“I can talk to myself and fight at the same time just fine, thank you.”
She flipped one guard’s sword aside, swiping her claws across his neck at the same time. Only two left. They hesitated – a mistake one of them wouldn’t live to regret. The other put up a better fight. When she returned home, she’d need to focus on her training. A princess could be thrown on the battlefield like a pawn. She hadn’t led a skirmish in years.
Finally, she tripped the last guard, impaled the woman through her eye, and stepped over the corpse. Reorienting herself, she headed toward the hall where one group of guards had come from. They might have been Castien’s guards.
Then she stumbled and grunted. A crossbow bolt slammed into her right thigh.
She spun. The guard she’d stabbed in the knee slumped over, hopefully unconscious this time. But not dead. She could practically feel Vern’s disapproving glare.
“Bit… busy,” she grumbled around the pain.
Truthfully, seven wasn’t that many. She was out of practice. A shallow cut bled slightly on her left elbow. Sweat stung a scratch on her cheek. She didn’t remember where that was from. The arrow in her leg needed a bandage. There wasn’t time. She needed to find Castien before they tucked him away.
Up ahead were light, steady footsteps. She gritted her teeth and strode toward it.
But the person whose path she crossed wasn't Castien. The figure pacing toward her wasn't even male.
Duchess Isabel balanced a crossbow at her hip, the bolt aimed at Anais’ center. She smiled thinly. “Hello, your highness. I'm so glad you brought me with you. If you hadn't, I wouldn't have the chance to kill you myself.”
Anais planted her feet. She was in the middle of a long hall. The closest door was five steps behind her. Her leather armor wouldn't slow the bolt, not at this distance.
“Yelena doesn't want me dead.” The bitch Queen wanted to gloat about her conquest in Anais’ face. Rather difficult to do over a dead body.
“Maybe not.” Isabel laughed. “But accidents happen, don't they? All these poor guards – I arrived too late to stop them. They should never have shot at a guest of the Queen, however misbehaved. I think you left one alive – he’ll have to be reprimanded.”
Anais subtly twisted the sword in her hand. If she timed the cut perfectly, she could deflect the bolt. Theoretically. The lady was only ten steps away. Anais would have no time to react.
She lowered her sword. “Then shoot me, Isabel. If you miss, you die. Are you afraid? What are you waiting for?”
The lady spat, “I spent two weeks in slow torture with you! I'll take every moment of your fear I can steal!”
Anais sneered. “My dear lady, I don't fear you. You could have your claws on my neck, and I wouldn't fear you.”
“How about my claws on your precious Escort?”
Cold rage erased the disdainful curl of Anais' lips. Cold, cold ice.
Isabel smiled and continued, “Yes, I had him. I run the slave trade in Nadraken, of course I had him. I was the first aftermy Queen to play with your pretty pet. He was delightful – so responsive and sensitive. Did he tell you he cried? Did he tell you he liked the way I–”
The lady's wide eyes were the first things Anais noticed. Her sword embedded in Isabel's stomach was the next.
It hadn't been a conscious decision. Her arm was high in the air, and she'd taken a step, putting all of her force, all her overwhelming fury into the throw. She had moved so quickly, the duchess' bolt didn't release until after the sword was in her gut.
Anais dove to the right, slamming her injured leg against the wall. The bolt went wide. She shoved herself forward.
Lady Isabel clutched the sword. “You can't kill me! You can't! Queen Yelena–”
“Can't do a damned thing to help you now,” snarled Anais as her hand shot out and captured the lady's neck. Thrusting her other hand into her pouch, she flicked off the ring and pulled out the wooden sheath. “My Escort left you a present to thank you for your attentions.”
She slammed the sheath into Isabel's eye. Pushed it all the way in until the woman stopped screaming.
There was no sense of satisfaction when she dropped Isabel’s body. She felt filthy, stained as though she had violated Castien herself. He hadn't told her about Isabel or any of the people who had touched him. She didn't need to know.
When she attempted to pull her sword from the corpse, she met resistance. The blade must have struck a bone. She let it go. A lady was never without a weapon.
Hissing at the pain in her leg, she neared the end of the hall. It opened to a rounded stairwell. Shadows wrapped the upper body of a man clothed in red. He took a step up.
“Castien!”
