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He’s on me. Trapping me.

So, I bite his hand, tasting blood.

He curses, pulling back just enough for me to scream for help.

“No one’s coming,” he snarls, pushing me down again. “Your precious prince isn’t here to save you now. It’s just us, and no one here to see. Your word against mine. And I’m a pet of the queen, and queen trumps prince.”

And king trumps queen,I think as his hands move to my nightgown, tearing at it again. It rips further, cool air brushing across my skin, and something inside me snaps—an explosion of fury and determination.

I will not be a victim again.

So, my hand closes around the dagger strapped under my nightgown—he’ll eventually notice it there anyway, since he’s trying to tear my clothes off—determination coursing through my veins. Better to use it on him than for him to find it and use it on me.

“Henry,” I gasp, “don’t do this.”

He pauses, a cruel smile twisting his lips. “Begging already? Good girl. I knew I liked you.”

His grip loosens just enough for me to yank the dagger free and drive it up into his stomach.

Steel sinks through flesh, his blood spilling over my hand as he howls in pain, rearing back as crimson blossoms across his shirt.

“Are you out of your mind?” He scowls, clutching the wound. “I’ll kill you for that.”

But all I see is red as Aerix’s words echo in my mind.

If anyone ever tries to hurt you… then I want you to kill them. In the most painful way possible.

So, I lunge forward, tackling Henry to the floor and bringing my dagger down again, this time aiming for his throat. A savage roar builds in my chest, more feral than I thought possible.

He shifts under my weight, and I miss, getting him in the shoulder instead.

“You—” he chokes, blood bubbling from his lips. “You don’t understand?—“

“I understand perfectly,” I snarl, yanking the dagger free. “You. Don’t. Touch. Me.”

His struggles turn futile, his wide eyes brimming with terror.

“Listen,” he gasps, blood streaming between his fingers as he clutches the wound on his stomach. It’s soaking the rug, my knees squishing into it as I hover over him. “Katerina lied…”

“What are you talking about?” I demand, my body shaking, the dagger poised for another strike.

“Her brother,” he wheezes, his eyes starting to glaze over. “Never sent to the barns. They tried to escape. She made… a deal with Malakai.” His breathing grows more labored, each word a struggle. “Turned on… her brother… for safety. And Isla…”

“Isla?” My grip on the dagger tightens, remembering what Aerix said about how I should stick with Isla and Aurora. “What about her?”

“She was raised here,” Henry whispers, the words barely escaping his lips. “She’s not like us?—”

His body convulses, blood pooling beneath him, soaking into the rug. A wet gurgle leaves his throat, and we lock eyes—his wide with a final flicker of fear.

“Henry!” I shake him, panic threading through my rage. “What about Isla? How was she raised here?”

The rise and fall of his chest stops. His eyes, still open, stare sightlessly at the ceiling.

No.

Clutching the bloody dagger, I scramble back. My breath shudders. The metallic smell of blood fills the air, and my nightgown—what’s left of it—is streaked with red.

Henry’s dead. I killed him.