Page 150 of Bloodguard

There’s curt pounding at the bedroom door. I’m out of time. “Nightshade,” I say one last time. I lift her and place her on the owl’s back, where she happily begins rooting through its neck feathers for mites to snack on. “Be careful,” I whisper.

And they’re gone.

Soro tries to open the doors, meeting resistance from the dresser placed in front of it. He shoves it hard, forcing his way in.

He greets me with a scowl. “Did you seriously think you could keep me out?”

“No,” I say. “I just seriously think you’re an asshole.”

He starts toward me, but it’s the man behind him who holds my attention—Tut, with his long axe draped over his shoulder. I used to respect him. Now, I only see him as I do Ugeen—an opportunist who sold his soul to Soro.

His tusks are so long, they’ve begun to curl at the tips. And in the time since he shoved that stupid bag over my head and dragged me here, he’s had time to file them to very sharp points.

“Tut will be your bodyguard,” Soro says, not bothering to so much as smile.

“Bodyguard or prison guard?” I ask, glaring at both of them.

Soro ignores my question. “Call him what you wish. He’ll see to it that you remain where I tell you to be.” He places a proprietary hand on Tut’s shoulder. Soro looks ridiculous, given how much taller and more muscular Tut is.

I cross my arms. “Tut is here to enforce your orders?”

“Yes,” Soro agrees like it’s obvious.

I inch forward. “Then order him to kill me. I will obey you.”

Soro is too damn fast.

He hits me so hard, my head slams into the floor with a thud. I fight to not lose consciousness, and with great effort, I pry my eyes open.

“You know I can’t order him to kill you without losing my own life, Maeve. I’ll find a way to get rid of you, rest assured, but first I need an heir to keep the throne.” He shakes his head in disgust. “You could have made this easier. We could have worked as one.” He huffs. “You never should have denied me.”

My hands press into the cool stone as I push up, then stand. “I deny you now, like I denied you then. Not because of Leith but because of who you are.” I circle him, spitting out my words and wiping away the blood pooling at the corner of my mouth. “You think yourself so grand, so deserving, but you’ll always be second-best, and no crown or throne will ever change that.”

I don’t fall when Soro strikes me this time. Mostly because there’s a stone wall nearby that I lean into for balance. I lock my knees to keep from sliding to the floor and wipe my mouth on the back of my hand.

“Do I get to die after the first heir?” I ask him, pushing away from the wall. “How many children would you like? Ten, twenty? Girls or boys?” I’m being sarcastic, of course. Elves as a species, like mages and shifters, have trouble conceiving. My guess is that it’s a trade-off for a long lifespan.

I fluff my hair as if Soro’s blows were nothing.

He studies me for a moment, eyes scanning me from head to toe, then approaches slowly, stopping to bend and whisper in my ear. “You know what?” Lust wets his words, making me sick. “Blood and bruises aside, you are exceptionally beautiful. If it weren’t for your tongue and your bite, you could be more than a bitch to use as I please.” He loses his small smile. “Clean yourself up. I won’t be embarrassed by my future wife.”

He leaves me with Tut, but not before slamming the door behind him.

Tut edges forward, and I back up, looking for something to use as a weapon.

His thick eyebrows rise to his fuzzy hairline when I reach for the oil lamp.

“Touch me, and I’ll set you on fire,” I warn, holding the lamp out between us like a weapon. “I don’t care if I burn along with you.”

He pauses. I can’t gauge if he’ll attack or if I should attack him first. I steel myself, waiting for anything, prepared for everything.

Or so I thought.

Tut shakes his large, heavy head and walks to the window, the taut muscles on his leathery legs bulging as he sits on the wide sill and places the double-headed war axe down beside him. He’s in his usual blue armor. The green leather belts across his broad chest stretch as he lifts his arm to fiddle with the end of the axe handle.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he says slowly.

“Which part? Killing my family? Torturing Leith of Grey? Or murdering Vitor?”

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