Valka
Stone streaks past beneath my feet, my arm wrenched painfully in Rafael’s grip. My body feels both weightless and unbearably heavy, eyes raw from smoke and dust, throat stinging as the wound tries and fails to close.
"Keep moving," he hisses, shoving me forward. His voice is ragged, his control slipping. The air trembles with shouts, the clash of steel, the thunder of boots.
Something detonates behind us, another explosion, this time a raging battle cry of men, and Rafael jerks us back as a legion bursts through the doors ahead.
A familiar dark haired male stands at the forefront and his equally dark eyes land on me in a second and widen. But the men behind us rush forward, cutting off Trenton’s path to me as Rafael swerves left, tugging me down a flight of steps that coughed dust from the scones. "Do not let them through," he hisses at his men.
"Where are you taking me?"
The farther we go, the more the castle becomes a maze of broken doors and fallen banners. His steps are sure, like he’s mapped this out so many times, he knows it even in the dark. "The old throne room has an exit that leads outside the castle. With this much chaos, it’s as good a time as any to get out."
My fingers are slick against the walls as I struggle to keep my balance. I taste metal on my tongue. My left hand throbs under the bandage. My fingers fumble uselessly at the cloth. I’m so exhausted. Why am I so exhausted? "And for how long will you keep fleeing? This is getting tiring--"
The pommel of his sword rams into the back of my skull thickly, sending me rolling down the steps. The edge of stone concrete slams into my rib and spine and I gasp as black splotches in my vision.
His boots coated in soot come slamming down and I shield my stomach from the onslaught of his legs kicking over and over, haphazardly at the general direction of my ribs and stomach. "This is your fault," he begins mumbling and soon, they become ragged, frustrated yells. "This is all your fault!"
When I realize there will be no end to the volley of attacks, because he has well and truly lost it, I risk a hand forward, grabbing his ankle when the next kick comes and with enough force to snap my wrist, I trip him.
He collides with the ground in a thud. I lunge for the fallen sword, my hands barely grasping the hilt before he kicks it far out of my reach and grabs me off the ground. I shriek, kicking, and using the wall, I propel us both backwards, sending us both rolling down the rest of the stone stairs with Rafael taking the brunt of the fall.
I hope he would crack his spine, but the Goddess loves her favourites, because all it does is worsen his temper. His snarl reverberates off the walls, but I’m up and racing for the throne room in a blind dash.
There is no outrunning him in this state, but finding a weapon could make a difference. No matter how little. I am back to the way I’d felt in the training camps. Can’t use my powers. Can’t use the speed that comes from being Lycan. I might as well be a runt right now. Still, take my strength, he might, but I’ve been a fighter for far longer than he was born.
I will make a stand here. My stand.
The old throne room yawns before me in fractured moonlight, half-collapsed from disuse, pillars cracked, tapestries rotting where they hang. A golden throne sits solely on the dais, the only clean furniture and I see from the papers scattered across the floors, the fresh scent of ink, parchment and blood, the recent trail of footsteps in the dust leading up to the dais that this must be where Rafael spends most of his time when he isn’t in court or tormenting me.A golden throne sits solely on the dais, the only clean furniture and I see from the papers scattered across the floors, the fresh scent of ink, parchment and blood, the recent trail of footsteps in the dust leading up to the dais that this must be where Rafael spends most of his time when he isn’t in court or tormenting me.



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