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19
Defeated, I have to fight the urge not to collapse onto the ground in a heap. Instead, I wipe at the blood splattered across my face.
“Of course,” I mutter, throwing my hands up. “Of damn course.”
Marek sighs, leaning down to wipe the blade of his knife on the shirt of the now deceased man. I watch, stomach churning as he slips the knife back into its place behind him, unbothered by the dead bodies that litter the clearing, thick scarlet blood pooling in the grass. I fight the urge to throw up, knowing what I must look like.
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The King’s Seduction 25
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