Chapter 17

Immediately Lois saw two assassins charging at her with swords gleaming in the moonlight, their murderous intent clear, it dawned on her—they were under attack.

“Run, Lois!” her guard bellowed, his voice raw with desperation.

But Lois froze. Terror rooted her legs to the ground as if invisible chains bound her. Her body trembled, her breath caught in her throat, every instinct screaming at her to move, yet she couldn’t.

Her guard, bleeding already from an earlier clash, raised his bow with trembling arms. The arrow flew—piercing the throat of one assassin. The man collapsed, gargling on his own blood.

The second assassin sneered, eyes narrowing on the lone wounded guard. Two more bodies lay behind him, slain, but the guard’s strength was fading. Blood poured from an arrow lodged deep in his stomach, his movements sluggish, his breaths shallow.

Still, he staggered forward, sword raised, determined to fight until his last breath. His presence radiated raw defiance, a man choosing death over surrender.

The assassin smirked wickedly. This would be easy.

With a guttural growl, Lois’s guard lunged. Their swords clashed with a screech of steel against steel, sparks flying. Both strained, muscles taut, veins bulging, pushing for dominance.

The assassin, unscathed, broke the lock and slashed fast—too fast. His blade cut deep across the guard’s arm. The guard cried out, his sword clattering to the ground as he fell to his knees, clutching his wound in agony.

The assassin raised his weapon high, ready to sever his head.

“No!” Lois screamed. Her hand seized a stone from the ground, hurling it with all her might. It struck the assassin’s skull with a sickening thud.

He stumbled, snarling, clutching the back of his head. His moment of distraction was enough.

Fueled by sheer will, Lois’s guard forced himself up, eyes burning with defiance. Blood streamed from his wounds, his vision blurred, but his instincts sharpened in that fleeting instant. He swung his sword, parried a blow, then struck back with the last ounce of strength his body could muster.

Steel rang, sparks burst, sweat and blood mingled. The assassin pressed with fury, grinning, but Lois’s guard roared through the haze of death. With a final, devastating strike, he disarmed his foe. The assassin’s sword clattered to the ground. In one swift motion, the guard’s blade swept across his neck—decapitating him cleanly.

The severed head rolled on the dirt, its eyes frozen wide.

The guard staggered, his body trembling uncontrollably. Blood gushed from his wounds, soaking the ground. His knees buckled, and he fell heavily.

“No… no, no, no,” Lois whispered frantically as she rushed to him. She knelt, pulling his bloodied head into her lap, her tears falling fast, her hands trembling as she tried to shake him awake.

“Please… please, don’t leave me. You’re all I have…” she sobbed.

His eyes fluttered, pain etched deep into his face. His lips quivered, breath ragged. “L-leave now… more assassins… are coming… You are free now, Lois… Run… run…”

And with that final whisper, his chest fell still.

Lois broke. Her cries tore through the night as she clutched him tightly, desperate to hold onto the only person who had ever shown her kindness. She covered his eyes gently with her trembling hand. “Rest now… please rest,” she whispered, voice breaking.

The weight of loss crushed her, but instinct screamed louder—she had to survive. More would come.

Lois staggered to her feet, tears blurring her vision, and ran blindly into the night. She mounted the horse Lord Barbara had brought earlier, her body trembling as she gripped the reins. Her heart thundered, her mind screamed, her soul wept.

She rode without stopping—through dense forests, over jagged mountains, across streams glimmering in the moonlight. The night devoured her cries, the wind stung her face, but she didn’t stop.

By the next evening, she stumbled into a meadow, lush and green, kissed by the fading sun. Exhaustion weighed on her bones, but then—pain.

A sudden, blinding wave of pain struck her belly. Her legs buckled, her back arched. She gasped, clutching her stomach as realization crashed over her. Labor.

“No… not now,” she whimpered, sweat dripping down her temples.

She dragged herself toward a large rock, collapsing against it as her body convulsed. The contractions ripped through her like rolling thunder, her screams echoing through the lonely meadow. Her water broke, warmth trickling down her thighs.

The pain was relentless, waves crashing harder each time, tearing her apart. She remembered the books she once read, where heroines birthed children with their lovers at their side, whispers of comfort easing their agony. But she had no one.

No loving mate. No family. Only enemies, hatred, and hunters.

Her mate wanted her as nothing more than a slave. Her stepmother and stepsister wanted her dead. And now, she was bringing her children into a world where she had no one to protect her but herself.

Her sobs mingled with screams as she pushed. Her body weakened, her strength drained, her vision darkened at the edges. She wanted to give up—yet for her babies, she fought.

One last push, a scream tearing from her throat. And then—life.

A baby’s cry pierced the night.

Lois collapsed against the rock, tears streaming as she cradled the tiny, wriggling body against her chest. A faint smile trembled on her lips before darkness claimed her, unconscious.

The newborn wailed, his cries echoing across the meadow.

And in the shadows, unseen eyes watched. Wolves stirred, drawn by the sound of helpless life.

The night had only just begun.