Chapter 3 Pardon Under Condition

• "I have to see Knight."
• Ayra glared at the soldier blocking her path. Rage was the only emotion that prevented her from trembling in front of him.
• Telling herself to be brave over and over didn't help her. With the turmoil in her head and the soldier standing in her path, exploding was inevitable.
• Mel, standing behind her, was fidgety. Anyone who saw her wouldn't have known that Ayra had tried to prevent her from coming along.
• "Priestess, you wouldn't want to go inside right now."
• The soldier appeared to be in his early twenties, his brown hair neatly combed back and slick. Only the new ones go to such lengths.
• Ayra pulled her eyes away from him and went to the door, stepping forward and reaching for the knob.
• "Priestess, please, I..."
• Too late, she had her hands on the knob.
• He couldn't stop her because touching her was sacrilege. Why did he stay despite knowing it was fruitless? She turned the knob and stepped in.
• She immediately wished she hadn't.
• Knight was there, and although his tanned, scarred back was turned to her, even without seeing his face, she knew it was a bad idea to be there.
• She should have listened and turned back when she had the chance.
• She thought about curling her hands around the white skirt of her gown because, in this cold situation, this was the only thing that gave her warmth, but didn’t want him noticing her fear.
• Knight's head was bent over someone, his arm pressed against the wall, trapping her frozen frame like prey; she could see his finger playing along the zipper of her gown, her breath sounding so hard.
• "Excuse me, I didn't mean to intrude."
• "But you did."
• She swallowed, turning to catch a peek at the door, and, not surprisingly, Mel didn't follow her in. She turned in time to see the door jam shut.
• A moan broke out from the figure he had his hands on.
• Ayra could only see her bare back; Knight had her gown zipped down to her waist.
• Ayra veered to the wall immediately.
• "I'll come back another time," she announced.
• "Now why do you have to do that?" he said with a hint of sly. "I can multitask."
• Her fingers started to grip the sides of her gown, and the tingling sensation inside her was her instinct telling her to flee and never return.
• But...
• "I like a little courtesy when I speak to anyone. Look at me, Ayra."
• "What's the point when you have your back turned to me? And it's priestess now." All of this was to steady her importance but was shaky when it got to him. "Can I talk to you? alone?"
• Silence.
• Then she heard the sound of a zipper, and he muttered, "I'll come to you."
• Ayra turned around to see her nodding, her dark hair shielding her face. She was finding it difficult to look into his eyes, and she didn't need to ask why.
• Knight then moved past her, stopping when he was in front of Ayra, scrutinizing her face before he chuckled, "You look like you've seen a ghost."
• The door opened and shut, and immediately her heartbeat began to race. He was close—too close; it was uncomfortable, and it wasn't right.
• Priestess Despina had said, '𝒀𝒐𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝑨𝒚𝒓𝒂; 𝒅𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒏𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒍𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒏𝒐 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖.'
• what if the darkness had sworn to consume her?
• Ayra took rigid steps back, and a faint grin crept to the sides of Knight's lips. "I knew you'd come," he said, looking down at her fingers in her gown. "Are you scared of me, Ayra?"
• The fact that he had once again called her by her real name was the least of her concerns; the authority in her voice vanished. "Knight, I had no choice..."
• He stepped forward.
• She took one back. "Knight, listen to me. I know how much you hate me, but please hear me." Her back bumped hard against the wall. Her eyes threatened to glisten.
• "You betrayed me," he placed a thumb against her chin. "I trusted you."
• She felt trapped.
• His thumb went down, and she felt it against her Adam's apple. He tilted his head to the side, a certain puzzlement on his face. "Do you want to ask how I survived all those years?" And suddenly, his fingers grasped her neck, partially strangling her.
• She clutched at his wrist, trying to pull away.
• "It was the thought of coming back for you," he increased the pressure. "Save your breath, priestess. Apologies don't mean a thing when I have my focus on taking your life."
• She blurted, "You've forgotten I was made for death; threatening me with that doesn't scare me."
• His body was almost pressing against hers, cold grays searching her eyes. "You should be scared of what I know," he brushed the stray hair off her face. "I'll break you so hard you won't be able to pick up your pieces."
• In just minutes of being there, he was breaking every rule—his touch, his words, and the way he made her body tremble under his assault.
• His thumb was pressed against her lips. "But since you seem genuinely sorry," he brought his face close to hers. "How far are you ready to go for my forgiveness?"
• Alarm signs were everywhere in that single question; they told her to leave, not just from his room but even the manor. Answering that question wouldn't be to her advantage.
• "I'll do anything," she whispered, feeling his breath against her face. "What do you want? Just tell me, I promise..."
• "Make me Duke."
• Ayra paled.
• He knew she couldn't; there was no way he had forgotten the years of tradition among his family. "You know I can..."
• "Don't give me that." His harsh whispers cut through her protest. She whimpered when his fingers left her bottom lips and instead dug into her cheek, sending waves of pain into her brain. "I know the fathers chose who the next leaders will be," he smiled when her eyes widened. "And poor daddy died without telling you who."
• And that was how her life began to crumble.