I have lost count of how many days we have been out here. And amidst the endless days on this battlefield, our makeshift camp feels too much like home, and an undeniable bump forms on my lower stomach, a silent witness to the life growing within me. Fear grips me as I ponder how to care for a baby in this chaos.
Nik remains distant, resentful of my decision to join him in steering our kingdom. The tension between us persists, like an unspoken battle.
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More killing.
Less men.
The grim truth echoes in my mind – I despise killing, yet here on the battlefield, it's a stark reality of survival. The sword slices through a man's throat, and he crumples to the ground, staining the grass a deep red. Positioned on the field's edge, I'm not at the heart of the battle, still visible but trying to be less vulnerable amidst the relentless chaos.
As I look around, I feel disconnected from everything that is going on. However, I cannot shake the feeling that someone is watching me, but I may just be going crazy.
Nikolai P.O.V
Although there is so much going on, I never let her go anywhere I cannot see her. I must always have eyes on her, checking whether or not she is safe. If the baby is safe.
I could be mid fight with some man, and still be watching my wife, Bell, making sure that she is not hurt, making sure she is alive.
Arabella P.O.V
"The Queen of Athline, what an honor," a sinister voice slithers behind me, each syllable dripping with malevolence.
Startled, I swiftly pivot, and there he is – Salvatore, a figure cloaked in shadows.
My attempt to respond is met with a strange muteness, as if my vocal cords are restrained by an unseen force.
"Drop your sword," he commands, his lips curling into a twisted smile that sends shivers down my spine.
Defiance surges within me. "No, I'm not crazy," I retort, my voice a mixture of determination and suppressed laughter.
His retort, a cold taunt, follows, "I've got a man with a knife to your sweet husband's throat, ready to cut with the snap of my fingers." The smirk on his face widens, reveling in his sinister game.
Reluctantly, I turn my gaze toward the battlefield. To my dismay, he isn't bluffing. A hulking figure holds Nik captive, his wide eyes reflecting terror as he screams for help.
My mind races, questioning the loyalty of those around us. How can they stand idle, indifferent to their king's plight?
As if torn from a nightmare, I shift my focus back to Salvatore, my head shaking defiantly. "No," I mutter, determined to defy the malevolent puppet master orchestrating this macabre scene.
His laughter echoes, a chilling soundtrack to his dominance, and he gestures to my sword once more – a demand I can only reluctantly oblige to, all for the sake of saving Nik.
He murmurs words of praise, a mockery of flattery, as he steps closer. A cold hand seizes my shoulders, forcefully turning me around. Now, his back is to the field, shielded from the unfolding chaos, and in front of me is the distressing spectacle of my husband, consumed by the turmoil. It's a gut-wrenching scene I can barely watch, his futile struggle and desperate screams a symphony of agony. Yet, I remain paralyzed, caught between the manipulative puppeteer and the heart-wrenching display of Nik's fight for freedom.
My gaze returns to the malevolent man clutching my shoulders, his expression now more malicious than ever. He leans in, bringing his mouth to my ear with a disturbing intimacy, and whispers, "Tell your husband what a mistake he made..."
My face vaulters with confusion until I feel something.
A blade.
Searing pain engulfs my abdomen, a merciless invasion that steals my breath away. The desire to scream in agony wells up within me, yet all I can muster is a gasp. With trepidation, I force myself to look down.
The dagger's handle protrudes from my stomach, a cruel reminder of betrayal. My hand instinctively reaches down, hoping to alleviate the ache, but the pain persists, stubborn and unyielding.
Salvatore's pitiful laughter echoes once more as he releases his grip, retreating into the shadows. With each step he takes, the world around me blurs into a crimson haze.
Blood coats my skin as I crumble to my knees, the weight of the betrayal and the physical torment overwhelming. I can hardly fathom the surreal sequence of events as I succumb once more, allowing the cool grass to embrace me in a reluctant descent.
"BELL!" a voice screeches out.
Nikolai.
Nik.
He hovers above me, frantic in his attempts to cradle my head in his lap, a torrent of nonsensical words escaping his trembling lips as he grapples with the unfolding nightmare.
"Please, I can't lose you too," he sobs, desperation evident in his eyes as his hands press against my stomach, a futile attempt to staunch the bleeding.
Reality crashes down with brutal force. The shock dissipates, replaced by a profound sorrow that brings forth uncontrollable sobs. I'm going to die, and the weight of that realization bears down on me, suffocating.
"I don't wanna die, please," I utter, not as a plea for salvation, but rather as a wistful expression of the unbearable truth. In this moment, facing the imminent end, the cruel irony stings – I won't live to meet the life growing within me. This can't be happening.
But it is.
"Come on Bell, Love, please just get up we can go to the medical hut," my husband sort of yelps, trying to drag me up.
"No, no. It's too late Nik," I somehow get out, making eye contact with him.
Those beautiful green eyes, now full of tears.
"I love you so much," I tell him with a small smile, tears escaping the corners of my eyes.
And as the red coats our hands and my vision turns black, a thought, no, a memory flooded my mind.
I had killed my brother.
William.
He shouldn't be alive.
I had murdered him, just like he asked me to.
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Tied to the Throne
Roman d'amour"It felt as if my parents had tied me to the throne. Tied me to him." - A story of a princess forced to marry a prince. Both of them hate one another, so they think. However, they end up getting a little closer than expected. A love blooming amidst...
