The clearing was silent now, but it wasn’t the kind of silence that soothed. It was the kind that suffocated oppressive, heavy, and laced with the acrid stench of scorched earth.
Smoke hung in the air, curling upward in thin, lazy tendrils that seemed to mock the devastation below. The heat of the explosion still lingered, its ghost clinging to the air, burning the back of my throat with every shallow breath.
I stood frozen, my feet rooted to the ground as though the ash and dirt had swallowed me whole. Belladorn was still alive. Somehow, impossibly, she was still alive.
She leaned against a charred tree, her body sagging as though it could collapse at any moment. Her wingsonce radiant and alive with iridescent lightwere shredded beyond recognition.
The edges hung in limp, jagged shreds, twitching weakly as if even their death throes were an act of defiance.
Blood streaked down her arms and legs in dark rivulets, staining the bark she slumped against. Her silver-pink hair clung to her face in damp, tangled strands, and the glow that had made her seem otherworldly was all but extinguished.
Yet, as broken as she was, there was still something sharp in the way her head tilted upward. Her gaze locked onto Kiaran with eyes that still burned—not with power, but with pure, unrelenting hatred.
Kiaran took a step forward.
He was unarmored now, the plates he had shed lying scattered across the battlefield like discarded relics.
His bare arms, slick with blood and soot, were covered in intricate Celtic tree knot tattoos that seemed almost alive in the dim light, their dark lines winding over his skin like creeping vines.
His ribs bore a single, haunting mark: a crescent moon pierced by a dagger, the symbol of a blood reaper. It marked him as something more than a knight. It marked him as a weapon of the Aranbiyan king’s will.
The sight of that tattoo sent a shiver down my spine. I couldn’t look away from it, even as Kiaran closed the distance between himself and Belladorn. There was a cold finality in his steps, each one slow but deliberate, like the toll of a bell before an execution.
Belladorn’s wings twitched, and she tried to push herself upright, her movements jerky and uncoordinated.
It was almost patheticalmost. But there was still something in her that refused to break completely. She managed to lift her head higher, her lips curling into a weak, bitter smile.
My eyes were still locked onto Kiaran's tattoo, shock written all over my face.
Belladorn chuckled weakly, the sound wet and rasping. “Oh... don’t look so... surprised,” she wheezed, her voice dragging with effort. “Did you think... your father wouldn’t go... to such lengths to protect... his precious little bloodline?
" The Blood Reapers... they exist to ensure human... princesses don’t disappear into history.” She coughed violently, blood dribbling down her chin in thick streaks. “They kill anything—man... demi-god... child... king... princess. Anything that threatens... the crown.”
My breath caught, my gaze snapping to Kiaran. He didn’t deny it. He didn’t even flinch.
The word “princess” dripped from her tongue like poison, and it stung as though it were meant to wound me personally.
Kiaran’s tone cut through the air like the blade in his hand. “Be quiet.”
But Belladorn ignored him, her black eyes glinting with cruel amusement as they flicked back to me. “It appears... the... King...” she rasped, her voice breaking before she inhaled shallowly. “...made an exception... despite your impure... blood.”
A twisted smile spread across her bloodied lips. “So he sent... his best dog... to guard you.” She coughed again, the violent sound rattling in her chest. “How does it feel... knowing your life... is worth so much blood?”
Heat flushed my face, though whether from shame or fury, I couldn’t tell. I wanted to speak, to deny her, but my tongue felt heavy, useless.
Kiaran didn’t respond. His sword glinted as he raised it, the blade catching the faint, flickering light of the dying embers around them. He moved with a calm precision that was almost unnerving, the kind of calm that came from years of killing.
The tip of the blade hovered just above Belladorn’s throat, close enough that a single movement forward would end it all.
Belladorn froze, her breath hitching. For a moment, the mask of defiance slipped, and something raw flickered in her eyes—fear. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a sneer that twisted her bloodied face.
She spat at him.
The glob of blood and saliva landed on Kiaran’s chest, sliding down the curve of his collarbone to mix with the ash and sweat that clung to his skin. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t move at all.
“By order of the Aranbiyan knights,” he said, his voice low and even, “and the king you betrayed, I have to put you to death.”
Belladorn laughed weakly, though it sounded more like a wheeze. Her head fell back against the tree, her shoulders shaking as she coughed again, blood spilling from the corner of her mouth.
