Chapter 21 Knight in Shining Armour
Knight in Shining Armour
As they ran through the halls, Luna heard guards shouting commands, searching for the missing prisoner—unaware he was helping her escape. Her heart pounded in her chest. Once the guards stumbled across Clyde, they would be looking for her too.
Quickly, and as quietly as she could through her laboured breathing, she told Damien about the secret passage she had found earlier. The nearby voices echoed down the halls, growing louder, stopping both Luna and Damien dead in their tracks.
“Where could he have gone? We’ve looked through every inch of this place.”
She glanced at Damien for guidance, and was answered with a devilish grin; he cracked his knuckles together and said, “Hang tight. This won’t take long.”
“What are you going to do?” she breathed, trying to keep the panic from her voice.
“A bit of murdering,” he said nonchalantly, as if killing was just routine for him—and for all she knew, it was.
All the air left her lungs. She’d seen more than enough death; she couldn’t stomach any more. Her head jerked side to side, whispering, “No.” The word was so quiet she barely heard it herself.
Damien certainly hadn’t. He disappeared, his form swallowed by the shadows as if the darkness itself had claimed him. She had no time to wonder what was happening before the air seemed to shudder, then came a flash of darkness . . . followed by three distinct thumps.
Even though she knew she would regret it, she peeked around the corner. Damien stood with his hands in his pockets, staring at the three bodies sprawled face down, lined up like discarded dolls. Her stomach twisted.
They were dead because she wanted to escape, and she held as much responsibility for their death as Damien—hell, she may as well have murdered them herself.
“They’re just knocked out,” Damien drawled, now rifling through the guards and pocketing their knives. “Can’t have you thinking I’m still the monster in your story.”
That particular opinion was still being determined, but she was relieved, nonetheless; his consideration was .
. . touching. Drawing a steadying breath, she comforted herself further with the knowledge that she wasn’t running from one heartless murderer to another.
“The secret passage,” she said, pointing down the hall.
Without wasting any more time, they raced the rest of the way, only stopping once they were at the tapestry of the large oak with a child swinging on one of its branches.
Luna dropped to her knees, searching the carpet for the trapdoor she’d found earlier—before Clyde caught her and dragged her back to the ball.
Her palms were sweaty, and her heartbeat thundered loudly in her chest. Where the hell was the opening?
More guards would be coming soon. Sure, Damien could hold them off—but for how long?
Eventually, they would overwhelm him, right?
There had to be a limit to his strength, and she didn’t want to find out what that limit was.
She cursed the carpet for disguising the trapdoor entrance so well. She couldn’t get caught, not this time; it wasn’t just her fate at risk.
The panic surging through her only made her search clumsy, so she forced herself to draw in a calming breath. It’s here. She’d found it underneath this tapestry before and would find it again . . .
A thought struck her. What if Clyde had tampered with the opening?
“Knife,” she demanded with her palm open.
Without hesitation, Damien took one of the many knives from his belt and handed it over.
She snatched the blade and drove it into the carpet, ripping it to shreds. There! The opening.
Clyde must have had someone sew it down.
She dropped the knife and practically tore the remaining carpet off the floor, revealing the trapdoor. Her fingers trembled as she fumbled with the latch, unable to open it.
Frustration burned in her throat, a scream threatening to escape—until Damien reached over, his magic moving through the air. In a single, effortless motion, his shadows snapped the latch into two and swung the door open.
A narrow dark hole yawned beneath them; an iron rung ladder bolted to its walls, rusted with age.
Damien leapt down first, throwing a glance up at her. “Wait here,” he murmured.
Luna paused, anticipation making her heart beat even more wildly than before. She quickly scanned the hallway—no guards in sight. Good.
A second later, his voice rose from the darkness, reassuring her, “It’s safe. Come on down.”
With a nod, she gathered her dirtied skirts in one hand and cautiously followed. As she gripped the iron ladder, its cold rungs bit into her hands and the excess fabric of her skirts made descending awkward. Darkness swallowed her with each step, the only light spilling from the trapdoor above.
When her feet touched the ground, Damien made a motion with his hand and the trapdoor slammed closed, sealing them in complete darkness.
