Elian
My fingers trembled against my throat, coming away wet with a smear of my own hot, stinging blood.
Arlo's threat was still fresh in my memory and it filled the air suffocating me. One hour. The lunatic had actually cut me. He had pressed a blade to my skin and threatened to hand me over to Gunnar's merciless hands. And for what?
For her.
I leaned my head back against the weeping stone wall, my chest heaving as a toxic wave of resentment flared in my veins. This was supposed to be simple. When Lena first arrived at the palace, dragged from the dirt of the Tylo camps, she had looked at me as if I were her absolute savior. I was the only one who didn't look at her like a beast or a piece of trash. I was the one who cleaned her up, who brought her food, who whispered promises of safe
