The Stolen Princess (Fated Royals 1)

There was a pause, then a crash, and her voice came from further away. “No!” She screamed. “Hurry Bors! Someone’s at the door! I can’t hold it!”

I broke into a run, taking a deserted alleyway to avoid the well-guarded front entrance of the castle. If there was treachery within the walls, whoever was holding Sara captive had to have loyal guards among those at the front entrance. Going that way would be too much of a risk. For once, I was damned grateful to have had so much experience and battle-readiness behind me.

Every castle had dozens of hidden side entrances for non-nobility to use—some small, for washerwomen and the like, and others much larger, for ox-carts that carried food and supplies. In war those entrances would be barricaded and guarded, but in peacetime, like now, they would most likely be unattended. I just hoped that whatever betrayal had put Sara in danger was limited enough to make entrance to the castle possible still.

I was right. I found a small wooden door near a row of empty milk pails. With a thrust of my shoulder, I forced the lock and muscled my way through. Ascending a narrow, dark staircase, I burst into a stone hallway, lit with rows of torches both left and right. Guards were posted on both sides, and they came at me with blades bared and crossbows drawn.

“The stolen princess,” I pleaded, dropping my knife. It would do no good against them anyway. “She is in danger. I have to help her.”

The guard nearest me flipped up his armor faceplate, and I recognized his face at once. Seamus. A fellow member of clan Mackay that I’d fought with at the Firth, albeit many years ago, before he attained such a lofty position within the royal guard.

Beside him, two other familiar Mackay faces emerged from behind their armor; I didn’t know their names, but clan kinship was a guarantee of loyalty.

“Bors? What the bloody hell are you doing here? Where is the princess?” Seamus asked.

“She’s upstairs. There’s no time to explain. I heard her from a window up above,” I said, and we took off for a staircase nearby. The four of us rampaged our way through the hallways, flinging open doors as we approached where I thought I’d seen her. Room after room showed us nothing, until finally I heard her scream once more, this time from behind a double-thick door that didn’t budge when I rammed it.

“The queen’s summer day room? What the fuck is going on?” Seamus started ramming the door along with me, putting his shoulder to it.

It took all four of us several tries to break it down, but when we broke it from its hinges, I saw Sara just as she was being seized by the filthy hands of one of the Queen’s guards.

“Stop!” I demanded. “It’s over. This won’t do you any good.”

His lips twisted into a grin. “I know. I’m dead either way.” And with one single, horrible thrust, he plunged his blade into Sara’s side.

I screamed out her name as her blood spilled from her wound and she gasped for air. Once again, my universe turned bright red as everything I’d ever wanted was ripped from me before my eyes.

Blind with rage, I hurled myself at the man who’d stabbed her, savagely ripping through his jugular with my dagger. He fell back with me above him, and I withdrew my blade, only to plunge it again into his chest, and again, and again, venting my sorrow and anger on his now dead corpse.

“Bors! The princess!”

I dragged myself from the object of my rage, and fell to my knees beside her, pulling her into my arms. Her body was limp, her eyes half-closed, and I felt my heart tear asunder. No, no, no, no, fuck no. I couldn’t lose her, not now. Not like this.

My fingers trembled as I placed them against her throat, the blood of her attacker smearing over her pristine flesh. But I felt it. Mercy of God, she had a pulse.

“She needs a doctor. Now!” I yelled, and heard two of my clansmen run to find help, while Seamus guarded us both.

“My beautiful girl,” I whispered against her cheek. “Please. Hang on.”

Fuck, I’d survived so much without knowing that she was my destiny. Now I had found her, and I couldn’t bear the thought that I was about to fucking lose her. I could feel her growing weaker in my arms as her warm blood pooled in my hands. I placed as much pressure on her wound as I could. She looked up at my face sleepily, far away.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmured.

Christ almighty. I couldn’t fucking live without her. I couldn’t—I wouldn’t. “Never apologize to me. Never again.”

She gave no response. She had the look of being in a dream. Or of passing into another world.