Page 118 of Bloodguard

I back away in the direction of the open bedroom.

It doesn’t make a difference. It’s already too late to hide. The door opens.

A royal guard with dark hair stands in the doorway, eyeing me like something he’d rather taste than respect. He leans against the frame, rubbing his jaw as he takes in my barely covered body. “Good morning, Princess.”

A second guard laughs and joins him. His hair is all silver and hangs in two braids past his waist. Now a third with deep-red hair waits just outside the door.

Fear should incapacitate me. I’m a woman, and these men can’t wait to hurt me in the most sadistic of ways.

But I won’t be afraid.

Not in my own home.

And not when my family needs me.

“Get out,”I hiss.

They laugh, crossing the threshold into my cottage.

“I don’t think we will, Princess.” The first man reaches for the collar of my nightgown, and I smack his hand away.

The dark-haired guard sidles up behind me, leaning close to whisper in my ear. “Guess what? We just broke down the doors of the manor.” He drops his voice. “How shall we celebrate?”

He yanks me by my hair and slams me against my workstation. The sharp and painful blow spills blood from my nose.

“Tie her up,” the red-haired one instructs. “Our future king is waiting.”

Invading my home was their first mistake.

Making me bleed is their second.

Not securing me hard enough is their third.

Andtheir last.

My heart pounds against the table, my body ready to respond with the skills Vitor himself ingrained in me.

Fight anyone who tries to hurt you, he told me.Fight dirty. Make them bleed. Make them pay.

I wait for the guard to reposition himself.

And then, like Vitor taught me, I make him pay.

I break free and snatch the two very long knives hidden beneath my table and whirl. The first knife slices across the neck of the dark-haired soldier who held me down. The kill should have been instant, but it’s not deep enough. Blood gurgles between his fingers as he stumbles back. The second, I flip in my hand and plunge deep into the other man’s groin. He collapses, screaming, the color draining from his face to match his pale silver braids.

The one with red hair jumps from my reach and circles back, punching me in the face. Throbbing pain overwhelms me as my back slams against the wall.

I choke on blood and swipe my face.

The dark-haired guard comes at me again. I step away from his swinging arm and the punch that follows. I can tell he’s losing blood fast. I drop into a crouch and rebound upward with a fist. The guard’s head snaps back, skin and armor stained a gruesome shade of red, and he falls unconscious to the ground.

I dive into the bedroom and reach for the sword I keep under the mattress.

Strong hands clasp my ankles, pulling me out from beneath the bed and dragging me across the floor. I throw my weight to the side, spinning and breaking the soldier’s hold.

I can’t confidently fight him hand to hand. The man is bulkier and better trained than I.

Except my hands are no longer empty.

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