Masked Prince - Nikolai Andrew Page 0,24

And then in one, astonishing, horrible movement, the guard plunged the pitchfork straight into my father’s belly. With a sound like a knife cutting into an apple, the four prongs ran him straight through and emerged, dripping with blood, from his back.

I shot backwards, sending the milking stool flying, trying desperately to help him. He lay face-up on the floor, his eyes red and bloodshot, looking confused and far-away. He placed his hand to his bloody stomach and stared at his red palm in amazement feeling like this was some horrible nightmare.

“Father, just…” I wanted to tell him help was on the way, but I didn’t dare. “What have you done?” I screamed, looking up at the three men. “How could you do this?”

The one that seemed in charge grinned at me. “We had our orders. And now, we’ve got some orders for you, pretty little thing.” He looked straight at my sex, while he spun his blade again and again.

Ignoring the pain in my leg, I scrambled up the main post of the milking shed, while the guards grabbed at my ankles and the hem of my skirt. I had made the climb a thousand times, and I was grateful for my own strength, as much as it hurt. I scampered up and over, so that I was above them on a horizontal beam, clinging to it with both arms and pinching it with my knees.

Below me, I watched the life drain out of my father’s eyes. I felt so helpless, so terrified, and so far away from him. For all the terror he had caused me, I had tried—always—to treat him with kindness. I had always tried to smother his rage with love, because despite it all I had loved him. But now, in his dying moments, I could do nothing to comfort him, as I watched the life drain away, away, away.

It was too much to take in. I was so shocked, so overwhelmed, that I just stared at him in mute terror. But slowly the hot tears found their way to my eyes and clouded my vision. The guards became blurry through them. I had to hang on. I just had to. All I had to do, I told myself, was hang on until Bonny sent someone to help me.

But that could take forever. The guards were there to take what they wanted of me and dispose of the rest. It was only a matter of time before I joined my father in bleeding to death on the milk shed floor.

The guards prowled around me from below. The memory of that frozen salmon unlocked another memory, one I had tried desperately to forget. When I was a very young girl, while my mother was still alive, a pack of wolves spotted me and drove me up a tree, where I stayed for hours until my father appeared, driving them off with his shouts and the fire of a makeshift torch.

The guards were exactly like those wolves—hungrily circling and circling, and this time I knew my father wasn’t going to bravely come to my rescue. They made no movements to follow me up into the rafters; I could tell they were very much enjoying the chase. One of them used the tip of his sword to slit my skirt up the length of my thigh. The wood grain dug into my skin as I gripped the beam so tightly that it made my legs burn.

“I’ll give you anything you want. But please...” I begged them. “Please don’t kill me.”

They chuckled, like I’d made a joke.

I’m not going to survive this. I’m not.

“Oh, we’ll kill you alright,” said the big guard. “But I fucking promise to make it nice and slow.”

This could not be happening. It simply could not. My arms trembled so hard that splinters dug into my flesh.

Nellie was getting increasingly worked up as the guards circled. As many animals do when they’re nervous, she took the opportunity to relieve herself. Before she was even done, one of the guards had grabbed a stinking pile of her hot dung and threw it right at my face.

I spat it out and tried to wipe my eyes with my knuckles. They just roared with laughter as one after another handful of cow dung splattered my body and head. The more of it they threw, the more slippery the beam became and the more difficult it was for me to hang on tight.

Once they’d finished with the dung, they