CHAPTER 11 #2
"You kidnapped me." I pull the knife out, and he sees it. Finally sees it. "You stole me from the only place I've ever been happy. From the only person who ever truly loved me. And you've spent four months using me like I'm nothing more than a glorified sex slave."
"Adelaide, please—" His voice is high now. Panicked.
“You call yourselves kings and princes… saviors,” I say.
“But all you’ve ever been afraid of is women who wake up.
You never wanted me awake. You wanted me compliant.
” I turn the knife around in my hand, examining it.
Building up the panic within him. “You wanted submission,” I finish.
“What you’re about to learn is what happens when a woman refuses.
“I’m not sleeping anymore, Benedict. I’m awake, and I am not staying in this goddamn castle one more night." I raise the knife. "I am not letting you touch me ever again."
"HELP!" he screams. "GUARDS! HEL—"
I plunge the knife into his chest.
It doesn't go in as easily as I expected. There's resistance. Muscle, bone, tissue. He screams, high-pitched and terrified, and I clamp my other hand over his mouth.
"Shut up," I hiss. "Shut up, shut up, shut up."
I pull the knife out and stab again. And again.
Blood sprays across my chest, my face, warm and copper-scented. He's thrashing against the ropes, eyes wide with terror and pain and disbelief.
It takes more effort than I thought it would. More strength. My arm burns with exertion as I drive the knife into him over and over. His chest. His throat. His stomach.
He's making horrible gurgling sounds now, blood bubbling from his mouth around my hand.
"This is what you deserve," I whisper. "This is what all of you deserve."
One more thrust, this time angled up under his ribs, searching for his heart.
His body goes rigid. Then slack.
The gurgling stops.
I stay frozen for a long moment, straddling his corpse, knife still buried in his chest. Blood is everywhere. On me. On him. On the white sheets that are now crimson.
I did it.
I killed him.
The burning in my throat subsides slightly, and I feel... nothing. No remorse. No horror. Just a cold, clear satisfaction.
I pull the knife out with a wet sound and climb off the bed. My hands are shaking now, adrenaline making my fingers tremble.
I need to move. Need to think.
I grab the blanket from the foot of the bed and pull it up over his body, leaving only his face visible. Close his eyes with blood-slicked fingers. From a distance, in the dim light, he could be sleeping.
The servants won't check on him until morning. By then, I'll be long gone.
I stumble into his bathing chamber and wash the blood off as quickly as I can. The water in the basin turns pink, then red, then clear. I scrub my skin raw, watching the evidence of my crime swirl down the drain.
My dress is in the bedroom. I purposely removed my dress and robe and placed them away from the bed so I could wear them again and go unnoticed. I put them back on with shaky hands.
I look at myself in the mirror. Wild eyes stare back at me. There's still blood under my fingernails, in my hairline.
I look like a killer. I am a killer.
I walk to the door and ease it open. The corridor is empty. Everyone's asleep or in their own quarters.
I move like a ghost through the castle, back to my chambers. My knives are where I left them, hidden in the wardrobe. I throw on a new dress and curse that I didn’t grab a pair of pants from Benedict’s room. I strap my knives to my body. One at each hip, one at my ankle, one tucked into my boot.
I'm armed. I'm ready. I'm leaving.
The castle is quiet as I make my way toward the main entrance. My heart is pounding so hard I'm sure someone will hear it, but the corridors remain empty.
Until they don't.
A guard rounds the corner, and we nearly collide.
"Princess?" He looks confused. "What are you—"
I don't let him finish. The knife is in my hand and then in his throat before he can draw breath to shout. He makes a wet, choking sound and crumples.
I step over his body and keep moving.
Two more guards at the next intersection. They see me, see the blood on my clothes, and reach for their swords.
I'm faster.
The techniques I learned from watching the knights in the training yard come back to me like muscle memory. Dodge, thrust, slash. The first guard goes down with my knife in his kidney. The second manages to draw his sword, but I'm inside his guard, too close for the blade to be effective.
My knife finds the soft spot under his jaw, angling up into his brain.
He drops.
I'm panting now, blood singing in my veins. The burning in my throat is building again, and when the next guard appears—
Fire. Actual fire pours from my mouth, a stream of flame that engulfs him. He screams, a horrible sound, and the smell of burning flesh fills the corridor.
I did that. I made that happen. The fire cuts off as suddenly as it started, and I'm left staring at the charred corpse.
No time. Keep moving. More guards. More bodies. Some I kill with knives, some with fire when the rage peaks high enough. I'm covered in blood again. Mine, theirs, I don't know. I don't care.
Finally, I reach the main entrance. The massive doors are right there, freedom just beyond them.
And standing in front of them is Dr. Stefan. He's in his nightclothes, a robe thrown over them. He must have heard the commotion. His eyes take in my appearance. The blood, the knives, the wild expression on my face.
"Princess," he says quietly.
I raise my knife. "Don't try to stop me."
"I won't." He steps aside, hands raised. "I'm not going to stop you."
I stare at him, not lowering the blade. "Why?"
"Because you deserve to be free." His expression is sad. "Because what they did to you was wrong. Because..." He sighs. "Because I'm a coward who won't fight the system, but I won't stand in the way of someone who will."
I lower the knife slowly. "Thank you. For everything you did for me."
"Be careful," he says. "Stay as close to the middle of the forest as possible. The guards patrol the outer edges, but they're superstitious about going too deep. They think the dragon still lives in there."
"He does," I say.
Dr. Stefan's eyes widen slightly, but he doesn't question it. He simply nods and pulls open one of the massive doors.
Cold night air rushes in, carrying the scent of pine and earth and freedom.
I run like I've never run before, my boots pounding against the cobblestones of the courtyard, then the dirt of the road, then the soft earth of the forest floor.
Behind me, I hear shouts. They've discovered the bodies. They're coming. But I'm faster. I'm fueled by rage and desperation and the burning in my veins that's growing stronger with every step.
The bond surges in my chest, that golden thread pulling taut. I can feel him now, feel the direction like a compass pointing north.
He's there. In the heart of the forest. Waiting.
Does he know I’m coming? Has he felt me through the bond all this time?
The questions fuel my rage higher. Four months he left me there.
I'm coming for you, I think, pushing the words along the bond with all the fury I possess. I'm coming, and you better be ready. You better have a damn good explanation for why you abandoned me. For why you let them take me and did nothing.
Because when I find you, I'm going to kill you too.
The bond pulses in response. Surprise, alarm, something that might be joy or fear or both.
I don't care.
I run faster, deeper into the forest, toward the dragon who was supposed to love me. Toward my reckoning. Toward whatever comes next.
The trees close in around me, and I disappear into the darkness, leaving a trail of blood and bodies and broken fairy tales behind me.