Page 110 of Jewel of the Assassin

I meet her eyes and confess everything—my sins, my guilt, my desperate attempts to keep her safe. But what I see cuts deeper than any blade. It’s not anger blazing there. It’s grief… and something softer—longing.

Fuck. It’s worse.

It’s love.

Her love is my death.

She turns, amethyst eyes sharp as blades, locked on Anton. “I don’t care. I don’t give a fuck what he did in the past. What matters is who I am to him.”

Her voice is steady, defiant, filled with a pride that crushes me with its beauty. Shatters my heart and my soul.

“He treats me like a queen. Because Iamhis queen. And you, Anton, treat me like a whore—nothing else.” Revulsion, refusal, rebellion. “I willneverbe your wife. Fuck whatever false vows you force me to say. I am Valentina Makarova—wife, bride, queen, and jewel of Roman Makarova. And that is something you will NEVER take from me. Or him.”

I gaze at her in awe. And horror.

She’s standing tall, staring down the storm in my brother’s eyes and daring it to do its worst. She will ride the storm through hell itself.

Anton’s expression hardens, his cruelty sharpening. With a brutal sneer, he chains her to the nearby wall, opposite mine. Her front to the chilled wall. Her back facing out.

“Well done, brother. You keep your dungeon well stocked,” Anton says with lethal approval.

He runs a finger along the rows of whips hanging from hooks and pulls one free, his smile a razor’s edge.

A cold fire ignites inside me, sharp and relentless. I taste venom on my tongue, the raw need to rip him apart limb by limb before he can put a mark on her.

She turns to me. Silent tears stream down her cheeks. Her body is soft. She knows locking up will only make it worse.

“And I must commend your style—a literal sex dungeon,” Anton croons.

The first lash cracks through the air. She opens her mouth, but no cry escapes. My heart sinks into a deep grave. Because she doesn’t take her eyes off me.

Nothing but love there.

Another lash, and my fury explodes. “I’ll carve you to pieces with my bare hands, Anton. I’ll carve out your dick, one cut at a time. I swear it.” My voice breaks as I plead. “Forgive me, Valya. Forgive me for failing you—for not being the king you deserve, who would protect you.”

Her whispered reply is a fragile, fierce flame through the darkness: “A true queen protects her king, Roman. All she needs is to know the king will always love her, Moya Korona—ahh!” she shrieks when my brother slashes her with the whip.

Her voice shatters as she sobs, and I vow, “Always, Moy Samotsvet. Forever.”

By the time her screams turn hoarse, her back is a ruin of welts and marks. It’s a small comfort to know he didn’t lacerate the skin too much. No, he doesn’t want his shiny bride trophy damaged too much before the wedding. And he has many other ways to torture us both.

He adjusts the chains so she faces him.

And the moment he lifts her legs, smiles sadistically, and drives himself inside her, raping her, my heart goes dark, my soul blackens. I will bring him nothing but blood.

“Fuck me back, moya nevesta,” he growls, fingers locking around her throat.

She refuses to look at him, to give him the benefit of her tears. Her eyes hold me in her gaze. So fucking strong. Stronger than I could ever be.

Goddamn Queen of Queens.

Her voice spits with venom. “I can’t fuck you back, Anton.Because arealman fucks his woman like a queen. You could live a thousand lifetimes and never scratch the surface of your brother’s finesse.”

Heated pride fills me, but it’s short-lived from the present predator’s interest lighting his eyes. My blood freezes.

“Let’s show him then, Valentina,” he says softly. “And maybe I will be… inspired.”

He grips her throat and slams into her with vicious, animal force. She takes the sword—driven deep, all the way to the hilt.