Not My Fairytale

Chapter 42

**Be warned, this chapter contains some graphic violence, read at your own discretion**

A First

I tried not to think about Angelo as I approached the castle. With so much at stake, I couldn't afford the distraction. I should have known better. He was never far from my mind, and with the danger he was putting himself in, it was impossible not to dwell.

What could be happening to him right now? He had to be close to the guardhouse, but what would he face when he arrived? Would they heed his warning and sound the alarm, or would they be suspicious of his claims and doom the entire castle? Worse yet, would the invading Blood Fangs find Angelo alone in the woods on his way, and put an end to all hope of rallying the guards for some kind of defense?

No, I thought, if Angelo was dead already, I would know it.

My own safety was the last thing I thought of. Much of the situation felt too surreal for that. Blood Fangs inside the castle? It was absurd. Under any other circumstance it would have been folly on their part, except we had been foolish enough to leave ourselves vulnerable. It was just for one day, as my father had said, but that would be plenty of time.

I crept in through the side door, pausing only to peek inside the kitchen. My stomach plummeted as I found it empty of people, though there were still pans and utensils scattered across the countertops. I didn't allow myself to linger.

Halfway to the stairs, I stumbled upon my first unfamiliar man, freezing to my spot in a mix of shock and fear. It was only then that the reality of the situation seemed to sink in with blood chilling clarity. He wore a dark uniform, though it was not any that I recognized, and blood dripped from the axe in his hand to land in tiny crimson puddles on the stone floor.

I had no weapon. I should have taken a knife from the kitchen, but it was too late to think of that now.

He twirled the axe menacingly, a twisted smile growing on his face, sending red droplets flying around the corridor to splatter against the paintings on the wall. A speck hit my cheek, still warm.

There was no time to think of how I had never had an honest fight before, not against someone who didn't work for my family. The man's smile was triumphant as he took in my still form, staring up at him with wide eyes. It was clear by the way he didn't study me any closer, that he was not looking to take any hostages. His orders were to kill anyone he came across.

He was nearly upon me before I snapped from my daze and my body moved as if on instinct. Years of training kicked in, and I ducked out of range of his first swing. He grunted as the blade sliced through the air where I had been only moments before. I evaded his second and third attempts just as easily, the two of us falling into the rhythm of our dangerous dance. I tried to recall every bit of advice Matteo had ever given me. Steady breaths, tight form, patience. Wait for an opening...

He didn't make me wait long. With each failed attempt, he became more frustrated and his attacks grew more sloppy. I skirted away from a swing, he leaned his body too far forward, likely hoping the extra inches would be all he needed to put an end to our little game. I took advantage of his mistake.

One hand found the shaft of the axe, pulling it forward to knock him off balance. The other hand broke his hold, leaving me standing above his sprawled form, axe in hand.

My blow struck flesh before I even had a chance to process what I was doing.

His head toppled to the floor, followed immediately by his body. I could only stare at the carnage. Did I really do that?