Page 137 of Bound By Darkness

Ruairi’s jaw tightens, his breath ragged.

Aoife steps forward, dagger in hand.

I watch her, unshaken, unwavering, every bit the queen she was always meant to be.I’ve never seen anything more powerful.

Aoife

I should feel guilty.

The blade rests in my palm, its cold weight a reminder of what I’ve chosen to do.What I’ve become.The room smells of damp stone and fear, the air so thick I can almost taste the tension.Ruairi sits bound in the chair before me, his head slumped forward, his breathing ragged.My twin.My blood.The other half of me, whose shadow I’ve spent my entire life living in.

And here I am, about to prove once and for all that I’m just as worthy.

The pendulum swings in the shadows above us.Its steady rhythm echoes the pounding in my chest, a reminder of how little time I have.I trace the edge of the blade with my thumb, watching the light flicker across its surface.One slice.One mark to show him I’m not the same girl he’s always underestimated.

“Do it,” Eamon’s voice murmurs from the corner.Smooth, steady, unrelenting.He’s the devil on my shoulder, the man who saw in me what Ruairi never could.

Strength.Ambition.Fire.

Ruairi lifts his head slowly, his bloodshot eyes locking onto mine.He doesn’t plead.He doesn’t flinch.He just stares at me with that infuriating mix of defiance and pity, like he still thinks I’m a child playing at a dangerous game.

“You don’t have to do this, Aoife,” he says, his voice hoarse but steady.“You’re not like him.”

I laugh, though it tastes bitter on my tongue.“And what am I like, Ruairi?A good little girl?The obedient twin?The one you keep locked away while you play king?”

His jaw tightens, and I see it—the crack in his armor.My words hurt more than the blade ever could.

“You’re better than this,” he whispers, his voice softer now.Almost pleading.

But I’m not.

I press the blade against his skin, and he winces, though he doesn’t try to pull away.My hand trembles.Not because I can’t do it, but because I know this moment will change everything.

“Better?”I whisper, my voice breaking.“Better doesn’t survive in our world, Ruairi.You taught me that.”

The pendulum swings lower, its hiss slicing through the silence.Eamon shifts in the shadows, waiting, watching.

But tonight, I’m not here to be his equal.I’m here to take the throne.

I tighten my grip, my voice steadier.“You’re right, Ruairi.”

He blinks, his expression caught between shock and confusion.

“I’m not like him.And I’m not like you either.”

Before anyone can react, I spin, the dagger flashing in the light, a streak of silver cutting through the air.

Eamon’s sharp intake of breath is the only sound before I lunge, pinning him against the wall with the tip of my knife at his throat.His eyes, dark and unreadable, widen in something I’ve never seen before.

“What the—” Eamon hisses, his voice cutting off as I press the blade harder against his skin.

“No more games,” I say, my voice cold and commanding.

Ruairi struggles against his restraints, his voice ragged with frustration.“Aoife, what the hell are you doing?”

I don’t look at him.My gaze stays locked on Eamon, who tilts his head slightly, his lips curling into a slow, dangerous smile.The blade hums with quiet menace, its edge a whisper of promises unspoken.And this time, I’m the one holding it.

Eamon looks between me and Ruairi, a slow, humorless smirk spreading across his lips."Well played, Aoife."His voice is controlled, but there’s venom beneath it.

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