The crunch of the rogue’s kneecap beneath the heel of her satin slipper was a sickening, wet sound, but to Selene, it sounded like a symphony of pure survival.
The scarred man let out a howl of surprised agony, his grip slipping from her torn silk collar as he collapsed onto one knee, clutching his leg. He had expected a fainting princess, a delicate flower of the high courts who would fold into the dirt and weep at the first touch of a rough hand. He had not expected a viper.
“b***h!” he roared, his voice bouncing off the black trunks of the gnarled oak trees. “Grab her! Break her legs!”
The other two rogues, snapped out of their brief shock by their leader’s cry, moved with terrifying coordination. The stocky one on her left lunged, his fingers clawing through the air to catch her hai
