The Dare Collection September 2018. Stefanie London

Mother rises again. “Proceed,” she says in a tight, high voice. This isn’t going according to her plans. She expected me to meet my fate like a sacrificial lamb. Instead, I’ve shown her a boldness she never knew was there—a boldness I never knew I possessed until I met Damien Lorentz, banished prince of our sworn enemy, Edenvale.

      I’ve been the good, obedient daughter for too long, and look where it got me. Now it’s time for me to be a strong woman who doesn’t go down without a fight.

      “I said, proceed,” Mother says again, her voice rising, going hard and ugly. “Make it two hundred lashes, and anyone who hesitates can join her.”

      That jolts the guards out of their stupor, and they begin dragging me toward the stake.

      “This is murder!” I scream. “You are killing your own child—your own grandchild—for the crime of love when you know that’s not your true motivation. The only reason you are taking my life is for your own ambition. You are the guilty one.”

      My words are brave, but my strength is no match for these men. They bind me to the stake, but no one meets my eyes. The drum beats louder and louder, playing my death song.

      I lift my eyes to the sky in time to see a shooting star cut across the horizon. And here at the end of it all, without hope, but full of love, I whisper my final wish.

       CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

      Damien

      AS INSTRUCTED, I park the Alfa Romeo in a wooded area a few miles outside the Nightgardin border. Air travel would have been too noticeable, yet I fear none of that matters now. Even though I made it here faster than anyone should be able to drive, it still took hours—excruciating hours where I had to be alone with my own thoughts, imagining what that ruthless witch and her spineless king might be doing to Juliet.

      Juliet, who thinks I forgot her.

      Juliet, who thinks I cannot love her.

      Juliet, who may not be alive by the time I get to her.

      As soon as I exit the vehicle, something rustles in the brush up ahead.

      I’ve been in a bar brawl or ten. I can hold my own if my hands are not bound behind my back or if I’m not clocked upside the head with a fucking pistol. But I didn’t think of obtaining a weapon before I hopped in my car and drove—my singular focus getting to my wife and child in time to save them both. I hadn’t really thought about the how.

      The sound comes again; this time the entire bush shakes.

      “Show yourself,” I say, readying myself for hand-to-hand combat.

      A horse whinnies and my shoulders drop. I follow the sound, guided only by the light of the moon. On the other side of the tree is a white steed roped to a branch. A quiver of arrows and a bow are strapped to his saddle, and I outright laugh. Because this is X’s doing.

      Who the hell is that guy?

      Pinned to the quiver is a note as well.

      Your Highness,

      This is Maximus. He will obey your every command as he has been trained by The Order to be ridden by you and only you.

      “How?” I ask aloud, then continue to read.

      Do not ask how. You should know better than that by now. All you need to know is that you can trust this horse to get you to Juliet, and he, in turn, will trust you. Do not leave his side, and you will be safe.

      I shake my head and chuckle, yet I know to heed X’s words. He saved Nikolai and Kate from our overambitious stepmother. He stopped Rosegate from using Benedict’s wife Evangeline to gain access to the map that leads to the spring—if it even exists.

      With a bow, arrows and a hell of a lot of hope, I untie the horse, mount it and kick my heels against his flanks.

      “Yah, Maximus!” I call, and we take off into the night.

      * * *

      My years of exile have taken me all over the world, but I always felt a strong pull toward Nightgardin, despite its differences with Edenvale. Perhaps on some level I was drawn to Juliet. Whatever the reason may be, it is why I’ve spent the bulk of my banishment years right here in these lands, which means I know them almost as well as I know the land of my birth.

      We traverse the woods on the east side of the royal grounds because it is the only place where we can hide in the cover of dark. The royal square rests in the center of the gated lands. So all we have to do is make it past the east gate guards, and we’re in.

      Easier said than done.

      Even if I can aim and shoot an arrow, I do not wish to strike first. Plus, they will all be armed with guns.

      Maximus rears his head, impatient.

      “Not yet,” I whisper, inching him closer to the forest’s edge. “Not yet.”

      Then an idea takes hold.

      I pat the pocket of my jacket and grin when I find what I hoped would be there—a lighter.

      Nightgardin cigars are illegal in Edenvale, but hell if they aren’t the best. I don’t partake often, but when I do, I like to be prepared.

      I tear off my jacket and then my shirt. I wrap the latter around the shaft of an arrow, near the tip.

      “On my count, Maximus,” I say, praying that X’s words are true, that I can trust this steed.

      I tie off the shirt, making sure it won’t give way. Then I set it ablaze.

      “Three...two...one. Now, Maximus!”

      He rears on his hind legs and sprints from the cover of trees. As soon as we come into the well-lit perimeter of the palace gates, I find what I knew would be there—the electrical transformer that powers most—if not all—the property that lies beyond the gates.

      As Maximus gallops toward the gates at top speed, I ready my bow, aim and shoot.

      Sparks fly, and the wooden pole on which the transformer rests catches fire. Guards run both toward it and away from it in mass confusion, and I notice that these are not the Black Watch.

      I grit my teeth. The Watch, in its entirety, is in the square doing who knows what to my wife. My child.

      My horse and I are steadfast in our purpose—making it to the gate.

      A gate that is far too tall for him to clear. But he doesn’t slow, nor do I command him to do so because this is our only chance. Either we die on this side or die trying to get over it.

      As shouts of “Trespasser!” and “Shoot!” ring out among the chaos, Maximus reaches the gate—and we fly.

      Or at least it feels like we do.

      Shots ring out, and I hiss as white-hot pain slices through the skin on my shoulder just as Maximus’s back legs clear the only thing barring me from my wife.

      As we slam into the ground, I give myself a split second to check my wound.

      Blood runs along my bare arm, and I remember that my shirt is at the burning end of an arrow—my jacket most likely on the forest floor. I have no protection other than speed and my archer’s aim.

      But it’s nothing more than a graze. It’s nothing I won’t endure to save those I love.

      My wife. Our child. The fates of our two kingdoms.

      Stay alive, Juliet. I will find you.

      Juliet

      The chief executioner kneels. “For what I am about to do, Highness, I am gravely sorry and humbly beg for your forgiveness.”

      I stare at the man who will bring about my end. In my country, it is custom for the condemned prisoner to absolve