“The whore king’s lapdog,” she muttered, her voice thick with mockery and pain. “Still following orders... after all this time... for a brothel whore.”
Her black eyes drifted downward, and I saw the faintest flicker of amusement dance across them as they landed on the tattoo on Kiaran’s ribs. Her smile widened, though it was a ghostly, broken thing.
“Tell me about the man... after the princess’s heart... and I’ll make your death painless,” Kiaran said, his voice sharp. It wasn’t loud, but it cut through the air like the blade he held.
Belladorn chuckled weakly, her amusement dimming but not disappearing entirely. “You’re... no man at all, Kiaran,” she said, her voice growing fainter with each word. “The one... after her heart... now he’s a man. He doesn’t abandon... ladies in distress. He rules... the forest.”
Kiaran’s eyes narrowed, his crimson gaze burning cold, but his expression didn’t change. “Is he a demi-god,” he asked, his voice sharp and measured, “or an unknown entity?”
Belladorn let out a breathy laugh, though it cracked and sputtered like a dying flame. Her head tilted to the side as though she were weighing his question, her bloodied lips trembling with faint amusement. “He’s...” she wheezed, her voice trailing off into a strained rasp. “...more... than you’ll ever be.”
Kiaran leaned closer, the blade pressing just slightly against her throat. A single drop of blood welled beneath the tip, dark and sluggish as it rolled down her skin. “His name,” he said, his voice low and commanding. “Tell me his name.”
Belladorn’s lips parted, but the sneer that had twisted her expression faltered. A shadow flickered across her face, her black eyes dimming as the fire within them began to fade. Her voice, when it came again, was softer, almost bitter.
“He promised me... the world,” she whispered, her gaze unfocused, as though she were speaking more to herself than to us. “He told me... I would rule beside him. That I was... special.”
Her lips twisted into a ghost of a sneer, but the expression was hollow, her defiance crumbling beneath the weight of her own words. “But he lied,” she rasped, her voice trembling as though the admission itself was painful. “Just like you, Kiaran. Just like... every man... who pretends to care.”
The words slammed into the clearing like a thunderclap, and for a moment, everything seemed to stop. The air felt heavier, the silence stretching taut between us. My stomach churned, and I clutched at my chest, the faint pressure I’d felt earlier returning with a vengeance.
Even as her bloodied sneer curved toward Kiaran, her eyes flicked back to me, daring me to crumble beneath the weight of the truth she was spinning. Even so the weight of this feeling felt supernatural, something was wrong and I could feel it deep in my soul.
But Belladorn wasn’t finished. Her lips moved again, struggling to form words, but no sound came out. Her body jerked suddenly, her chest heaving as though she were choking on the very air around her.
Her black eyes widened, and for a fleeting moment, they were filled with something I hadn’t seen before—pure, unbridled terror.
And then it happened.
A sound. Deep, resonant, and impossibly loud. A heartbeat.
Not mine. Not Kiaran’s. It seemed to come from everywhere at once, shaking the air around us and sending a shiver down my spine. The pressure in my chest grew stronger, sharper, until it felt like my ribs might crack beneath the weight of it.
My knees buckled, and I stumbled, clutching at my chest as the pain surged through me. My breath hitched, my voice trembling as I managed to whisper, “What... what is that?”
Kiaran stepped back instinctively, his blade lowering as his gaze remained fixed on Belladorn’s convulsing body. The heartbeat echoed again, louder this time, the sound reverberating through the clearing like the knell of some ancient, unseen force.
Belladorn’s head tilted again, her lips moving silently as though she were trying to speak. Black mist began to seep from her body, curling upward like smoke before dissipating into the air. T
he air around us grew colder, the chill sinking into my bones and leaving me shivering despite the lingering heat of the explosion.
Her wings twitched one final time, the shredded remains fluttering weakly before falling still. Her body slumped against the tree, lifeless and limp, as the last wisps of black mist vanished into the air.
“She didn’t die on her own,” Kiaran said, his voice low and tense. His crimson eyes narrowed, his expression unreadable, but I could see the way his shoulders stiffened, the way his hand tightened around the hilt of his blade.
He felt it too—the presence behind the heartbeat, the unseen force that had stolen Belladorn’s final words.
Silence fell over the clearing once more, but it wasn’t the kind of silence that soothed. It was the kind that suffocated.
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