Page 62 of Blackheart

“When I found out my betrothed was a Blackheart, I began preparing. Do you know how terrible it was to work up an immunity to you?”

“I burned your arm,” I fumed.

“No, you didn’t. That wicked wand did. I’m the only man alive who’s immune to you.”

“Is that a challenge?”

He would die for what he did to the woodland village, and every person in this camp would fall with him.

The hail stopped, and as it did, a new commotion erupted outside. The pounding of steps, yelling, horses neighing, and weapons clanging.

“Stay here,” Payn ordered, opening a chest and grabbing a vial of blood before rushing outside.

Stay in the tent? Absolutely not.

I immediately got up, opening the same chest hoping to find a blade. The entire damn thing was filled to the brim with identical vials.

Fuck this place, and fuck the Sapphires. I kicked the chest over, busting every single one. Blood spilled as glass shattered, my heart breaking along with it, knowing the source of the blood.

I crossed the tent, tearing open a blue pack in the corner. Clothes. Wraps. Nothing useful.

Footsteps entered the tent. I turned to face the dark-haired woman.

With a blade in her hand, embedded with blue sapphires, her eyes burned with ferocious resentment.

“Youwill not be marrying Payn.” She jabbed her dagger at me with every word.

“No, I will not.”

The blood prince may have been immune to me, but she wasn’t.

I launched my Nature across the tent. Violet and black splashed onto her skin. She dropped to her knees as it covered her, eating away at her twisted face. Her screams were short-lived before the dead silence.

I stalked over, kicking another chest of vials and picking up her dagger.

Damn them all.

Outside, horses stormed through the camp, their violent riders masked with dark hoods and falcon emblems on their chest plates—Drakers.

Bodies and clumps of hail were scattered along the ground. The Sapphires attempted to fight back with blades, but the blood wielders had no warning or time to fuel. Every single dead body wore a blue cloak, none of them with white hair, and no sign of Prince Payn.

As the Drakers swarmed the Sapphires, I’d never been more thankful for the Natureless soldiers in my life. I could run as fast and far as possible before either side noticed me.

I just needed to do one thing first.

Singer was still hanging from a tree, and thanks to Payn’s admirer, I had a blade to cut the club down. I ran through the camp, keeping to the outskirts and ducking behind tents, leaving the blue and black cloaks to kill each other. Just ahead, the campfire still managed to burn.

I halted, hiding behind a tree. I was so close, but I would have had to insert myself into the fight.

In the center of the chaos was a flaming sword, held by a maskless man with impeccable braids.

Lord Dronis, of all people. The Lyonhearted Witchlord slammed his hand, beaming with a bright light, over a Sapphire’s face. His victim screamed relentlessly, blinded. Lord Dronis let go, turned, and sliced through another blue cloak, setting the Sapphire ablaze.

The king’s favorite Draker plowed through bodies on horseback, reloading a crossbow. He was the only one without the falcon armor, still wearing his black leathers.

Riven had come for me.

I went to move from behind the tree, but my arm was firmly pulled back by a fuming, white-haired prince. He forced me to face him, his shaking breath brushing my nose. His nostrils flared, eyes burning with rage.