The Dare Collection September 2018. Stefanie London

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СКАЧАТЬ is X’s doing.

      Who the hell is that guy?

      Pinned to the quiver is a note as well.

      Your Highness,

      This is Maximus. He will obey your every command as he has been trained by The Order to be ridden by you and only you.

      “How?” I ask aloud, then continue to read.

      Do not ask how. You should know better than that by now. All you need to know is that you can trust this horse to get you to Juliet, and he, in turn, will trust you. Do not leave his side, and you will be safe.

      I shake my head and chuckle, yet I know to heed X’s words. He saved Nikolai and Kate from our overambitious stepmother. He stopped Rosegate from using Benedict’s wife Evangeline to gain access to the map that leads to the spring—if it even exists.

      With a bow, arrows and a hell of a lot of hope, I untie the horse, mount it and kick my heels against his flanks.

      “Yah, Maximus!” I call, and we take off into the night.

      * * *

      My years of exile have taken me all over the world, but I always felt a strong pull toward Nightgardin, despite its differences with Edenvale. Perhaps on some level I was drawn to Juliet. Whatever the reason may be, it is why I’ve spent the bulk of my banishment years right here in these lands, which means I know them almost as well as I know the land of my birth.

      We traverse the woods on the east side of the royal grounds because it is the only place where we can hide in the cover of dark. The royal square rests in the center of the gated lands. So all we have to do is make it past the east gate guards, and we’re in.

      Easier said than done.

      Even if I can aim and shoot an arrow, I do not wish to strike first. Plus, they will all be armed with guns.

      Maximus rears his head, impatient.

      “Not yet,” I whisper, inching him closer to the forest’s edge. “Not yet.”

      Then an idea takes hold.

      I pat the pocket of my jacket and grin when I find what I hoped would be there—a lighter.

      Nightgardin cigars are illegal in Edenvale, but hell if they aren’t the best. I don’t partake often, but when I do, I like to be prepared.

      I tear off my jacket and then my shirt. I wrap the latter around the shaft of an arrow, near the tip.

      “On my count, Maximus,” I say, praying that X’s words are true, that I can trust this steed.

      I tie off the shirt, making sure it won’t give way. Then I set it ablaze.

      “Three...two...one. Now, Maximus!”

      He rears on his hind legs and sprints from the cover of trees. As soon as we come into the well-lit perimeter of the palace gates, I find what I knew would be there—the electrical transformer that powers most—if not all—the property that lies beyond the gates.

      As Maximus gallops toward the gates at top speed, I ready my bow, aim and shoot.

      Sparks fly, and the wooden pole on which the transformer rests catches fire. Guards run both toward it and away from it in mass confusion, and I notice that these are not the Black Watch.

      I grit my teeth. The Watch, in its entirety, is in the square doing who knows what to my wife. My child.

      My horse and I are steadfast in our purpose—making it to the gate.

      A gate that is far too tall for him to clear. But he doesn’t slow, nor do I command him to do so because this is our only chance. Either we die on this side or die trying to get over it.

      As shouts of “Trespasser!” and “Shoot!” ring out among the chaos, Maximus reaches the gate—and we fly.

      Or at least it feels like we do.

      Shots ring out, and I hiss as white-hot pain slices through the skin on my shoulder just as Maximus’s back legs clear the only thing barring me from my wife.

      As we slam into the ground, I give myself a split second to check my wound.

      Blood runs along my bare arm, and I remember that my shirt is at the burning end of an arrow—my jacket most likely on the forest floor. I have no protection other than speed and my archer’s aim.

      But it’s nothing more than a graze. It’s nothing I won’t endure to save those I love.

      My wife. Our child. The fates of our two kingdoms.

      Stay alive, Juliet. I will find you.

      Juliet

      The chief executioner kneels. “For what I am about to do, Highness, I am gravely sorry and humbly beg for your forgiveness.”

      I stare at the man who will bring about my end. In my country, it is custom for the condemned prisoner to absolve the guard assigned to take their life. Everything has a ritual here, even state-sanctioned murder.

      “No.” My voice is clear and strong. “If you do this you shall kill your future queen and the heir to come after me. I offer no forgiveness for such an act.”

      A ripple passes through the crowd. My reaction is unanticipated. I’m not playing their game by their rules any longer. Because I won’t stand silent as I’m tortured and my unborn child dies in my body for my mother’s insane ambition.

      The murmurs in the crowd grow louder and I see heads turning, looking away from my position at the stake to some distant point behind them. Shouts rise in the distance.

      “Stop that man!”

      “Throw up barricades.”

      “Fire!”

      A volley of gunshots crack, and the crowd falls to the ground, scrambling to the edge of the square.

      And that’s when I see him.

      Damien charges toward me on a magnificent white steed, a bow stretched taut, an arrow nocked on the string, the shaft on fire.

      He isn’t in shining armor. He wears nothing but the ink that covers his skin. Though his face looks like approaching death, he is my knight come to rescue me.

      “Damien!” I scream, as if he can’t see me, the main event, tied to the stake. “I’m here! I’m here!”

      The Black Watch move wordlessly, assembling before me in a half perimeter, unslinging assault rifles from across their backs.

      “Light the pyre!” my mother screams. “Forget the lashes! Light the pyre!”

      The chief executioner rises to his feet and glances at the kindling on which I stand. The bundled twigs are dry and reek of gasoline. All it would take is one, and I’d light up faster than a birthday candle.

      “Don’t СКАЧАТЬ