Page 47 of A Bond so Fierce and Fragile
It was the only thing holding her back now.
She was already broken, wasn’t she?
And according to the curse, she’d be dead soon anyway.
A flame of anger flickered to life within her, starting from her broken heart and burning hotter as it reached her lungs, then her ribs… then ignited all across her skin.
Her blurry vision cleared, the pain fading into the background as only one face remained before her eyes.
A face she’d hated for years.
A face that should have been comforting, familiar even…
A harsh hiss rushed through her teeth as the king’s smirk mocked her.
She might be broken…
She might even be half dead.
But she wouldn’t fucking go without a fight.
I won’t do it.
Her father had refused to yield in his last moment.
Neither would she.
The voices around her buzzed louder now, and she could make out a soft “What are you doing?” and “Lessia, please come sit down,” but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even look their way.
Instead, she searched the room for a larger stone, for something she could use…
There. A loose iron clamp, rusty and with a thick screw still in it, lay in one of the dark corners beside the door through which the king came in and out of.
She picked it up before she could second-guess herself.
Kneeling on the wet planks again, Lessia angled her hand, moving the cuff as far up her wrist as she could.
“Lessia!” Kerym screamed now. “Stop!”
“P-please, no,” her sister begged.
Even Thissian urged, “Don’t do this. Don’t let him break you.”
She didn’t look up at them as she lifted the clamp with her injured hand.
The wound’s jagged edges stared back at her, a reminder of the physical brokenness her accelerated healing permitted her to ignore, at least for now.
The funny thing was that the king had already broken her, hadn’t he?
She’d still not recovered from the years in his cellars.
She’d changed during the years in Ellow.
Then, during the election.
Then again, with Merrick.
All things the king set into motion.
