HER HEAD rolled on the ground after just one swing.
Dorian's scream was loud and wet and simply haunting. Chaol was sure it would fuel his nightmares in the coming nights.
He, Aedion, and Dorian were struggling against the hold of the monstrous heartless soldiers in unfamiliar uniforms. His Prince was ready to crawl toward Sorscha's decapitated head, as if he was going to try to piece her back together.
“Get the princess,” the menacing king grinned when they froze.
Again, Dorian struggled, “She had nothing to do with this! Don't touch her, she knew nothing!”
But the faint screams of Soren reached their ears as she was dragged out of bed. The princess who was only dressed in her nightgown. The princess who was sleeping so soundly in the comfort of her own room, where she thought she was safest. The princess who knew nothing of what was occurring as she slumbered.
Soren was thrown to the floors near Sorscha's dead body, her hands almost landing on the freshly cut off neck. She backs up until she reaches Dorian's kneeling form.
“D-Dorian, brother, w-what…?”
“Please, Soren, run. Now, run now!”
Her bright frightened eyes scanned around the King's chambers. Scanning through the unfamiliar soldiers, scanning through the other two chained males she could recognise.
She held Chaol's gaze a bit longer, suspecting what this situation may be. Soren had her thoughts about Chaol and Aedion joining in with the rebels, and when Chaol was included, surely Dorian was too.
The princess stood on her bloodied shaking legs despite Dorian's pleas. She held her chin up high, walked straight to the king in a regal manner, and steeled her teary gaze.
“Let them go,” she states, “Your majesty.”
The king grinned further, “Who are you to tell me what to do, girl?”