She hadn’t even seen him summon his shadows to do it, but to be fair, she could barely see her own hand in front of her face.
The last tunnel she’d been in had skylights; this one had none.
Damien’s hand slid into hers. His grip was firm, steady, and he gave a small reassuring squeeze before asking, “Any idea where this goes?”
She searched her memory for the blueprints she’d studied in the prince’s art room, trying to recall where the passage led. If only she’d stuffed them in her dress instead of ruining them. “It leads out of the building, but I don’t remember where exactly.”
Hesitantly, Luna took a step forward, using the wall to guide her. The darkness was so absolute it seemed to press in around her like a tomb.
She’d only taken one or two steps when Damien scooped her into his arms. Holding her against his chest, her arms instinctively hooked around his neck. He moved soundlessly, as if he were one with the shadows, keeping a brisk, steady pace.
She was stiff in his arms though, muscles tense. Being carried this way, like the fragile doll she’d always been treated as, made her feel small. Breakable. And she hated it.
She was a unicorn.
She had powers . . . that she could barely use . . . but still, she had them.
“I can walk,” she protested, squirming in his arms, but his grip only tightened.
“Unless you can also see in the dark, you won’t be walking. We don’t have the luxury of time for you to blindly navigate your way.”
She stuck her tongue out at him, but quickly sucked it back in when she felt his chest rumble against her. So, he hadn’t been kidding. He really could see in the dark.
Sighing with resignation, she relaxed in his arms, letting her head fall to his shoulder. She supposed walking in pitch black was not her idea of fun anyway.
The passage seemed to go on forever, spiraling lower and lower before snaking left, then right. Damien moved through the darkness with ease, never missing a step. Never stumbling.
The air thickened, earthy and stale. It was damp enough that she could taste it on her tongue. They had to be underground by now. How much farther was the exit?
Finally, Damien stopped walking. He placed her back on her feet and guided her hands to a cold iron bar that she could only assume was another ladder.
“Wait here,” Damien commanded without explanation as he climbed ahead, giving her no time to argue.
At the top, he lifted the trapdoor just a crack, allowing a thin sliver of light to slip through. Luna held her breath as he scanned the area above. After a few seconds, he pushed the door open the rest of the way.
A blast of white powder struck him, the residual powder fluttered down the passage like falling snow.
“You’re gonna pay for that,” he growled, leaping out of the passage, letting the trapdoor close behind him.
Complete and utter darkness consumed Luna and she struggled to move out of the way of the falling powder.
Tiny flakes landed on the top of her head and arms.
Absolute agony flared across her skin.
Her screams echoed down the chamber, but she did not care if someone heard her.
The flakes, though delicate, burned like fire, searing holes all the way through her skin and her bones, to the very essence of her being.
Frantically, she brushed her hands over her head and arms, trying to wipe the powder away.
Every millisecond that passed by seemed like years of torture.
She yanked the fabric of her skirts up, dragging it over her head and arms. Still, it burned.
She felt like the powder was ripping her body away from her magic, attacking her like it could sever the connection to her unicorn.
What seemed like forever passed and the flakes finally lost their power.
She slumped forward, a ragged breath escaping her lips as she braced herself on her knees. Sweet relief.
The sound of someone else struggling brought her mind back to the present.
Damien.
Shit. He’d taken the full blast, while only a few flakes had landed on her.
She pressed a hand on the wall, trying to orient herself. In the chaos of wiping away the powder, she’d lost her sense of direction. With no light to guide her, she had no idea if she was moving towards the ladder or away from it.
Distant sounds of fighting echoed down the passage, and she tried to follow them.
Inch by inch, she kept one hand on the wall and the other stretched out in front of her, bracing for obstacles.
She told herself she’d walk this way for a bit, and if she didn’t find the ladder, she’d turn back.
Soon, her fingertips touched the iron rungs of the ladder.
She counted her lucky stars and gripped them as if they might vanish if she let go.
Climbing in the dark was awkward, especially in her big dress, but soon, she made it to the top and pushed the door open just enough for her to see out.