Page 12

Aurora froze in shock, her arms heavy with the weight of the swords as memories flooded back to her. Even the illusion of him made her insides twist with nerves.

His eyes glowered at the man caught in the grasp of his guards, and with a swift movement, Midas thrust his golden dagger into the man’s chest. Aurora’s heart stopped at the sight, and she watched in horror as the man grunted and fell to the ground.

“No!” she screamed, dropping her swords and reaching for her bow and arrow.

The king held up his dagger, the blade slick with fresh blood, and Aurora felt the heat of fury rise within her. She aimed her arrow at his face, ready to avenge the life he’d just taken.

But before she could release the arrow, the king and his guards disappeared, leaving the village man gasping for breath on the ground.

Aurora ran toward him, her heart pounding against her ribcage as she dropped to her knees. The rough dirt and jagged stones cut into her leather pants, but she ignored it.

“I’m…” The man blinked up at her with wide eyes as he struggled to breathe. “I…”

She placed a hand over his bleeding chest, feeling the sticky warmth of his blood seeping through his shirt.

“Don’t try to speak,” she implored him, “just stay with me. I can still save you. Stay with me.”

The man tried to speak again, but only managed to cough up a spray of blood that spattered across Aurora’s clothes.

“Don’t let him win,” Aurora growled, pressing down on his chest. “If you die, he wins. We cannot let him win.”

The man’s hand reached out and clasped hers, his grip weakening. “He already did,” he gasped out. “He won when he took my daughter twenty years ago.”

A pang of anger and sadness stabbed at Aurora’s chest, and her eyes filled with tears. Nothing gutted Aurora more than watching a father fight for his daughter.

She took his hand in hers, her grip firm and reassuring. “Your daughter will be free one day,” she promised him, her voice trembling. “I give you my word.”

The man’s eyes closed, and his hand went limp in hers. A profound sense of sorrow stabbed at her chest, but she steeled herself, knowing she could not afford to fall apart.

She rose to her feet, her blood-covered hands balled into fists and her mind consumed with vengeance.

She was going to free every single girl that had ever been taken.

She was going to defeat King Midas.

If it was the last thing she did, she was going to break into that golden tower.

TRISTAN

As Tristan strode along the castle grounds, one of his advisors stopped him. “Your Majesty. We have news from the villages,” he rushed out the words. “None of the recruited men are skilled in combat. Without proper training, I fear that Midas’ army will surely overtake them.”

Tristan closed his hands into fists as he digested the news. He had promised to protect his people, but now it seemed like his promise was nothing but a hollow lie.

“Call a group of our best warriors back from the front lines and have them begin training immediately,” Tristan ordered. “They may use the castle courtyards. And tell the cooks to prepare food for them.”

He knew it was not a quick fix, but the plan seemed to reassure his advisor, at least for the moment.

The old man nodded. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

Tristan watched him go with a heavy heart. There was no time for training. The war had already begun. And if the new soldiers were unfit for battle, then Tristan was fighting a war he had already lost.

He needed help. And he knew exactly where to get it.

After packing some provisions in a sheepskin bag, he told one of his guards to bring a carriage. It was time to pay an old friend another visit.

On his way out to the carriage, Tristan spied Wendy, one of the maids who had been helping with the preparations for the ball. She wore a simple yellow dress, her rust-colored hair spilling over her shoulders. She looked up from a bouquet of flowers laid out on the table to meet his stare.

“Wendy,” he signed, giving her an appreciative smile. “You must be excited as well. It shall be an evening none of us shall forget.”