Page 82 of Blackheart

The red haired one, Avan, shook his head—warning me to let them be.

Riven didn’t breathe a word as Xavian stalked across the vaulted room, taking slow, calculated steps.

“Sir Riven, did you swear an oath that you would keep my sister safe?”

The Rogue Draker placed his hands behind his back, lifting his chin fearlessly. “Yes, my lord.”

With immeasurable speed, Xavian sent a dagger soaring across the room, pinning Riven’s shoulder to the door.

He groaned out in pain.

Avan's arm stopped me as I tried to rush forward.

“It’s best you let them fight their own battles,” he said under his breath. Draven looked down at me with cold, hawk-like eyes.

“I will have to agree, and know that is not something I do often with Lord Avan,” he hissed coolly. My eyes narrowed at both of them.

“Does that feel safe, Sir Riven?” Xavian’s voice echoed across the hall.

Riven winced, but didn’t dare take the dagger out.

“I tried my best to—” he began as another dagger flew across the room, this time the hilt thudding him in the forehead. The back of his head knocked into the door.

I gasped.

Draven took an annoyed breath. “Sir Riven will be fine,” he droned.

I wasn’t so convinced. My stomach swirled with poison, my hands tight.

“How does your head feel now? Can you‘try your best’to explain it?” Xavian mocked.

The Lord of Castivian walked away, reaching behind the silver throne while blood trickled from Riven’s shoulder and down the side of his body. I couldn’t bear watching him in pain.

An arrow soared into Riven’s thigh, pinning him further into the door. He roared as two arms yanked me back, Avan shushing me.

“You will make it worse,” Avan whispered.

Xavian stood in the center of the room, bow in hand and head cocked to the side. “You know what I think is really safe?”

Riven shook his head, shamefully looking down, refusing to speak.

Another arrow released, pinning the Draker’s opposite thigh to the door.

Then Xavian threw the bow down and stormed across the room to yank the arrow back out.

Riven howled.

“Avan,” Xavian chimed with his back to us.

Avan’s arm still held me tight. “Yes?”

“Am I forgetting something?”

“The vomit!”

Xavian lifted his head. “Ah yes, the vomit.”

His fist slammed into Riven’s stomach twice before its contents covered the floor.