Page 107 of Blood and Fate

“Protect the Princess! Protect the King!” Henrik shouted as he pulled Satori roughly from the room.

Satori could see guards ushering her father from the room as the people who had gathered for the ceremony attempted to disperse, running from the room to find hiding places. Satori’s gaze flashed to Tessa, whose terrified eyes watched the doors as she pulled desperately at her bonds only to swing slightly on her toes.

CHAPTER FORTY

SATORI

“Wait!” Satori dug in her heels, trying to stop Henrik. “Tessa!”

Henrik ignored her pleas, dragging her through a doorway and hauling her as quickly as he could up the stairs.

“Where are we going?” Satori cried using her other hand to try to break the vise-like grip Henrik had on her. “Henrik! We have to get to the safe room!”

Henrik didn’t break his stride as he pulled her along to her room. “Don’t worry, Princess, I’ll be sure to keep you safe.”

“Who is that? Who’s here? Did you set up an attack on the castle?”

He’d already had her kidnapped once. Why not have the whole castle attacked?

He pushed open her door and shoved her into the room, slamming the door closed behind him. He locked the door and placed the heavy wooden beam across it to bar it as well. Satori backed away. If Henrik had ordered the attack, he wouldn’t have to be so concerned.

He spun around to face her. “No, Princess, I did not order this attack.” He stalked toward her. “This is undoubtedly your little band of rebel friends from the forest, here to take their revenge since I killed their leader.” Henrik shouted the word killed and she jumped, backing away farther.

She looked toward the door, the sounds of battle were barely distinguishable in her room with the door bolted. Was it really Teague and his men? She glanced to where Henrik still stalked in her direction, almost directly in front of her, and then to the door behind him. If she could make it out of the room and down the stairs to them... But what if it wasn’t Teague? What if whoever was there was there to take over the castle? To take advantage of the distraction of the wedding and kill the King and herself? She tossed another glance at Henrik. Would it matter? Would it be so different being their prisoner or his? Maybe they would kill her and get it over with.

She flung herself toward the door. Did she really have a chance? Probably not, but she would try. She lunged and was brought up short by an arm around her waist. He caught her, lifting her from her feet and twirling her back around. He strode to the bed and threw her down, the force causing her to bounce across the mattress.

“Allow me to share something with you, Princess,” Henrik snarled over her. “I have no intention of allowing this day to pass or anyone to get their hands on you before this marriage is consummated.”

She scrambled backward toward the head of the bed, but it was no use. Henrik pounced, jumping onto her, his legs straddling her hips. She beat at him, but he caught her hands in his grip, pinning them to the pillow above her head. He moved her wrists together, clamping them down with one hand as his other found the skirts of her dress and began pulling at them, freeing them from beneath his legs.

Her heart thumped wildly, and a wave of anger so fierce it seemed to heat her blood washed through her. She was done. Done being a victim of this man. Done allowing other people to dictate her life.

Henrik had managed to tear her skirts, exposing her bare legs. She was barely aware of his hand sliding up her thigh as she drew in a breath, allowing resolve and the red-hot anger to fill her. With all the energy she could muster, she began thrashing, screaming with the force of her effort. As Henrik grunted and shouted curses at her, she twisted her upper body left and right, pulling at where his hand held hers.

And then, for one moment, she was free. She used all the strength she could rally to fling herself over the edge of the bed. Undeterred, Henrik gave in, allowing her to turn only to push her along, climbing on top of her from behind.

At that moment, she didn’t care. Nothing else mattered—nothing except the cool braided leather curled in her fist. Tears sprang from her eyes as relief flooded through her. Quickly, she pulled herself together. Henrik had his pants undone, and she could feel his flesh pressed against hers.

She gave a final prayer to Shala and Miram, who she wasn’t sure were even on her side, but if they were, she needed all the help she could get. She tightened her grip on the handle of the whip and brought it in an arc around the back of her head.

Henrik let out a loud, pained grunt as the stiff leather connected with his head, knocking him to the side. It was enough for Satori to roll beneath him, and enough distraction for her to wrap the long end of the rope around Henrik’s neck and pull.

Henrik’s eyes bulged in shock and pain as she flung another length around his head and pulled. His hands released her, his fingers going to the leather around his neck as he grasped and clawed. But it was no use, she pulled so tight he couldn’t get any hold of it. Satori leaned back and planted one foot in the middle of his chest, pushing there as she wrapped the ends of the whip around her fingers and heaved backward.

She barely registered the pain in her hands as she let the hot anger pour from her. Henrik’s face had turned purple, his eyes bulging, his expression pure shock, and then his eyes closed, and his body went limp. Still she pulled and pulled, unwilling to release him too early, or to allow him to breathe again.

She strained and heaved, squeezing her eyes shut as she sobbed. The sobs shook her shoulders and pained her throat, but she held on. This man would never touch her again. Never hurt her friends. Never harm her father. He would pay for killing the man she loved.

Distantly, she became aware of a pounding, thick wood meeting thick wood. She pried her eyes open even as the door across the room buckled, a hinge tearing from the wall, followed by another. The door crashed in as a man, clad in black, sword drawn, rushed through the opening.

She was hallucinating. She had gone mad from the anger, the fight, the life she had taken. She’d lost her mind.

He was rushing to her side, slowing only as he approached her. He tossed his sword to the floor. Bringing his hands up in front of him, he stepped toward her again. His chest heaved in and out with his breaths.

Satori couldn’t speak. Her eyes wide, her mouth open in shock as he approached and sat softly on the edge of the bed.

CHAPTER-FORTY-ONE

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