Chapter 43 Oblivion

Chapter 43 Oblivion
“I do apologize, princess, but I promised there would be no witnesses,” Brendyn whispered, his voice thick with disdain. Promised who?

The words slithered into Aizurah’s ears like cold water. For a heartbeat, she forgot how to breathe. Her pulse hammered so violently she could feel it in her wounded abdomen, each throb a reminder that she was already at a disadvantage.

Her mind scrambled to make sense of his tone, his certainty, the way he said promised—as if he had been waiting for this moment, savoring it.

“You fucking—”

He stepped toward her, and instinct overrode thought. Aizurah stumbled backward, boots skidding on loose stone, her hand flying to her blade. Her fingers were slick with her own blood, and the hilt nearly slipped from her grasp. She drew it anyway, the metal whispering free with a tremor that betrayed her fear. Brendyn’s eyebrow lifted, amused, as if she were a child waving a stick.

Despite the pain, despite the dizziness creeping at the edges of her vision, Aizurah forced herself to analyze him. She had always been good at reading people—Zeidan said it was her greatest strength. And now, staring at Brendyn Rainfer, she saw it clearly: the same bitterness he’d shown in Rainfall, the same resentment simmering beneath his polite smiles. Suddenly, his volunteering to join the battle made perfect sense. It had never been about assisting them. He’d been planning this from the beginning.

Her stomach twisted—not from the wound, but from betrayal.

Brendyn held the blade improperly. It wasn’t even his own. His sword remained sheathed at his hip, untouched, as though he didn’t consider her worth the effort of drawing it. Aizurah nearly snorted despite the terror clawing at her throat. Some Lord he would be…

She forced her feet apart, taking her fighting stance. Blood dripped steadily from her abdomen, warm against her chilled skin, pattering into the dirt beneath her. The cave smelled of iron and damp stone, and her head swam with the metallic tang of her own blood. Her abdomen seared with every breath, but she refused to let it stop her. She needed to make it back to Zeidan. She needed to survive.

Brendyn lunged.

He moved faster than she expected—far faster. Aizurah barely managed to raise her blade in time. Steel collided with steel, the impact jarring her entire body. Pain exploded through her abdomen, white-hot and blinding. She doubled over, gasping, her vision flickering.

“Your father will mourn your loss when Sir Kane reads him the news…” Brendyn taunted, his grin stretching grotesquely across his face. “Then again, maybe not. I’ve heard rumor that the Queen is with child again. A consolation for the King, to be sure.”

Anger boiled through her, sharp and sudden, cutting through the haze of pain. As if this man knew anything about her family. As if he had any right to speak of them.

Her grip tightened on her sword despite the slickness of her blood. She swung, fueled by fury more than precision. The blade sliced across the side of his leg. Brendyn hissed, stumbling a half-step.

“You little bitch!”

Aizurah swayed. The cave tilted. Her brain scrambled to find her next move, but everything felt slow, muffled, as though she were underwater. She was losing blood too quickly. Her hands were trembling. Her breaths came shallow and fast, adrenaline forcing her body to keep moving even as it threatened to collapse.

Still, if Brendyn thought she would be easy prey, he was wrong. She wasn’t going to die in this cave. She wouldn’t do that to Zeidan. She wouldn’t let him find her body cold and broken.

Zeidan…

Her sword slipped from her fingers. It hit the dirt with a dull thud that echoed louder than it should have. Brendyn’s eyes lit with triumph, his grin widening with sick satisfaction. He lunged forward, seizing a fistful of her hair and yanking her head back. The blade pressed to her throat, cold and sharp.

Aizurah felt no fear. Only clarity.

Triumph flickered in her eyes as her free hand moved—slow to her perception, but fast enough. She unsheathed her dagger and drove it upward, jamming it between the joints of his armor and into his ribs. She felt the blade sink in. Felt the resistance give. Felt the heat of his blood spill over her fingers.

Zeidan had always told her about men’s weak points. He’d trained her well enough.

Brendyn howled, staggering back. He dropped the blade, clutching his side as he doubled over. Aizurah didn’t wait. She lurched away from him, her boots dragging across the cave floor. Every step felt like wading through mud. Her vision pulsed with each heartbeat, darkening at the edges.

She heard distant noises—shouts, metal clashing, footsteps echoing through the tunnels. Pirates. Soldiers. She didn’t know. She didn’t care. She would risk facing all of them rather than bleed out beside that traitor.

Her hair jerked backward. Aizurah cried out as her head snapped back, Brendyn’s hand fisting in her hair again. His grip was iron despite the wound she’d given him. He dragged her sideways, her feet scraping helplessly across the stone.

Then he slammed her head into the cave wall, and the world exploded.

A crack—her face? The wall? She couldn’t tell. Pain radiated through her skull, sharp and ringing. Her skin split. Warm blood spilled down her cheek. She fell backward into the dirt, limbs limp, vision swimming crimson. Her ears rang so loudly she couldn’t hear her own breathing.

Her thoughts scattered like a flock of frightened birds.

She blinked, but everything blurred. Blood leaked from her nose, hot and thick, sliding over her lips and into her mouth. She tasted iron. She tasted fear. She tasted rage.

And then—through the ringing, through the agony—she heard it.

“Aizurah!”

Not Zeidan. She wished it had been Zeidan.

Still, the voice cut through the haze like a lifeline. She forced her eyes open, vision doubling, then tripling. A figure moved behind Brendyn. A flash of steel. A shout.

Sir Arden Stonewell.

Aizurah watched—barely conscious—as Arden’s sword thrust clean through Brendyn Rainfer’s mouth. The traitor’s eyes bulged, his body jerking once before collapsing.

Satisfaction warmed her chest, faint but real.

Arden dropped to his knees beside her, his face a blur of concern and urgency. She tried to speak, but the darkness surged up, swallowing the world whole.

The last thing she saw was Arden reaching for her—

—and then oblivion claimed her.