The Shadow Princess (Chronicles of the Stone Veil 6)

Snyder sneers and squeezes my breast again. “Sorry, bitch… the iron stays on. But don’t worry. You’ll be screaming my name before too long.”

There’s nothing I can do to ease the violence he’ll inflict, so I’ll try to anger him into making a mistake. “Doubt it will be screaming. Probably laughing as I’ve realized that men like you who talk a big game usually have little cocks. The question is, when I laugh at it, will you even be able to get it up?”

Snyder’s eyes narrow, flickering with malevolence, and he holds the knife before my face. I’m so scared he’s going to cut me, I turn my head away and start chanting prayers to the gods.

The slice doesn’t come to my skin but rather to my shirt, which he rends apart with one swift motion.

I’m not wearing a bra as they’re not commonly used in Vyronas, and I don’t miss their restriction, to be honest. But now, as Snyder pulls hard on the material to expose me completely, I struggle to fight the building panic.

I look over to the other soldier and find him watching with interest. “Please… don’t let him do this.”

Snyder laughs, garnering my attention back to him. “He gets sloppy seconds, so he’s not going to help you.”

My head whips back to the other man to see if this is true. He grins salaciously, cupping his crotch and squeezing himself.

There’s no easy way out, but I refuse to go down without a fight. Snyder laughs as he takes in the other man’s crudity, and I use the opportunity to bring my knee up. I’m hoping a direct hit to his nuts will render him impotent for the rest of his life.

But the man is quick and jumps nimbly to the side. Snyder grips my face with one hand, squeezes hard, and leans in. “Go ahead and fight, little princess. I like it.”

And then he kisses me, and it’s perhaps the worst thing that’s ever happened in my life so far. I know worse is coming, but his attempt at intimacy is so perverse, I can scarcely breathe from fear. I’d bite him if I could, but his fingers dig into my jaw, holding me firmly in place so I can’t open or close my mouth.

In one swift move, Snyder releases my face, and with the knife cuts the rope binding my wrists. My shoulder joints shriek with agony and my arms fall uselessly to my sides. I try to hit him but the pain immobilizes me.

With a strong swipe of his foot, he knocks my legs out from under me, and I yelp as I fall onto my back.

Snyder is on me, gathering my hands and pinning them over my head. I kick and buck against him, but he’s heavy and I’m not able to move him at all. His erection grinds into me, and he grunts as he humps my body.

Tears well up from both fear and anger, but I’m not blinded enough that I don’t spy his knife lying on the ground. I struggle harder, trying to free my hands—if I get that blade, I’m plunging it hard into his back.

Suddenly, my hands are free, but I’m almost shocked into immobility as I realize it’s so Snyder can remove my jeans. His hands clumsily navigate the wonders of a First Dimension button and zipper, and in his fumbling, I make a move for the knife.

I roll hard toward the weapon and claw at the dirt to drag myself toward it.

Snyder laughs, grabs me by the hips, and pulls me back. “Come on, Princess. Got to do better than that.”

I screech in frustration as he rolls me back over and straddles my thighs. I punch and scratch at his chest, trying to reach his face, but his hands work with determination at the button of my pants.

“Come grab her hands,” Snyder growls at the other man, and as he approaches, I buck wildly while screaming out my panic.

The man bends and reaches for me, lust and violence shining in his gaze. And then… there’s a whizzing sound and a dagger embeds in his left eye. He falls backward, dead before his head hits the ground.

I hear a galloping horse, and Snyder looks up at something behind me. The horse is close enough, I feel the ground vibrating and whatever is coming causes Snyder to pale. He moves to rise, reaching for the sheath at his hip, but his knife is on the ground ten feet away.

It’s moot because something—no, someone—flies off the horse while it’s in mid gallop and crashes right into Snyder. He’s ripped off me, rolled roughly in the dirt, and as I struggle to sit up, I almost cry in relief to see Bastien on top of my captor.

I scramble backward, pulling my ripped shirt around me as best I can, and watch as Bastien punches Snyder repetitively with his right fist. My gaze drifts over to the other man, lifeless, the dagger protruding from his eye socket.