Page 44 of When Kings Fall

Not today.

I don’t have a weapon, just pure anger and a need to make this right. An image of Ben forcing me to end the guard's life earlier in the tunnel springs up and almost freezes me, but I’m lunging toward the guard, my mind working faster than it ever has. His neck is open to me. I bare my teeth, and like a woman gone mad, I bite down hard on his ear. His fists swing and connect with my sides, but I don’t loosen my hold on his ear; I bite down even harder.

The taste of blood floods my mouth, and he screams—a horrible, guttural sound that sends a shiver through me. I don’t care. I bite down harder, feeling the cartilage give way, tearing free in my mouth. I spit it out, blood spraying across the floor.

He’s on his knees now, whimpering, hands raised in a pathetic attempt to protect himself. But I won't stop. I can’tafford to stop. Not when everything is on the line. I rush him again, and his eyes widen, and for the first time, I see fear. I bend at the last second, and I grab the gun from his holster, my hands trembling as I press the barrel to his forehead. It was all so quick, and I’m ready to smile; I’ve actually overpowered him. I’ve done it. But now what?

For a moment, I hesitate. Just a moment. His eyes are wide, terrified. He’s mumbling something, trying to beg, but I can’t hear him over the sound of my own heartbeat thundering in my ears. I’m thinking of the knife sinking into the guard's side, knowing I took his life. My finger squeezes the trigger; I can do it again; I can make this right. Sweat drips off my forehead as I battle with my morals.

And then—I bring the gun down, slamming the end into his temple. Once, twice, again, and again until his body slumps to the floor, unconscious. I’m panting, chest heaving, my vision swimming with the rush of adrenaline.He’s down. I did it.

But the victory is short-lived. The room tilts violently, and I stumble back, my legs buckling beneath me. I press a hand to my head, trying to steady myself, but the dizziness is overwhelming.Not now. Not now.

With a trembling hand, I wipe sweat from my eyes and watch the guard on the floor. I should be leaving, running but some part of me needs to know he’s alive. I see the rise and fall of his chest, and it’s good enough for me.

I stagger to the door, forcing my feet to move, forcing myself to stay upright. I can’t stop now. Diarmuid needs me.

The hallway beyond is long, dimly lit, stretching out like some kind of nightmare. Every step I take feels like a battle, my legs heavy and clumsy, my head throbbing with every movement. I drag my hand along the wall, trying to keep myself steady, but it’s no use. The world spins and spins, and I feel like I’m going to collapse.

I catch sight of myself in a mirror hanging on the wall, and the image stops me dead in my tracks. For a moment, I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me.

Blood drips from my chin; my hair is wild and matted; my eyes are hollow and wide. I look… I look likeAmira.

The realization hits me like a punch to the gut, freezing me in place.Amira. The woman I swore I’d never become. The woman who let her pain consume her, turning her into a monster.

I’m not like her.I’m not.

But when I look at myself now, I see her. I see what I could become.

I tear my gaze away from the mirror, forcing my legs to move. I can’t afford to be her. Not now. Not when Diarmuid is waiting for me. I push forward, each step a struggle, the pain in my head worsening with every second. But I won't stop. I can’t stop.

Finally, in front of me is the door to the chapel, like a beacon guiding me home. I run the back of my hand across my forehead again, catching more sweat that has turned cold on my forehead. I reach the door to the chapel. I press my ear to the wood, listening for any sound. Inside, I can hear Victor’s voice, cold and commanding. My heart pounds, and I slowly push the door open, slipping inside without making a sound. Victor has his back to me; everyone is facing forward, and no one notices.

Diarmuid is there.God. He’s kneeling at the front, his hands bound behind him, his head bowed low. The sight of him like this—so still, so vulnerable—it makes my chest ache. He’s surrounded by men, shadows lurking in the corners, watching, waiting.

I duck down quickly as Victor turns, and I slip under the nearest pew, my heart racing. I need to get closer. I need to be ready.

Victor stands before him, towering over him like some kind of dark angel of death, and I know—this is it.This is the moment.They’re going to kill him.

The stone floor is rough against my palms as I crawl forward, inching my way toward the front. Victor’s voice fills the room, dripping with malice as he talks about loyalty and betrayal. I grit my teeth, my body tense with anger, but I keep moving.

I’m almost at the front when a shadow falls over me. I freeze, heart stopping in my chest. No. Please, no.

A pair of boots step down just inches from my face. I don’t breathe. I don’t move. If I make even the slightest sound, I’ll be caught.And then it’s all over.

The man doesn’t see me. He moves on, and I let out a silent breath, my heart hammering so hard I’m sure they’ll hear it.

I keep going, every inch agonizingly slow, every second stretched thin with fear. Another step, another pause. The men are everywhere. One wrong move, one small sound, and it’s over.

But I don’t stop.

Finally, I’m at the front. Diarmuid is just a few feet away, still on his knees, his head bowed low. The sight of him like this—it nearly breaks me. But I can’t let it. I won’t.I can’t lose him.

I glance to the left and see Niamh. She’s standing with the others, pale, but her eyes are on me. She knows I’m here. Of course, she does.

Without a word, I push the gun in front of me, letting her see it. She pales even further and looks forward, and I’m ready to cry out; I need you Niamh. She’s so close to Diarmuid she could help. When I’m ready to move a little more, she glances at me, and something flashes in her gaze before she gives the briefest of nods.

I tighten my grip around the handle of the gun; it’s lying flat, and with a swift motion, send it spinning across the stone floor—Victor’s voice and the men’s mumbling in agreement block outthe sound of the gun. My heart is in my throat as I watch it slide—too fast, too wild. If it stops too soon, if it makes too much noise, if anyone sees—

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