards, her voice cold and detached.
The men holding him yanked at the ties of his vest, rough hands tearing at the laces until the garment hung open, exposing his chest. The cool air of the hall raised goosebumps across his skin.
Florence’s eyes traced down his chest. Maybe finding the best place to ensure he doesn’t suffer; the only mercy she might grant him.
“Do I get any last words?” Rell asked, searching Florence’s face for any hint of their shared conspiracy, any sign that this was just another act in their elaborate performance.
“Traitors don’t deserve last words,” she replied, completely emotionless.
Well, that answered that question. Fucking perfect.
Rell turned his head, seeking Elora instead.
His gaze locked with hers across the distance between them.
Tears streamed down her cheeks, leaving glistening trails that caught the colored light.
But beneath the sorrow, he saw something else—a fierce, burning rage that transformed her fear into something dangerous.
“I’m sorry, Sunshine,” he said quietly, the words meant only for her.
The knife went in cold between Rell’s ribs—just pressure at first, then pain hit like a punch to the gut, hot and sticky as it spread across his chest. His legs gave out, but the guards didn’t let him drop, their fingers digging so deep into his arms he figured they’d leave marks if he lived long enough to bruise.
Each breath hurt like hell, scraping through his lungs and getting weaker every time.
The guards let go and Rell just dropped, hitting the floor hard, Florence’s knife still stuck between his ribs.
He slapped a hand over the wound, feeling hot wetness spread under his fingers as his life poured out, making dark puddles around him.
If Florence’s performance convinced Thorn, then maybe this hadn’t all been for nothing. Maybe Elora still had a chance to escape this place alive.
Rell’s face smacked the floor as he pitched forward. Pain ripped through his chest, but he dragged his head back up, desperate to keep Elora in his sights until the end. He wouldn’t leave her alone in this nightmare, not even in death.
He locked his gaze with hers, drinking in those amber eyes like a dying man’s final sip of water. If death claimed him now, he’d surrender with her light still burning on his retinas.
He tried to see her through the spot in his vision, but all he could make out was black fur and massive wings erupting from her right before the darkness closed in.
Voices, maybe screams, sounded like they were coming from miles away while he was underwater. Distorted. Fading.
A roar shook the surface of the darkness, rippling out like water.
Then only silence.