Page 2 of To Wake a Kingdom

As thougha tastewouldn’t hurt me.

Beady eyes glittered as his gaze pitched over me and he licked his lips, the scant contents of my stomach threatening to rise.

“Stay away from me.” My voice was coated in cobwebs. It had been a very long time since I’d uttered a single syllable, so I cleared my throat and tried again. “Stay away from me!” This time, my words trumpeted with more certainty, despite the tremble I hoped he couldn’t hear.

As the man stalked closer, I noted his fine red jacket worked with scrolls of golden thread. His graying beard was neatly trimmed, and his polished leather boots reflected the sunlight. This man was no bandit or thief. He was a man of stature. A nobleman, perhaps. What was he doing here?

The sword in his hand glittered with life as though it possessed a heartbeat melded into the steel. Nearly losing myself in its pull, I couldn’t peel my eyes away. The sword in my own hand seemed inadequate in comparison. Like a cheap toy, instead of my father’s most lethal weapon.

The man lurched, and I snapped back to the present. Barely able to lift the blade, I swung it wildly, its weight throwing me off balance. When I stumbled, the man barked out a cruel and mirthless laugh, delight in his eyes.

Then he was on me, his sneer morphing into a guttural snarl. Grabbing my hair, he pulled me upright and pressed my back against his broad chest. My scalp burned as he twisted harder, and I felt the heavy weight of his stare drifting down my body. Spinning me around, a meaty hand encircled my throat.

He knocked the blade from my hand, and I watched it clatter to the stones along with my fleeting courage. Pinning me against the wall, the man smiled, showing off two rows of clean, white teeth. The scent of blood and sweat coated the inside of my mouth, choking me like wet rags stuffed down my windpipe.

“You can make this easy, or you can make this hard.” He leaned in closer, his breath burrowing into my skin. “For your sake, I’d choose easy. But for my sake, I like ithard.”

With a grunt, he jammed his body against mine, trapping me to the stone. My breath rushed out in quick gasps as he crushed my throat. I had little doubt he cared if I was unconscious for this.

“That’s right,” he said in my ear. “Be a good girl and do as you’re told.” Hot and heavy, his breath wormed across my cheeks as tears slipped from my eyes. Black spots mushroomed in my vision when he gripped my throat harder.

I was going to die.

After everything, how couldthisbe my ending?

Then I remembered something else.

It was taking time to unravel each buried memory from the snarl of chains locking them down. But as he shoved his knee between mine, a tendril of recollection unfurled like a feeble blossom of hope. I clung to it, bruising the stems.

My father’s captain of the guard believed a princess should be able to defend herself. I wasn’t offered many useful lessons in my pampered life, but Andrick had gifted me this.

I slid my hand into my skirt, searching for the opening cut for exactly this reason. Down the side of my leg, I reached for a lifeline of polished steel, andthereit still was.

The man had failed to notice it in his fury. Or maybe he saw me as so meager an opponent, he’d dismissed it. Desperation made me quick. I yanked the dagger from the strap around my thigh and thrust it between his ribs.

Stunned, we both watched blood gush out of him and onto me, coating my hand and arm and chest. Warm splashes pelted my chin and cheeks, my eyelashes fluttering at the impact. He met my gaze, outraged, as if he couldn’t believe I’d had the nerve.

I didn’t give him the chance to reach for the dagger. Desperation also made me decisive. I jerked the weapon away and slammed the sharpened point into the side of his neck. A fountain of blood spurted, bathing us in a robe of scarlet. Suspended in time, everything went quiet but for the shreds of my panting breaths. His knees then crumpled, and he dropped to the ground. Blank eyes stared at the ceiling. Dead.

I just killed a man.

A sob ripped from the back of my sternum as I slid down the wall, cradling my head in my arms, and dropped the bloody dagger. I trembled as my heart battled my lungs. Condensing myself into a ball of cemented limbs, I cried and cried until my cheeks were raw and my chest had drained out into a hollow chamber.

Eventually, I forced my chin up and surveyed the room. With a pool of blood congealed beneath me, I peeled myself off the floor. Black and silver banners hung from the high stone walls, the points ending above where my parents sat. Their bodies were relaxed, and they slouched against their silver thrones, hands hanging off the armrests as though they’d still been clasped when sleep took them.

On wobbly legs, I stumbled over and reached for my mother, circling my hands around her delicate shoulders.

“Wake up,” I whispered.

With a gentle shake, I searched her face for any flutter of consciousness. She remained placid—dead to the world, for all it mattered.

“Wake up.” I shook harder, her arms flopping like a scarecrow’s. “Wake up!” I screamed it this time, my plea desperate and wretched. “Wake up! I need you to wake up!”

Nothing happened as my voice echoed off the room’s high corners. My mother’s head, garlanded with glossy black curls, had fallen forward, chin resting on her chest. “Please, wake up.” I hiccupped a ragged sob and laid her back, carefully arranging her in the same position. Blood covered the arms of her white dress and the fur stole hanging around her shoulders. I stared at my hands in horror.

I killed a man.

Already knowing it was pointless, I stood in front of my father, hoping that if I screamed loud enough, someone would come and fix this.

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