Page 49 of Adoringly, Edward
He wasn’t a weapons enthusiast like his friend, Charles. He didn’t even keep knives on his person like Barnaby. He had books and stars, neither of which would help him right now.
His pulse pounded through his veins as his grip tightened on his dagger, not knowing if the blade within the sheath was sharp or dull.
With his other hand, he patted his pockets for his key and finally found it in his trousers. Had he locked the door? He couldn’t recall if he’d had the chance in his excitement to read Vivienne’s letter.
Clara?the voice inside his head trembled to ask.
He was bigger than her. Stronger, too. She would never be able to get close enough to injure him if he fought back. But…that was on a good day. His body was still healing.
The door rattled. Locked.
Panic consumed him as he tucked his dagger into his waistband and tugged the sheets off his bed. His hands shook as he worked to tie them together and then next around the leg of his bed.
The door handle rattled again, this time sounding as if something metal scraped against it.
Rather than staying to find out who the person was on the opposite end of the door, Edward threw open the window, inhaling sharply as cold air smashed into his face. He grabbed onto the bed sheets and tossed one leg over the side of the sill,followed by the other, until he scaled down the palace wall with shaky, unstable limbs.
Riiiip!
Edward cried out as he found himself suspended in the air for mere moments until the fabric caught again. His body smashed against the side of the stone wall, violently jarring him enough for his grip to fail him, and he plummeted the rest of the way to the ground.
He groaned as he pushed himself to his hands and knees onto half-frozen mud. His entire body ached from the impact, and a shivering chill set into his bones.
But somehow, he managed to climb to his feet and glance up at the open window far above him. The blood drained from his face as a head peeked out, their attention quickly honing on him. They wore a leather guardsman helmet that shrouded their features, but the person’s shoulders were distinctly masculine.
If it wasn’t Clara, then who was after him? An assassin?
The man threw a rope over the side of the window. Edward gasped as he turned and sprinted in the opposite direction, not entirely knowing where he was going when he wasn’t familiar with the palace grounds. In the extreme darkness of midnight, he quickly lost the path. His clothing caught on brambles like teeth trying to snap him up in its maw.
The first thing he should have done was find a palace guard. But considering one now chased him through tall trees and unforgiving branches, he didn’t dare turn back toward the castle, not knowing who was a friend and who was an enemy.
Feet crashed through the underbrush behind him, gaining on him by the second. Breaths wheezed in and out of his weak lungs. His heart beat far too quickly, threatening to collapse on him and spill him onto the forest floor. Weakness plagued his body. But somehow, he kept running as fast as his ailing body would carry him.
Something slammed into him from behind, hardly giving him any warning before he crashed to the ground, skidding over mud and roots and hidden cobblestone.
He rolled over onto his back, only to halt when something cold pressed against his neck.
“You were always slower than the other children,” a voice snarled above him. “It seems as if nothing has changed.”
Edward wheezed, his fingers desperately clawing for escape. But the blade against his throat pressed hard enough for him to cease his efforts. Quick, frosty breaths escaped his mouth, clouding his view of the man pinning him down, threatening him with a sharp dagger.
“It never had to end this messily,” his attacker growled. “But now you give me no choice.”
The man shifted as if he were about to drag the weapon across his throat, but then something else tackled him to the ground.
Edward gasped in air the moment the blade left his neck. He rolled onto his feet and struggled to stand. For a moment, his heart stopped as he found Vivienne standing several paces away in her nightgown and bare feet, a bloody knife in her hand. His attacker was doubled over, the back of his shoulder covered in blood.
“Vivi!” He scrambled toward her and reached out a hand, but before he touched her, the attacker launched to his feet, grabbed Vivienne around the neck, and pressed the knife against her throat.
No!he screamed in his mind.Not her. Not her!
“Stop!” he cried, lifting a cautioning hand. “Release her. You can have me. Please.Please.”
Edward’s fingers brushed against the dagger he wore tucked in his waistband, but he didn’t draw it. Not yet. Not while Vivienne’s life was in danger.
“But now there’s a witness, isn’t there?” The man squeezed her tighter around the shoulders until she grunted in pain.
Suddenly, Edward’s blood ran cold, his jaw hanging agape as he finally recognized the man’s face, the man’s voice. “Uncle Maxwell?” he gasped.
