The Black Death (A Medieval Action/Romance)

Chapter 22

Chapter 22

 

Her senses were going wild as she approached the royal bedroom, sword in hand and eyes cast into the darkness looking for any type of threat.

But the only thing she could sense was water trickling down the sides of the walls and the slippery slime beneath her boots which helped to conceal her presence but not her balance.

Turning to stand in front of the secret door which led to the royal chambers, Izzie took a moment to close her eyes, the image of her family forever burning behind her lids, she opened them up again with determination.

Pushing everything and everyone from her thoughts, she was surprised when she survived after killing Colt. She had always believed that she would die at his hands.

But maybe this was how she was supposed to die? By doing one good deed among many dark ones.

Isabelle refused to believe in fate; they each made their own in this world but she couldn't help but notice the irony that everything had led her to this point.

Letting her mind go blank, she tightened her grip on the hilt of her sword and pushed the ten inch thick secret door open and slipped out.

The stone scratched against the floor and it was useless to attempt a quiet entrance.

The moment she slipped out of the door, she felt her boots sink into the thick Persian rugs which littered the floor, and looked towards the bed, sword raised.

It was empty.

The bed sheets had been pulled back and there was an indent on the pillow where the Prince's head had been resting.

A shift in the air alerted her to someone's presence behind her. Turning swiftly, she barely missed the swing of a sword at her neck before she ducked and regained her balance.

It wasn't the Prince.

She'd been tricked.

Her lips curled back in anger, a scream ripping from her throat, as she kicked the man's sword from his hand and shoved him back against the wall; pressing her sword against his throat.

"Where's the prince!?" Izzie shouted but when he didn't respond quickly enough she kicked his knee out of joint.

The man let out a tortured scream, his body sagging to one side but she held him up with her sword under his chin, "Tell me now and I might consider sparing your life."

He just pulled his head back, teeth gritting against the pain, before he spat on her boot.

Izzie gazed at the slob of saliva running off the top of her boot and she let out a sigh, why did they always have to resist?

"This would be so much easier," Izzie told him as she lifted her saliva covered boot and pressed down on his dislocated knee, "if you just co-operated."

Leaning away from his screams, she watched the door open and another guard start to pour in from outside.

Lifting the dagger from her boot with her spare hand she grabbed it by the blade and sent it flying into the guards neck.

He crashed to the floor, blocking the door, gawping like a fish out of water as blood dribbled from his neck and stained the Persian rugs.

"Now," Izzie lifted her boot off the man's knee, his breathing heavy and laboured as his eyes watched the dying guard on the floor, "Let's start again. Where is the Prince?"

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