Page 100 of Captive Bride

“Isobel!” he exclaims.

“Theo, please,” she says, coming to a stop before him. “Please call this off. It doesn’t have to be this way!”

“It didn’t have to,” he says. “Why did you do it, Isobel? What the fuck were you thinking?”

“Please,” she begs. “I love him, Theo! Please just go, we can forget all of this.”

He sneers, throwing his cigarette to the ground before stomping it out with one well-polished boot.

“You love him? Jesus Christ, Isobel! You think I’m going to leave here, that I’m going to dishonor myself and our family, all because you’ve got a crush?”

“Please!” she yells again, reaching for his hand.

He shoves her arms away, denying her even that.

“No,” he spits out, teeth gritted in anger. “This is happening. This has been a long time coming. I’m going to kill him, your precious Tristan.”

“Theo—”

“I want you to know something, though. That even if I fail, even if I die right here, you will never be with him. Our family will never let you. We’ll get you back,” he spits. “One way or another, and you will marry the Governor as planned. It’s your father’s will, and there’s no escaping that.”

Her head hangs down in defeat, sobs visibly racking her body.

My heart aches fiercely at the sight.

Theo ignores her entirely, instead turning to face me. His lips pull back into a smile that screams of bloodshed.

“Ready, Montague?” he asks, turning from his cousin, walking deeper into the field.

I nod once to Benny and Merc, signaling that I am.

Isobel lifts her head to look at me, defeat blazing through her eyes.

All of her hope seems to leave her body in that instant, and I know she finally understands. There was never stopping this. This was preordained.

Our families would have brought us to this point sooner or later, Theo and I. There’s nothing for it.

One of us is going to die.

I offer her a thin smile as I head after her cousin.

The gathered Capulets and Montagues follow behind, positioning themselves around the field when they arrive.

This moment is unspeakably important to both families, the results of it carrying real weight.

Theo and I meet in the center of the field, each staring murder at the other.

“I’ll kill you for what you’ve done to her,” he spits at me.

I say nothing in return. What is there to say?

We turn in unison, a designated counter announcing our steps.

Twenty steps, that’s all that stands between one of us and death.

“EIGHTEEN!”

I redouble my grip on my gun.

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