Page 167 of Blackheart

They both stopped and stared at the cloth stuffed between my legs, Riven with his shirt off and knife clenched in hand, Ansel holding lightning in his grasp, and finally, the dead body.

Amzee shifted her weight. “Did we just walk in on some weird sex thing?”

Riven grimaced.

“No,” I answered firmly.

“The Princess needs a healer,” Riven grumbled, walking over to the table. He gave Ansel a menacing glare before cradling me in his arms.

“I can walk,” I said.

“But you won’t.”

Riven carried me out of the room, with Beck leading the way. I had plenty of questions, but exhaustion outweighed my curiosity.

I focused on Riven instead, our faces close enough that I could nearly taste the honey in his eyes.

“You look so angry,” I whispered.

His dimple peeked out as his lips remained in a flat line.

“I should kill him for dragging you into this mess—for bedding the queen, then taking you as a bride. He should have his balls nailed to his dome for what’s happened to you.”

I finally knew why Riven chose to be quiet most of the time. The space inside his mind was often so dark, he chose to not subject anyone else to it.

We understood each other in that way.

“I need Ansel for heirs,” I mumbled, eyes fluttering. Tears crept into the corners of my eyes. It was as if my body knew the damage had already been done.

Riven’s face tensed, and he leaned his cheek onto my forehead. “You are enough, with or without being able to create something more,” he said softly.

I wiped a tear away with my sleeve before it could get the chance to scald Riven’s bare chest. As he carried me through weathered hallways, Amzee held a flaming orb in her hand behind us, illuminating the area.

Drakers’ bodies were scattered along the floor. Amzee and Beck must have torn through the Waywards to find us. She would have to tell me the story another day.

This was the one time I was thankful my blood wasn’t venomous. While it would’ve been convenient if the Sapphires ever tried to drink it, it was a small mercy that I wasn’t hurting Riven as the shirt between my legs began to drip.

“How much further?” Ansel called to Beck.

“Almost out.”

“I’ll have to take her to Jaime,” Ansel planned aloud.

Jaime was one of the two Witchlords on our side. He was a Lyonheart, just as Clarke had been. He might be able to fix me.

I shuddered. There would be no mercy for Queen Delaina.

She would die for this. If I couldn’t create life, then she didn’t get to live hers. No amount of troops, ships, or Witchlords could save her from me.

Up stone steps we went, exiting through a door that led to an alleyway not far from where I’d been captured. The underground cellars were practically hidden in plain sight. Did the Northern Waywards have these as well?

Amzee dimmed her light, casting subtle, golden shadows on our faces.

Beck analyzed our group, particularly me. Riven still held strong with me in his arms, blood completely soaking the shirt between my legs.

He reached out to me. “I can’t shadow us all there at once. We only have hours before dawn and the ships will be visible. I haven't been in a piss-soaked cell for days. I can take her to the Lyonheart.”

Beck may have been more slender than Riven, but I’d bet he was just as strong.