Insurrection [On Hold]

12 A True Fairy Tale

You're the first to hear the news! My short story, Terminated, is being published! Excuse me while I do a happy dance.

My body freezes against his. I'm not even sure my heart beats as he brings his face in front of mine, his jaw tense. His eyes don't waver; they stay locked with mine. I. . . I can't meet his gaze.

His fingers fall out of mine and come to my face to trace my chin. The tips of his fingers are calloused, and I have to restrain myself from focusing on how good they feel. They tighten around my jaw, and I grit my teeth to not show my discomfort. He tilts his head to the side. "You Delilah."

"I didn't want to be captured."

"Oh, of course not. I couldn't imagine you'd want to see me. After all you're here trying to kill me."

"Nate--"

"But you make things work for you, Delilah. I don't know how, but you always do. And you adapt."

I try to shake my head but with his hand on my jaw it becomes almost a nod unwillingly. I may be able to control if I talk, but he controls if my neck snaps to the side. "You think I want to be here? With you who can now kill me by moving your arm? I'm terrified." I miss my siblings. I miss being loved.

His eyes look at me as if I am a math problem he can't figure out. "I'm sorry that I have to eliminate problems."

The door bursts open, and Nate tears his hand from my jaw and wraps it around his gun in his holster. Morse freezes in the doorway, his gun aimed at Nate and eyes on me. Without looking Nate points his gun behind him and pulls the trigger. A bullet lodges inside Morse's brain, and I slap a hand over my mouth to keep any sound from escaping.

Nate's eyes stay on me as he brings his arm forward. This is it. He's going to shoot me. He returns the gun to its holster and reaches for his knife—

He whirls me away from the wall and presses my back to his chest, his muscles taut. One of his hands wrap around my waist. I'd like to say protectively, because I'd like to say that the one person who tried to save me is holding me protectively. But that would be a blatant lie. Because he presses his knife's blade against my throat.

In runs the other four.  Gunshots ring out in the hallway, and Marco shoves the door shut and throws his body against it, while Grant grabs Nate's desk and drags it across the floor to the door all while Damon trains his gun on Nate whose teeth grind next to my ear. Matthew drops to the ground and checks Morse's nonexistent pulse. 

The rebels outside bang on the door.

"I'm glad to see I have your attention, gentlemen." Nate's hand grips my side and the rest of my team turn their focus on us. If I wince the knife cuts me. "As you can clearly see I can simply drag my knife across your princess' throat and you'll have one less royal family member. Shall I demonstrate?" I don't believe him. I don't. "Unless you'd like to explain to his Royal Majesty why his youngest daughter is lying in my office in a pool of her own blood, then I suggest listening closely and doing as I say."

Damon crosses his arms. "Kill her." Betrayed by my own country.

Nate's hand falters. "What?"

Damon shrugs. "Kill her. None of us care."

Shouts grow louder on the other side of the door.

"But she's your princess."

I close my eyes, picturing the smiling faces of my siblings-- all of us in a way look alike--our black hair, pointed noses, brown eyes. They never really smile anymore. Smiling's hard when we're in situations like this.

"She holds no power over any of us. The king put us in charge of her."

Nate removes the knife from my neck and pushes me to the side toward the wall. I stumble, inhaling and pressing my hands to the metal wall. I look up at my men. Matthew, Marco, and Grant look at Nate with their guns raised, but Damon smirks at me.

Fists continue to pound at the door.

"Now," Damon raises his gun, "come with us." He speaks to Nate but aims his gun at me. I'm really not meant to make it out of this alive.

"Why?"

"Because I'll kill her."

"No, I mean, why would I care?"

Yep. I'm done for.

"Because you hesitated to kill her. With her life really on the line, you'll do whatever we say. Don't try to argue that I won't kill her. To us she's not good for anything but being disposable."

Tears swell in my eyes, but they don't fall. I never wanted this metaphorical crown. My life was always like those foolish fairy tales, except I never got the beginning when everything was happy. I got the middle and end of the tale. And my fairy tale isn't one of those few with a happy ending. In fact my tale's about to end right now.

"What do you want me to do?" Nate asks.

I stare at him, my eyes wide and mouth parted. He's not actually going to surrender?

Damon jerks his head toward the door. "Come with us and order your men to stand down."

His eyes flick to me and in them are an emotion I'm all too familiar with— hate. "Very well."