"I'm the firstborn child of Roderick Luskaine," Isla said.
Luskaine…
"Wait! The King?!"
The warehouse's roof creaked and buckled.
Isla finished cutting through the wall.
"Castille!"
"I'm here!"
Castille grabbed me by the jacket and pulled me through the makeshift exit. Isla crawled through behind me, carrying my cane—just as the warehouse collapsed.
"What took you?"
"I had a few complications."
Castille frowned.
"His leg... he's bleeding out."
"Thank you for noticing," I said, flitting in and out of consciousness.
"Can you do anything, Isla?"
"I'm not great at healing on a good day, and right now… Wait-"
She unfastened the belt sash around my wounded leg, feeling the lump on one end.
"Are these coins?"
"Isla!"
"Right!"
She took out her dagger. Water condensed around the blade and crystallized. She pressed the flat of the cold, blunted blade against my wound and wrapped my sash around it.
"Good enough. Let's go!"
Castille lifted me in a bridal carry, running through an alley into the street where her and Isla's horses waited.
I turned my head back to the warehouse. The fire was spreading to the neighbouring buildings. Kateen's guards would have their hands full putting it out.
It all looked so far away—at the end of a long tunnel, fading to black.
A princess. Isla was a princess.
Of course, she was.
# # #
The bed was soft.
It reminded me of home.
Which home?
The guest room in the mansion? My cot in the orphanage?
No… Somewhere else.
I was blind to the world, swathed in thick blankets. A woman hummed in my ears. Her rough fingers caressed my face and lifted me to her chest. The steady beat of her heart was a comfort.
Movement.
This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
I rocked in her arms, walking into a room that smelled like old parchment.
Her breath caught.
Her heart pounded louder—faster. A door slammed open with a crash, and a wave of cold sent shivers through my body. Tears dripped down my face into my crying mouth. She screamed. I flew in the air, landing somewhere soft, wet and cold.
# # #
My eyes cracked open. It was dark, with fleeting moonlight coming from the guest room's red-curtained windows. Cynthia's warm body was beside me, her light breaths tickling the side of my neck. The soft smack of leather on hardwood rang in the room. I tried to lift my head, but I couldn't move. My body was a cage, every inch of me paralyzed down to my heavy-lidded eyes.
Something slithered onto the bed—a light depression just below my right foot. It whispered against the bed sheets, tracing an outline of my body as it moved to my head. I panicked, struggling against the invisible grip on my body—the heavy weight pushing down on my chest. A familiar shade of red flashed in the corner of my eye.
Sin.
She loomed over me, passing the forward-bent knife she ran along the bed to her left hand in a reverse grip. In the darkness, she didn't know I was awake. I didn't know I was awake. My mind flitted in and out of awareness, blending dreams and reality. She raised her left hand. I tried to shout—tried to scream as the knife plunged down at my head.
The blade's tip stopped an inch above my eye.
Sin pulled her knife back, taking heavy breaths that made her chest heave. She tore down the red stocking that covered her face, and two glowing, red eyes stared down at me in the shadow of her hood.
"Why?" She whispered. "Why can't I kill you?"
# # #
I jolted awake in the bed of Castille's master suite. Dugan slept next to me, with Thor resting his head on the crook of his shoulder. Castille sat in the side table chair, sharpening her sword.
"Jacob! You're alive!"
Isla's lean arms pulled me in for a tight hug.
What were those? Nightmares or memories?
How many times had Sin visited me in my sleep? How many times had she almost killed me? And who was that woman carrying me in her arms?
I shivered.
"Are you OK? Are you cold?"
I blinked and looked around. My jacket was off, draped over the chair. Isla was sitting on a chair next to the bed—along with my pants.
"My pants!"
I struggled out of Isla's grip. My eyes darted around the room, looking for something—anything to defend myself with.
"Easy, Jacob. We had to dress your wound. Nothing happened," Castille said, examining the edge of her longsword."
"Right… Right…"
Isla pulled away from me, her face a sickly shade of green.
"I-I didn't know… I didn't mean too…"
I sighed, speaking between deep breaths.
"I'm sorry... I panicked... You did good. I would have bled out without you."
Her face lit up.
"I-I just thought of you. If a hot blade can cauterize a wound, a cold blade can slow down bleeding."
I moved my injured leg. That crossbow bolt damaged muscles and tendons.
"Can Dugan-"
"No. After he finished with the ones outside, Cassandra had him see to her girls. He won't be healing anyone for a while," Castille said.
She ran her blade along the whetstone for emphasis, implying what she would do if I continued to ask.
I pushed myself up against the bed's headboard and let my shoulders sag.
I'm weak. Pathetic. Useless.
No… no. I still had utility.
Isla gave me a worried look. What should I call her now? Princess? Your Highness?
"Are you sure you're, OK?" She asked.
"About what you said at the warehouse..."
Isla's eyes widened. She shook her head.
I glanced at Castille, who looked at us with a raised eyebrow.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
We turned to the door.
Dugan opened his eyes. Castille got to her feet and moved to the entrance, her longsword slung over her shoulder. She cracked the door and then flung it open.
"About time."
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