Page 213 of Royal Rebel

Imara’s pulse hammered in her ears. Her fear was real as she asked, “Is there poison on the dart?”

“Yes. It only needs to break your skin. One prick. That’s all, and it will be over.”

Imara trembled; she clutched her cane more desperately.

Help wasn’t coming soon enough. Razan wasn’t stirring.

She was about to die.

“Please,” Imara breathed. “Don’t shoot it. That will hurt more. Just . . . can you cut my palm with it instead?”

If he would unload the dart, she might have a chance. He would step closer—within striking distance of her cane. She could scream. Her guards would come quickly—she and Razan might both survive.

Jekem hesitated. “You won’t struggle?”

“No,” she said tremulously, allowing tears to show in her eyes. “I just don’t want it to hurt.”

Jekem’s jaw flexed. The crossbow lowered slightly, but he didn’t take out the dart. With his free hand, he reached into his pocket, pulling out something wrapped in soft leather. With a flick of his wrist, one side of the leather fell, revealing two more darts.

Imara’s lungs froze.

Crossbow still trained on her, Jekem lifted the other two darts. “Step forward and hold out your hand,” he said. “Then this will be over. I promise.”

Imara’s muscles locked. She couldn’t even draw a final breath. She took a step forward, imagining what it would feel like for that dart to tear into her body.

She didn’t have any final words. None that she could speak aloud, anyway.

I love you too, Desfan. From the very beginning, I think I loved you.

She met Jekem’s stare and held out her palm.

Jekem’s attention dropped to her hand.

The second his focus shifted, Imara swung her cane. Balanced on her good leg, she almost fell—but the cane struck his arm, and the crossbow was knocked to the floor.

“Help!” she screamed.

Jekem cursed and grabbed for her. She swung her cane again, but he grabbed it and tore it out of her hand. Imara staggered, her shoulder crashing into the doorframe.

Jekem threw the cane and lurched forward.

In the sitting room, doors banged open.

Imara cried out as Jekem grasped her arm, his hard fingers bruising her skin. “I’m sorry,” he said, lifting the remaining two darts clutched in his hand. He stabbed downward, aiming for the exposed skin of her inner arm, right above where he held her.

She jerked against his hold—the first dart grazed skin, but didn’t break it. The second scraped a little deeper, making her gasp.

Arms snared Imara from behind, yanking her back against a strong chest. One she knew far too well.

Desfan.

His harsh breath grated against her ear and he clutched her so firmly, she couldn’t breathe.

Karim shot past them and wrestled with Jekem.

“The darts!” Imara gasped. “They’re poisoned!”

Karim spun, barely dodging Jekem’s furious swipe.

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