Page 15 of Off with Her Head
The blade meant for Scarlett's heart finds my flesh instead as I jump between them. Pain explodes through my side as steel parts skin from muscle. But I manage to maintain my grip on the first guard, tightening the shadows until his neck snaps with a satisfying crack.
Scarlett whirls at the sound of my pained gasp, her eyes widening in horror. Then her expression hardens into something both terrible and beautiful. She snatches a thick candlestick from her bedside table and swings it with all her strength, catching the second guard in the temple. He crumples, unconscious or dead—I'm not sure which.
"Ravenna!" She catches me as my knees buckle. "You're bleeding—why did you—howdid you know?"
"Mirror," I manage through gritted teeth. The wound burns like fire and ice combined. When I look down, I see why—the blade is edged with those same magic-draining crystals. Where it pierced my flesh, black veins spread outward. "Showed me... had to stop them..." I’m panting now, feeling faint from the rapid siphoning of my powers.
"Guards!" Scarlett's voice cracks through the air. Card-soldiers pour into the room, securing the surviving assassin. "Get the royal physician. Now!"
"No." I grab her wrist, the touch sending a spark of magic between us despite my weakened state. "No physicians. I’ll be fine. I just need to rest tonight and I’ll be recovered by morning."
"You're being ridiculous." But her touch gentles as she helps me to her bed, easing me down onto crimson silk sheets thatprobably cost more than some kingdoms' treasuries. "At least let me tend to it."
I want to argue, but the room is spinning, and the burning in my side is getting worse. I let her guide me to her bed, sinking onto silk sheets that smell faintly of roses and something uniquely Scarlett. Her scent is comforting in ways I cannot articulate, especially as pain and blood loss make thinking increasingly difficult.
"This will hurt," she warns, carefully cutting away the fabric around my wound. Her fingers brush my skin, and despite the agony, I shiver. Magic flows from her touch, different from my magic but no less potent. Where our powers connect, the spread of their poison slows, black veins receding slightly. "Why did you do it? Put yourself between me and that blade?"
I close my eyes, unable to look at her. "Why would I let you die?"
"Why not? Wouldn't it be easier? One less rival queen to worry about?"
"You know why." The words slip out before I can stop them, heavy with meaning neither of us are ready to face.
Her hands still for a moment, then resume cleaning my wound. "The crystals on the blade are interfering with your magic's natural healing."
I force my eyes open to find her face inches from mine, her brow furrowed in concentration as she works. In her nightgown, with her hair falling around her face like a curtain of fire, she looks softer. More vulnerable. Yet there's steel in her movements, precision in her care. This is another facet of the Queen of Hearts—the woman who knows how to tend wounds as skillfully as she orders deaths.
"I'm sorry you lost so many today," I say, needing to fill the charged silence.
"Why did you come?" She doesn't look up from her work. "They weren't yours to protect."
"They were innocent. And they were yours." The words come easier now, perhaps because of the lessening pain, perhaps because of the intimacy of this moment. "I couldn't watch them die. Not when I could stop it."
Her hands tremble slightly as she begins securing bandages to my torso. "You keep surprising me."
"Good." I catch her hand, pressing it against my bare skin just above the bandages. Our magic sparks at the contact. The sensation is like nothing I've ever experienced. "You keep surprising me too."
She looks up then, and I see everything I'm feeling reflected in her eyes—fear, confusion, unspokendesire. Her free hand comes up to cup my face, thumb brushing over my bottom lip.
"The assassin," I manage, though it's hard to think while she’s touching me like this. "We need to question him."
"Later." She leans closer, her breath warm against my lips. "You saved me."
"I had to." My voice is barely a whisper. "I couldn't bear to watch you die."
"Why?"
"Because I—"
A knock at the door interrupts whatever foolish confession was about to escape. Scarlett pulls back with a frustrated sound that would be amusing if I wasn't equally disappointed.
"What?" she snaps.
"My Queen." A card-soldier's voice. "The prisoner is secured in the dungeons. And... there's something you need to see."
Scarlett looks at me, conflict clear in her eyes. I squeeze her hand once before letting go. "Go. I'll rest here."
"You better be here when I return." She stands, straightening her nightgown. "That's an order from your Queen of Hearts."
