Page 15 of A Bond so Fierce and Fragile (Compelling Fates Saga #3)

Twisting, she found the hand she’d damaged looking white—pale—as if she’d managed to drain all blood from it, and although the wound had already started closing, the part of her that was Fae trying to save her, it would leave a nasty scar.

The blood, though, made her wrist and hand slippery, and she could barely believe it when she tugged at the iron cuff around it and her hand began to fall out.

The pain was so intense that Lessia bit her cheek until it also bled.

But she didn’t stop.

Not until the hand, which appeared to barely hang on, even if she could somehow still clench and unclench her fingers, was free from the chains.

Falling over onto her back, she panted, thinking she heard one of the others speaking, but it was as if their voices couldn’t reach her, her ears filled with too much pain.

Lessia looked at her other hand and tugged at the shackles around it, then realized it was useless.

The chain the cuffs were bound to was fastened to the middle of the room, and although it gave her a much wider berth than she’d had before, she wouldn’t be able to leave the space.

She stared at the hand again.

It was the only thing holding her back now.

She was already broken, wasn’t she?

And according to the curse, she’d be dead soon anyway.

A flame of anger flickered to life within her, starting from her broken heart and burning hotter as it reached her lungs, then her ribs… then ignited all across her skin.

Her blurry vision cleared, the pain fading into the background as only one face remained before her eyes.

A face she’d hated for years.

A face that should have been comforting, familiar even…

A harsh hiss rushed through her teeth as the king’s smirk mocked her.

She might be broken…

She might even be half dead.

But she wouldn’t fucking go without a fight.

I won’t do it.

Her father had refused to yield in his last moment.

Neither would she.

The voices around her buzzed louder now, and she could make out a soft “What are you doing?” and “Lessia, please come sit down,” but she couldn’t. She couldn’t even look their way.

Instead, she searched the room for a larger stone, for something she could use…

There. A loose iron clamp, rusty and with a thick screw still in it, lay in one of the dark corners beside the door through which the king came in and out of.

She picked it up before she could second-guess herself.

Kneeling on the wet planks again, Lessia angled her hand, moving the cuff as far up her wrist as she could.

“Lessia!” Kerym screamed now. “Stop!”

“P-please, no,” her sister begged.

Even Thissian urged, “Don’t do this. Don’t let him break you.”

She didn’t look up at them as she lifted the clamp with her injured hand.

The wound’s jagged edges stared back at her, a reminder of the physical brokenness her accelerated healing permitted her to ignore, at least for now.

The funny thing was that the king had already broken her, hadn’t he?

She’d still not recovered from the years in his cellars.

She’d changed during the years in Ellow.

Then, during the election.

Then again, with Merrick.

All things the king set into motion.

But just because she was broken… it didn’t mean she was useless.

She just wasn’t the same as she’d been growing up.

She was something new.

Something forged in pain.

Something born out of guilt.

Something bound by love.

Because every broken piece that remained now was just that…

Bound by love.

Unlike the king, what had kept her going all these years was love.

It was love that kept her together even when everything inside her seemed to shatter.

It was love that would make her do what she planned to do next.

It was also love—the love she held for her parents, the love she held for Frelina, the love she held for Amalise and Ardow, even the love she held now for Raine and Kerym, and it was especially the love she held for Merrick—that made her remain silent as she let the iron clamp fall onto her hand.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Until not just her broken heart’s thumping reverberated against the wooden walls but also the crushing of the bones in her hand.

The others cried now.

She could hear more sobs joining her sister’s—strangled, horrible sounds that shouldn’t come from warriors like the ones in this room.

Still, she didn’t look their way as she wrangled her broken hand out of the cuff.

Instead, she whispered, “I love you. I love you so much. Please, please don’t let him die too,” and with the bloodied hand—the hand that mirrored how she felt, battered but unbowed—she pressed open the creaking door and sneaked up the stairs, keeping her broken one tucked against her chest.

She could feel it now.

The tug of fate.

This…

Her end…

It had been inevitable.

Her father had bought her time, hiding her away.

Loche had bought her time, forgetting her.

Merrick had bought her time, training and protecting and loving her.

But now it was up to her.

She would die today, but so would the king.

Lessia didn’t bother forcing the face of Merrick, Frelina, or any of the others she loved out of her mind.

This would hurt them, but the alternative was worse.

They’d understand like she understood why her father had done what he did.

Merrick… The others would keep him alive. She had to believe they wouldn’t let him fall in the darkness of despair.

I love you.

She whispered it every time she climbed another step, until she reached the top of the empty stairs.

A manic smile pulled up her lips when she saw a sword resting against the corridor wall leading out to the deck, where she could hear voices drifting toward her.

Despite her hand still bleeding, her fingers nearly numb, she gripped the hilt.

Perhaps fate wasn’t so bad after all.