Page 110 of Princess Redeemed
His smirk falters—a small victory.
“Maybe it's anger,” I continue.“Anger at what you've stolen from us.What you've turned my mother into—a shell of the woman she once was.”
He scoffs.“I saved your mother.You and I both know that.It was your father who turned her into a shell of what she once was.”
I shake my head.“My father was horrid to her.To all of us.I know that.But she fought him.She left him.You?You stole all that fight from her.You stole her love.Her light.”
His gaze tightens, grows sharp as a knife, yet I don’t flinch.My words are my weapon against him, and they’re sharper than any sword he could draw.
“Maybe it's resolve,” I go on.“Resolve to end your reign of terror.To reclaim our lives from your clutches.”
The sky darkens to an inky black, a perfect backdrop to his monstrous form.The first stars begin to prick through the ether as tension coils between us.
“And maybe,” I add, my voice barely above a whisper, “it’s anticipation.”
His eyebrows furrow.
“Anticipation for the moment when you no longer hold power over me, over my mother.When we can be free.”I give him a taunting smile.“Your own people want me to end you.They’re ready to mutiny.”
“You don’t have that kind of power.”He raises his hand.“Get on your knees, bitch.”
Magic coils around me like a vise—tightening, pressing, whispering dark promises into my ear.My knees buckle for a breath, just one, but I don’t fall.
His eyes glow with the smug certainty that I’ll break.That I’ll kneel like I did that first time.
But I didn’t the last time.
His power has increased since then, though.
“You can’t resist me,” he growls.“Every part of you answers tome.”
My breath comes shallow, my body screaming for release, for relief, for surrender.But I grit my teeth and stay upright.
“You raised me on fear,” I say, voice ragged.“But fear doesn’t own me anymore.”
His magic pulses harder now—hot and violent.It’s trying to break into my mind, crack open my soul.My vision blurs.My heart hammers.
But I won’t kneel.
Not tohim.
Not ever again.
I think of every time he made me feel small.Every time I bit my tongue to survive.Every time I cried behind closed doors and hated myself for it.
And I push back.
I use the power of my blood.
I useme.
The girl who survived him.
The woman who outgrew his menacing insults.
Power explodes inside me—not dark, but raw and bright and burning clean.His magic hits a wall, and for the first time, his eyes widen.
He wasn’t expecting this.
