Chapter 57
Nelan’s snide voice broke through Annalise’s golden haze. “She’s healed you?”
A large hand grabbed her by the arm and jerked her to her feet, away from Soren. Annalise cried out at the rough handling. Nelan’s face was twisted in hate and rage. The sudden sight of him reminded Annalise of everything he’d put her and Soren through.
In a flash, her knife was in her hand, and she slashed at his side. He caught her and twisted her wrist, forcing her to let go. “You’ve been holding out on me. If your tears healed him, your blood should heal me even faster,” he snarled.
In one fluid movement, he drew his dagger, which was still wet with Soren’s blood, and cut a another jagged slash against her already-bloody palm. In the next breath he forced her hand to his shoulder, where her blood mingled with his. Annalise couldn’t believe her luck and thanked the Goddess for her mercies, because while she may have healed Soren, if there was any justice in the world, Nelan would die a terribly painful death.
She grabbed at Nelan with her other hand, smearing her blood over his face, neck, and wherever else she could reach. She didn’t know why Soren had been healed, but if her curse was finally broken and Nelan was also healed, she’d take great pleasure in killing him through conventional means.
She was Queen of Dovea, and her first official act would be to punish the tyrant king standing before her.
The twisted smile on Nelan’s face slowly grew tighter until it turned into a grimace, and then his eyes began to bulge. He tried to push her away, but she clung on and dug into his shoulder. His next push was rougher and broke her grip. Nelan shoved her away and screamed, ripping the cloth of his tunic and revealing the flesh around his shoulder turning mottled purple and blue. As Annalise watched, the veins under his skin turned black and spread out, followed by the familiar sight of mottling purple. The skin of his face also turned, albeit slower than that of his shoulder.
When the dark veins covered his face, he collapsed, writhing and shouting in pain.
Annalise backed away as King Nelan’s personal guards rushed to his side. She readied herself for a fight, but Nelan’s thrashing sent a fine mist of black blood in the air, and the guards were soon covered, and within seconds, also infected.
Their tortured screams rang through the throne room, and everyone with any sense hurriedly backed away until Nelan and his guards were alone in the center of the space.
Annalise stood frozen in horror until Soren pulled her away and enfolded her in his arms, positioning his body between her and the horrific scene. She buried her head against his chest, but then thought better of it and instead forced herself to watch Nelan’s convulsions and those of his subordinates.
She still had much to learn, but as Nelan and his guards finally stopped moving, their cries turning to whispers and then silence, a strange sense of satisfaction settled in her breast. Goddess willing, he would be the last person her curse ever killed, and she could think of no better ending for such an evil king.