Twelve Times

The blade knows the path.

Three inches to the left. Up through the gap in his armor. Between the third and fourth rib, angled toward the heart.

I've practiced this a thousand times. Ten thousand. In the dark. In my sleep. Every night since I was fourteen years old, I've dreamed of this exact moment.

My arm doesn't move.

Prince Rael's hand closes around my wrist. His grip is iron. His eyes, dark, steady, infuriatingly calm, meet mine.

"Twelve times, assassin." His voice is low. Almost bored. "Aren't you tired?"

The oath screams inside my chest.

Kill him. Kill him. KILL HIM.

My muscles strain against his grip. My body knows what to do. My blade is three inches from his throat. Three inches from ending ten years of this burning, driving, relentless need.

And I can't. Finish. The strike.

"Let go of me," I spit through gritted teeth.

"So you can try again?" He tilts his head. Studies me like I'm a puzzle he can't quite solve. "I don't think so."

The oath pulses harder. A second heartbeat behind my sternum. Demanding. Punishing.

I twist my wrist, trying to break free. He adjusts his grip without effort. Strong. Too strong.

Around us, his guards finally catch up. Steel rings as swords leave sheaths. A dozen men form a circle, blades pointed at me.

"Your Highness," one of them barks. "Step back. Let us..."

"No." Rael doesn't look at them. Doesn't look away from me. "I have her."

He does. His other hand comes up, closes around my knife hand. Both wrists now. I'm caught.

I should be dead. Any ruler would execute an assassin on the spot. His guards are itching to do it, I can see it in their rigid stances, their white-knuckle grips.

But he's not letting them.

"Twelve attempts," he says again. "Eleven failures. And yet you keep coming."

"The next one will succeed."

"You said that after the fifth. And the eighth. And the eleventh." Something flickers in his expression. Not quite amusement. Not quite pity. "At what point do you admit this isn't working?"

The oath BURNS.

Kill him. Fail and die. Kill him. Fail and die.

"I made a vow," I manage through the pain. "I'll keep it or I'll die keeping it."

"I know." He says it quietly. Like he actually understands. "That's what concerns me."

His guards shift restlessly. The one who spoke before steps forward.

"Your Highness, this woman has tried to murder you a dozen times. She must be executed. Protocol demands..."

"Protocol can wait." Rael finally releases one of my wrists. I immediately strike at his face with my freed hand.

He catches it. Of course he does.

"Take her to the tower," he says. "The secure chamber. No one enters without my permission."

"Your Highness..."

"That's an order, Captain."

The guard's mouth thins. He doesn't like it. Neither do the others. But they obey.

Hands grab my arms, my shoulders. My blade is wrenched away. They're not gentle about it.

Rael steps back. The distance between us grows.

The oath howls.

"Why?" I demand as they drag me backward. "Why not just kill me?"

He watches me go with that same unreadable expression. Calm. Calculating. And underneath it, something I can't name.

"Because I can't," he says.

The words don't make sense. He's a prince. He can do whatever he wants.

But before I can respond, a guard's fist connects with my temple.

The world goes dark.

When I wake, I'm in a stone cell. Cold. Damp. The kind of dark that settles into your bones.

The oath throbs steadily in my chest. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.

Twelve attempts. Twelve failures.

I curl my hands into fists against the freezing floor.

Why is he keeping me alive?