Page 145 of Heirs of the Cursed

Her friend knew where her sister was, but she needed to get to her and leave Bellmare for good if they were to stay alive.

Storing the letter inside her bag, Naithea slipped out of the store without looking back. She moved as silent as a ghost, her steps carrying her to the familiar structure of the brothel—a place that had both given her a chance to live and broken her in equal measure.

She breathed in the salty breeze one last time, before she walked through the entrance to reunite with her best friend. When the doors closed behind her, an icy darkness enveloped her and not even the flickering flames of the oil lamps were enough to comfort her.

In fear someone would hear her yells calling Jehanne, Naithea chose to stay silent as she scanned the halls and the rooms. Where once there had been four maids preparing the hetairas’ food, now there was only flour strewn across the counter and half-eaten dishes. The soldiers had gone to the brothel, searching for her and destroyed everything in their path when they realized she was gone.

The brothel was silent, empty.

Naithea’s footsteps echoed through the walls. She scoured it up and down in search of Jehanne, until the only place left was the circular parlor in which her mistress had whipped her.

Her hands hesitated on the door handles, but her heartbeat steadied just in time for Naithea to open the doors and step into the dark room. The icy moonlight seeped through the windows, past the dancing curtains . . .

The sound of the lock froze her in place.

“I’ve been waiting for you,” a deep voice resonated through the room.

Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, drowning out everything else. Memories of shared past danced like shadows in her mind, a painful reminder of the love they once cherished, now tainted by betrayal. Anxiety coiled tightly in her stomach, leaving her breathless. Naithea turned around slowly, and her lips lifted into a feline smile as the tip of the sword kissed her throat.

“I know. It took you long enough.”

Killian grinned back. “There’s something exciting about the hunt, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, taking a step forward as he took one back. “Am I the prey or the hunter?”

“I once said your loose mouth would make me cut out your tongue.”

“Perhaps you should have. Or better yet, you should have sent me to the gallows, and we wouldn’t be in this predicament.”

“It would have saved me a lot of wasted time,” he assured.

They both began to move. One foot after the other, in a circular motion that allowed Naithea to contemplate all possibilities; both escape and attack.

“Where’s my sister?”

“Which one do you mean?” Killian tilted his head. “Meissa or Jehanne?”

“You know perfectly well who I’m referring to.”

“I wonder . . . Who would you choose if you could only save one of them?”

Naithea didn’t answer. She couldn’t choose between the sister who loved her with all her heart and an innocent person. All she could do was hold the hilt of her sword tighter.

“You’re going to die tonight, Naithea,” Killian promised.

“She’s already dead.”

The prince stepped away, pulling the sword away from her skin to swing it over her and end the curse once and for all.

Just in time, Naithea unsheathed her own sword to parry the attack.

The sound of steel against steel echoed through the hall. Stars glittered in Killian’s midnight-blue eyes, accepting the challenge. With a scream growing in her throat, Naithea attacked. She lifted the sword her enemy had taught her to wield, prepared to cut him down and see his blood spilled on the ground as hers had been.

They plunged into a fight of emotions.

A fight born out of hatred.

Born out of betrayal.

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