Page 20 of The Beautiful Blade

“I knew it wasn’t you. Where is she?”

The imposter opened her mouth, but no words came out. Her lips trembled, caught between fear and a lie she couldn’t summon fast enough.

Before I could demand an answer, a deafening roar shattered the silence. The walls shook with the force of it. Adom's hands yanked me backward, dragging me over the windowsill. My feet hit the ledge, and we both tumbled, gravity claiming us in a chaotic tangle of limbs and fury.

We hit the ground in a bone-jarring collision,already throwing blows before the dust had time to rise. His claws tore at my armor, screeching against the metal as he searched for weakness. The air between us reeked of fury and sweat, punctuated by the sharp tang of his beastly growl.

“Adom, it’s not what you think.”

“I think you were trying to steal my bride.”

“That’s true. But not…her.”

I twisted a gear in my prosthetic arm. With a sharp click, the mechanism disengaged his hold. His claws snapped back, leaving me space to breathe.

“Adom, listen to me. She’s not?—”

Another blow silenced me. This one drove the air from my lungs. I staggered but caught myself, my feet skidding on the dirt. Then the scent hit me: trolls.

Adom smelled it, too. His golden eyes flicked to the tree line. His snarl deepened, this time directed at the true threat. We broke apart, both turning to face the hulking figures emerging from the shadows.

The trolls charged with brutal speed. Adom leapt into action, his massive claws slicing through the air as he engaged two of them at once. Their heavy clubs swung wildly. The Beast Prince moved with the precision of a predator, each strike calculated to destroy.

I turned toward the third troll and froze. It wasn’t coming for me. It was making a beeline for her—the veiled woman cowering near the wall. The imposter.Even though I knew she wasn’t Charlotte, she was still an innocent. I wouldn’t let her die.

I bolted, my prosthetic arm whirring as I activated its blade. The troll swung its club. I ducked low, sliding beneath its blow and coming up with a slash that tore through its hamstring. It roared in pain. I didn’t give it the chance to recover. My blade found its throat. With a final gurgling cry, it crumpled to the ground.

The woman stumbled into my arms, trembling. There was no pull, no familiar warmth that would’ve rooted me to the spot. Her scent was wrong—almost like Charlotte’s, but not quite. A pale imitation. But there was enough of Charlotte's scent on her to confirm one thing: Charlotte had been with her.

Adom prowled toward us. I let her go, nudging her toward him. Once the prince had her, I slipped away before he could notice.

I backtracked to the carriage in the stables. The pegasuses were familiar, as was the carrying apparatus harnessed to their backs. Even their hooves were shoed with my design. For a brief second, I felt pride that my inventions had cared for Charlotte in my absence.

Charlotte. Where was she? The scent of her lingered.

I activated the scanner in my prosthetic, running it over the area. The faint glow illuminated a trail—her trail—leading to the wall.

She'd gone over it.

I scaled the stone barrier, my muscles burning with the effort. On the other side, the forest stretched out in darkness. I followed the tracks, the cold night air biting at my skin.

A few miles down the path, there were signs of a scuffle: broken branches, disturbed earth, wagon tracks cutting deep into the dirt. There was a concentration of her scent in a clearing. There had been a skirmish, by the looks of things. She’d been taken.

I followed the tracks of the carriage. Soon the forest thinned, giving way to open fields. Then the outskirts of the capital. The trail led me straight onto the bustling city streets. Here, amidst the noise and chaos, it vanished.

I pressed my palm against the city wall, letting the cool stone ground me as my thoughts spiraled. She was alive. I knew that much. If she’d died, I would’ve felt it, an ache that no amount of enhancements or strength could dull.

The crowd surged around me, the energy of the Games pulling them toward the coliseum. I let myself be carried along, my mind spinning with questions and doubts. And then I saw it.

A crystal screen mounted high on the side of a building, its surface shimmering with the broadcast of the Games. The roar of the crowd in the coliseumechoed through the streets. It was the fresh meat brigade. I remembered it all too well from the last game three years ago. It was a recurring nightmare. I almost looked away, but something inside warned me not to blink.

And there she was.

Charlotte.

Her lavender skin gleamed under the spotlight. Her violet hair cascaded down her back like silk. She stood tall, defiant, her blue eyes scanning the arena as if she were daring it to break her. Panic and fury collided in my chest, a storm of emotions that left me reeling.

She was in the Games. Of all the schemes I'd come up with over the last three years—of how to snatch Charlotte on the road to the castle, or the night before her wedding, or to sweep her away as she walked down the aisle—this had not been a consideration in my battle plans.

---