"Over my dead body," Richard snarled.
Ernest’s smile widened cruelly "That my plan exactly."
At Ernest’s signal, the cloaked men surged forward like a black tide.
Richard rose, one arm still around Zenobia, and drew his sword in one swift motion, the steel catching the faint light of the enchanted forest.
They clashed with a deafening ring of steel.
Richard fought like a man possessed, fuelled by love and rage, his blade a silver blur. He felled two of the men quickly, moving with deadly grace—but there were too many, and he was alone.
A sword slashed across his side—he staggered but didn’t fall.
Another cut along his arm—his grip tightened stubbornly around his sword. Blood darkened his tunic, dripping into the moss, but Richard fought on, each movement slower, heavier.
He could feel his strength leaving him. Zenobia was still unconscious on the grass behind him, unaware of the battle raging
