The archer charged. Aldrik dodged easily and responded with a punch to her gut, but there was no more flame. The swordswoman spun, Aldrik dropped to a knee and held out his hand before crying out in anguish, his hand on his hip where she had seen a dark spot on his magic months ago.
The man chuckled darkly. Vhalla looked upon the Northerner in horror. Half of his clothes had been burnt off, large chunks of flesh with it. He looked like a corpse returned to life.
“See...” he heaved roughly. “His magic fails him.”
Aldrik glared up at the Northerners. His hair had fallen out of place wildly and it clung to his sweat-drenched face. His features were twisted in pain, but he was still proud and defiant. The crown prince’s hands clutched his hip as he looked up the sword at his throat.
“This is how a prince dies,” the man snickered and drew back his sword.
Vhalla opened her mouth to cry out.
“Wait!” The bow woman said, throwing off her mask. “I have a better idea.” She wore a wicked grin.
“Let’s just kill him and be done with it,” the nasal woman breathed, still catching her breath.
“Death is no fun without pain,” the archer said darkly.
“I will not scream.” Aldrik chuckled. “Whatever you do, I will not scream or beg, so it will be very boring.”
Vhalla studied the prince. His posture was relaxed and his voice calm, there was something almost inviting in its deep tones. As much as she wanted to believe he was bluffing, the tiny smirk told her otherwise. She hurt, and not from the arrow protruding from her. He had come to terms with his own death, and Aldrik was prepared to meet it at this moment. Her breath hitched in her throat.
“I didn’t say I was going to make you scream.” The bow woman turned and looked at Vhalla.
Vhalla straightened as best she could, instinctively scooting away from her assailant, ignoring the stabbing pains in her wounded shoulder.
“I don’t doubt you, prince. I’m sure your pain threshold is very high. But there are many different kinds of pain, aren’t there?” The sadistic woman almost cooed, her emerald eyes gleaming. “I wonder if hers is as high.” With a cold smile the woman walked over to Vhalla.
Vhalla looked at Aldrik helplessly before staring up at the Northerner who was about to decide her fate.
Grabbing the shaft of the arrow sticking out of Vhalla’s shoulder, the woman pulled upward, dragging Vhalla to her feet. She shook with the pain and the effort of keeping in her screams. Vhalla didn’t want to die like this, and she didn’t want to give these people the satisfaction of her anguish. Still gripping the arrow, the woman pulled Vhalla along over to where Aldrik knelt. His eyes wore a tormented mix of fury and sorrow.
Vhalla’s foot caught on a piece of rubble and she tripped. The fall ripped the arrow, fletching and all, clean through her shoulder. Vhalla cried out as she rolled in pain among the debris and human flesh littering the ground. Aldrik attempted to jump to his feet, but the man pressed the sword against his throat.
“Down,” he grunted, like Aldrik was a dog.
“Come girl, we’re not done yet.” The woman grabbed her by the hair and pulled Vhalla over the rest of the way. She was dumped an arm’s length from Aldrik but it seemed like half the world as Vhalla stared at him blankly, shattering at the sorrow of his beautifully dark eyes.
Pulling Vhalla up into a seated position, the woman plucked an arrow from her quiver.
“Tell me, prince, what is it you like about her?” The archer’s voice was rough.
“I like nothing, really; she is little more than a cheap whore I found,” Aldrik forced out with a flat voice.
“Is that so? Very fine clothes for a cheap whore. Do you like her face?” The woman ran the point of the arrow down Vhalla’s cheek, leaving a dripping red line in its wake.
Vhalla winced softly, her lower lip trembling.
“Why soil your weapon with her blood?” Aldrik tried, attempting to glance away casually.
“She has a nice figure. What about her breasts?” Two more cuts were upon her body and Vhalla felt tears on her cheeks.
“Enough,” Aldrik said softly, his eyes were back on her.
“Enough? She’s not just a whore?” the woman sneered. “What about her legs? Want to see them?” The woman lifted the hem of his jacket and Vhalla’s tattered skirts with the arrow, making a deep incision along the way.
“Enough!” Aldrik cried.
Vhalla looked at him and saw the panic in his eyes. The woman had won. The Northerner knew it too as she let out a laugh and released Vhalla, the broken library girl falling to the ground.
Vhalla stared at the world lifelessly. She would be torture for Aldrik to watch her die. They would kill him next. His, Sareem’s, and Roan’s deaths would all be on her hands.
“Don’t kill him,” she whispered.
The woman’s laugh quieted and she leaned over Vhalla. “What was that, you little shit? I didn’t hear it,” she snarled.
“Don’t kill him,” Vhalla repeated. She never took her eyes of Aldrik. “Do what you will to me, but don’t kill him, please.” Vhalla struggled to sit.