Page 165 of Blackheart

She smacked me across the face, scowling at the hurt it caused her own hand. I was too angry to feel pain—too stunned to care about anything other than escaping.

“If you kill us, Xavian is going to hunt you down and string you up like forest game,” I warned.

She rubbed her palms together. “I owe Xavian Steele and our friend Ansel a present. Killing you would be too easy.”

Riven’s eyes darkened as he struggled against the cuffs.

“Xavian’s not much of a gift person.”

She was not amused by my response. Instead, she locked me in her sights.

“Your brother will watch me win. An heir for an heir, Blackheart.”

My brows knitted together in confusion. We had no heirs to give, nor had we taken hers. What had happened to Princess Clayvarie was terrible, but a crime I did not commit.

“I don’t have any heirs.”

She slid her hand along the table once more before turning to the door, giving the anti-healer a nod. “And you never will.”

Ansel’s head shot up. “Touch her, and you’re dead,” he warned.

The false healer paid him no attention as he began setting tools out along the table. A guard held the door open for Delaina as Riven yanked wildly against his cuffs.

“I’m returning north, but I highly anticipate hearing all about Xavian’s tantrum when you return to him spayed, just before I take my lands back,” Delaina called as she headed out.

“You worthless, spiteful bitch!” I screeched, voice cracking. “You cannot cage people and be anything but evil. You are irredeemable! You are a murderer!” The door had already closed, but I prayed my voice followed. “You are the one with a warped mind! You are the one with ablack heart!”

My chest rose and fell rapidly. Riven and I locked eyes, his anger rivaling my growing fear.

This was my legacy. There was so much I couldn’t do, but growing our bloodline was supposed to be my opportunity.

My arms trembled as the man pulled out a knife, similar to those used to prepare fish.

I frantically thrashed away from the blade, but there was nowhere to go.

Riven jerked against his restraints like a wild animal, cursing the man and his honor. Every threat in the book was thrown out, but the false healer did not waver.

I’d been scared before, but now I was petrified.

Ansel scanned the room, cursing himself as he tried to think.

“I’m so sorry, Elora,” he croaked as the blade entered me.

Burning met tearing agony as he began the procedure. There was nothing I could do to stop it.

I tried to cry out, but it was not my voice that screeched from within my soul.

It was my bloodline.

Every woman who had come before me—the royals on my father's side that had endured birthing heirs, and the Blackhearts on my mother’s side who’d done the same. My ancestors cried out with me, their wrath unrelenting.

“The river of our blood does not end here!”

My legs shook uncontrollably, teeth jamming together.

The screams became louder.

“The river of our bloodline does not end here!”