Page 35 of Heartbreak Prince

Two more people are crashing through the undergrowth toward me and my opponents. If I’m going to make a lethal move, I must do it now.

I fend off a blow from the man with the sword, then feint toward the other man’s throat. But instead of following through, I drop to the ground and slide between his legs, stabbing upward into the darkness beneath the heavy border of his coat.

This time, the blade finds unprotected flesh. I jerk the knife through the muscle savagely, then spin my body on the ground, whirling my legs in a powerful kick that knocks the screaming soldier to his knees.

I’m on my feet in a blink, dragging a blade across the back of the kneeling man’s neck, through his spinal cord. With him dispatched, I whirl toward the man with the wavy sword. He’s startled by the death of his companion, and he doesn’t expect me to throw myself behind his guard, crashing my body against his chest. My knives are a flashing tornado, whipping through the bones of his unprotected fingers.

The shriek that escapes through his helmet is the most terrible sound I’ve heard in my life. It’s the sound of heartbreak, of devastation, of ruin. Of hopes utterly lost. With his fingertips gone, he will never use magic again.

I crush the hint of pity in my heart and jab my right blade upward, right under the edge of his helmet. He splutters and trembles; his limbs go lax, and he crashes to the forest floor.

A crossbolt bolt whizzes past my neck, nearly slitting my skin. I slam both of my claw knives into one hand, yank a small throwing knife from my belt, and send it at the archer. It sticks in the back of their hand. Through their helmet comes a muffled yell of fury and pain.

My triumph fades as a huge shape blocks my view. The biggest soldier I’ve yet to encounter, thick with muscle and taller than Vawn. He’s a wall of power, gripping a giant ax.

I spring backward and resume my defensive stance, taking a second to scan him for potential weaknesses. Over his purple uniform, he’s wearing armor—slabs of heavy, layered leather reinforced with metal plates and strips. Chain mail protects his thighs and upper arms.

Against a big man like this, my greatest advantages are usually my speed and agility. If I can dart around him, I can leap onto his shoulders from behind and maybe slit his throat or choke him out.

I feint to the left, then dodge right, dashing past him—

But he grabs me. His big hand clamps around the back of my neck and he lifts me bodily, as if I weigh nothing. Holding me high in one hand, he swings back the ax.

He’s going to chop me in half.

“Stop!” The prince’s voice splits the air, halting my attacker’s blow.

I don’t wait for a discussion between them; I reach around and stab my opponent through the wrist that’s holding me.

The blade doesn’t go in very far, but it’s enough pain to make him drop me. He bellows and swings his ax, but I drop and roll just in time. I throw myself behind him, spring to my feet, and climb up his back like a spy climbing a wall. I toss one leg over his shoulder, holding onto his helmet while he roars and lunges, trying to dislodge me.

The instant I manage to get my right leg over his right shoulder, I’ve won. I’m riding him piggyback, and he should realize how dangerous that is, but he’s distracted by Vawn charging him from the front, brandishing his own knife.

I stab both claw knives into the top of the helmet, not caring if they pierce bone. Leaving them stuck in the crystalline surface, I wrap my arms around the soldier’s head and twist with all my strength.

His neck snaps.

I ride the big brute to the ground, yank my knives out of his helmet, and sheathe them. Then I pick up his ax. It’s far too heavy for me to wield comfortably.

“You want it?” I ask Vawn.

He shrugs. “It’s not my weapon of choice, but if I can carry it to Zeletas, we can sell it.”

“True. It’s a solid piece, well-crafted.” But I’m not looking at the ax—I’m scanning the trees. The archer with the crossbow is nowhere to be seen. And I know there was a fifth soldier, the one on the wyvern.

“This isn’t over,” I tell Vawn. “You should have run when I told you to.”

“If I had, you’d be dead.”

“Maybe not. I might have figured something out. I’ve faced big warriors before.”

“But not without glyphs.”

I shoot him an irritated look. “Shut up and look for enemies. Where’s the carpet?”

“Safe for the moment. Badly torn, though.”

“Fuck. Do you think he can still fly?”