The Duke's Reluctant Bride

Chapter 73: A Reckless Escape

Sir Raymond lay motionless, a dagger embedded in his chest. Blood ran from the corner of his mouth, darkening his chin.

Cynfael tried to move, but a searing pain suddenly tore through his wound, forcing him to stagger.

Alistair watched him closely.

"As much as I'd like to watch you break down, my prince..." His smile widened slightly, one hand lifting lazily. "Or perhaps reminisce about your memories with your knight. Why don't we finish this? Surrender and die, and that's it."

His gaze swept over the prince's body.

"You've got a deep wound along your left rib. Several more on your arm. And one on your face." His smile faded into something colder. "You're running out of room for mistakes."

With an almost casual gesture of his hand, Alistair gave the signal.

The figures behind him immediately moved.

They lunged toward Cynfael, their rapiers thrusting at him from every direction. The blades gleamed with an unnatural pinkish sheen beneath the dim lantern light.

Cynfael twisted on his heel, forcing himself out of their path. But his movements were slower than before. The wound in his side disrupted his footing, and every cell in his body screamed at him to stay away from those blades. Whatever coated their weapons, he had no intention of finding out.

One of the assassins threw a knife.

It sliced through the darkness, catching Cynfael while his attention was divided. The blade bit deep into his shoulder, feeling like a hot iron driven into his flesh. A sharp breath escaped his lungs as his entire body seized from the searing shock, forcing him to his knees.

Alistair saw his opportunity and lunged.

His falchion, a single-edged, straight blade that broadened into a slight curve near the tip, came free in one motion and drove the weapon toward Cynfael's head.

The blade nearly reached him.

Until—

It stopped.

A sudden force slammed into Alistair and hurled him backward. His body crashed against the wall with a heavy impact.

The other assassins recoiled from the force, their attention snapping toward the unexpected interruption.

As he recovered, a Pappenheimer rapier flashed into view. The blade pierced through his head with unerring accuracy.

The woman holding the weapon stood directly before him.

She was still dressed in the formal gown she had worn to the banquet, her platinum-blonde hair catching the pale moonlight spilling through the nearby windows. Her appearance remained elegant, but her expression was anything but. Her brows were furrowed, and her gaze was cold and unwavering.

Alistair's smile returned.

"My, my... Are you here to save your husband, Crown Princess?"

Octavia briefly glanced toward Cynfael and then returned her gaze to Alistair.

I stabbed his head, yet he can still talk?

An abrupt wind swept through the corridor. Alistair suddenly vanished, leaving behind only a faint afterimage.

Her eyes widened as she turned sharply, but it was too late.

Behind her, Alistair cast a violent gale that erupted from his hand.

The force struck Octavia and sent her crashing backward through the wall.

She barely regained her footing before the wind twisted around her throat, forming a crushing grip that lifted her off the ground.