a swing and threw her across the hallway. She slid over the smooth floor, back first, into the angel Marcus. His saber clattered to the floor next to her and with a fluid movement, she swiped it up and jumped to her feet, ready for the next blow. Her dress irritated her. Her attacks were slower and Lord Thorne was clearly trained.
He didn’t move from his position. It forced her to attack. She was short on time and it was her hide on the line if anyone stumbled upon them and found them trading blows. She raised her impromptu weapon above her head. It was heavier than she could properly handle and her swaths of fabric made it feel like she was fighting in thick mud. Lord Thorne moved in to counter her, grabbing her by the wrist and causing her to lose the grip on the saber. With a small cry, she drove her free elbow into the side of his neck and punched a fierce undercut to his sensitive man area when he dropped his hold on her other hand in surprise.
Lord Thorne buckled in pain, but he did not go down. In fact, he recovered much quicker than Amelie anticipated and used a strong hand to catch her by the throat.
“I think you are misinterpreting the point of this banquet,” the lord spat, squeezing. Amelie’s face was held fast in front of him, her eyes boring into his. All pretenses were cleared from them. Gone was the jovial flirt she spent the evening with. She could now clearly see his contempt for her and his desire for power.
Amelie pulled her pin from her hair and shoved it into his wrist, into the joint where the pain would be most keenly felt. His arm was longer than hers, keeping her from placing it into his jugular but her actions at least freed her.
Lord Thorne was still quick. He knocked her down with his boot and was straddling her before she could react. What was his secondary power? Speed? Self-healing?
She tried to fight him off but he outweighed her and his toned arms did not need much strength to hold her.
“Now, now,” he coaxed predatorily. “Be a good fiancé and hold still.”
Before Amelie could spit back a vulgar retort, the weight was suddenly lifted from her as a heavy object struck Lord Thorne in the side of the head. The blow collapsed him immediately. Amelie scrambled backwards and looked up.
John stood over her, holding the weapon. A shield from one of the statues.
“Are you all right?” he asked her.
Amelie eyed him warily, not sure if she should thank him or prepare for another fight. “Is it customary for the White Guard to attack a Royal Reader?”
“I’ve been wanting to hit that bastard for years.” He replaced the shield on the owning statue and offered a hand to help her up. “Weapons in your hair,” he commented as she took it. He pulled, lifting her from the floor. “Inventive. I’m jealous.”
“It’s not the first time they’ve gotten me out of a scrape,” Amelie admitted. “Why, may I ask, are you helping me take out Lord Thorne?”
“To help get you to the stables.”
Amelie started in surprise. “You know?”
John nodded. “Your silver-haired friend found me. I was interrogating the gatekeeper when I was interrupted.” John caught her glowering look and explained, “When I say I was interrogating Simon, it means that I was slipping him food from the banquet. You needn’t worry. He is well.”
She had more questions. His answers demanded more. But there wasn’t much time. She crouched down next to Lord Thorne’s crumpled body and began patting him down, sticking her hands in places that had made her blush the first time she’d searched a spy. Now, even with an audience, there was no hesitation as she searched for the seal.
John put a fist in front of her face and opened it, revealing a metallic disc pressed with the image of a snake curled around a mountain. Amelie’s hands stilled and she looked up at the White Guard.
“He said you’d need this. I lifted it as soon as I entered the banquet. I meant to slip it to you but you brought
He didn’t move from his position. It forced her to attack. She was short on time and it was her hide on the line if anyone stumbled upon them and found them trading blows. She raised her impromptu weapon above her head. It was heavier than she could properly handle and her swaths of fabric made it feel like she was fighting in thick mud. Lord Thorne moved in to counter her, grabbing her by the wrist and causing her to lose the grip on the saber. With a small cry, she drove her free elbow into the side of his neck and punched a fierce undercut to his sensitive man area when he dropped his hold on her other hand in surprise.
Lord Thorne buckled in pain, but he did not go down. In fact, he recovered much quicker than Amelie anticipated and used a strong hand to catch her by the throat.
“I think you are misinterpreting the point of this banquet,” the lord spat, squeezing. Amelie’s face was held fast in front of him, her eyes boring into his. All pretenses were cleared from them. Gone was the jovial flirt she spent the evening with. She could now clearly see his contempt for her and his desire for power.
Amelie pulled her pin from her hair and shoved it into his wrist, into the joint where the pain would be most keenly felt. His arm was longer than hers, keeping her from placing it into his jugular but her actions at least freed her.
Lord Thorne was still quick. He knocked her down with his boot and was straddling her before she could react. What was his secondary power? Speed? Self-healing?
She tried to fight him off but he outweighed her and his toned arms did not need much strength to hold her.
“Now, now,” he coaxed predatorily. “Be a good fiancé and hold still.”
Before Amelie could spit back a vulgar retort, the weight was suddenly lifted from her as a heavy object struck Lord Thorne in the side of the head. The blow collapsed him immediately. Amelie scrambled backwards and looked up.
John stood over her, holding the weapon. A shield from one of the statues.
“Are you all right?” he asked her.
Amelie eyed him warily, not sure if she should thank him or prepare for another fight. “Is it customary for the White Guard to attack a Royal Reader?”
“I’ve been wanting to hit that bastard for years.” He replaced the shield on the owning statue and offered a hand to help her up. “Weapons in your hair,” he commented as she took it. He pulled, lifting her from the floor. “Inventive. I’m jealous.”
“It’s not the first time they’ve gotten me out of a scrape,” Amelie admitted. “Why, may I ask, are you helping me take out Lord Thorne?”
“To help get you to the stables.”
Amelie started in surprise. “You know?”
John nodded. “Your silver-haired friend found me. I was interrogating the gatekeeper when I was interrupted.” John caught her glowering look and explained, “When I say I was interrogating Simon, it means that I was slipping him food from the banquet. You needn’t worry. He is well.”
She had more questions. His answers demanded more. But there wasn’t much time. She crouched down next to Lord Thorne’s crumpled body and began patting him down, sticking her hands in places that had made her blush the first time she’d searched a spy. Now, even with an audience, there was no hesitation as she searched for the seal.
John put a fist in front of her face and opened it, revealing a metallic disc pressed with the image of a snake curled around a mountain. Amelie’s hands stilled and she looked up at the White Guard.
“He said you’d need this. I lifted it as soon as I entered the banquet. I meant to slip it to you but you brought
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