The Dragon Princess

Chapter 8

Royal Advisor Iris Elliot

Clay City, Dearie

"You really think you are safe?" Wyatt spits at me, his blood mixing with the sand at our feet. He already knows how this is going to end and so do I. He kneels in the sand, back straight and hands keeping a tight grip on my arms. Even in his strength, he will not win. Not like this. Not now. Not ever.

"I was never safe." I return, more to myself than to him. I don't need to justify my actions to them. They betrayed everything we fought for. Everything I thought I fought for. I realized we were nothing more than pawns. I will never forget how my eyes opened that day. I saw everything they didn't want me to see. Every death. Every murder. Every mass murder. Every child. Every woman. Every man. All for their own selfish gain.

"None of us ever were," he glances up at me, his piercing eyes glaring into mine, "Cousin." He adds and I draw in a sharp breath. With that breath, I find the courage to pull the strength I need. He knew I was his cousin, perhaps all along. I could see it in his eyes. I find my eyes wondering up to Lucas, who stands a few paces away, a wound on his arm bleeding from where Liam had nicked him with a blade. I couldn't feel my own pain, and I knew that made me less human. I knew it made me the thing I had been built to become on the Island. I could always see what I was. Lucas needs to see it as well. Lucas needs to know who I am. Liam's death had been quick and messy. Wyatt's has not been. With my eyes staring into that of my supposed husband, I pull with all my strength, and hear the satisfying snap that let me know the deed was done. As I straighten, Wyatt falls to the sand. Lucas just stands watching me, his eyes clearly seeing what I wanted him to see.

I tear my gaze from him and look down at Wyatt. My own cousin. A true islander. I bend down to his side, passing my hand over his open eyes, closing them. I find myself saying a piece of my motto, the one I had made up after giving up the Island. "Condemnare daemonio." Condemn the devil. Wyatt was never a match going up against me. He knew it. He always knew. Receiving the order to come after me, had been his final order, one he knew he would not complete. Islander's fight to the death. Dying a warrior's death is honorable, but not completing a mission, is a failure. Liam and Wyatt have failed. "Find peace, Islander Wyatt." I whisper to him, before standing up.

My gaze then trails to Liam, lying on his back in his own pool of bloody sand. It had been no surprise that Liam had attacked first. It was his job, his skill. He was the fighter and had never lost a match, until now. He had underestimated me. He thought that since I wasn't on the Island anymore, that I was weak, but I am not. I am stronger than I ever have been. I didn't need a weapon to kill Liam, and I was more than satisfied when he made an error, and his own blade became his undoing as I slammed it into his neck. I think I even smiled in my triumph. I now say the same things that I said to Wyatt, to Liam. At one time, they were my brothers. More family to me than my own blood. In Wyatt's case, he was my blood. However, none of us chose the life we were given. None of us wanted to be cold-hearted assassins in the beginning. Over time, we accepted that it was the only way, until I was shown that it wasn't. I was given a choice, and when I gave them that choice, they refused.

Slowly, my eyes trail from the dead bodies of my former brothers, and up to Lucas, who stands straighter, more in control of his shock and horror at what he has just witnessed. "Do you understand now?" I call to him, and begin walking in his direction. He places his free hand over his wound on his arm, as if to keep me from seeing it, but I already have. Blood was dripping down in the sand, leaving a trail where ever he steps. He is holding my satchel in the hand with his bleeding arm, the red drops hitting the side and trickling down to the sand.

When I reach him, my anger is already present. It has never left. I snatch the bag away from him easily, quickly opening it and rummaging through it. I find what I am looking for. I pull out a strip of cloth, nearly the length of my entire arm, and then drop the bag to the sand with force. I want him to know how angry I am, but it is more than that. I want him to feel that anger. I want him to know that this anger is because of him. I grab his arm, and he lets out a yell of pain, my fingers digging into his arm. I check the wound for any metal fragments or sand, but don't find any. He watches me as I tie the cloth around his arm, and secure it with a tight knot. He tries not to wince, but he does. "My days are numbered." I grumble, stepping away from him and picking up my bag, slinging it over my shoulder. "Now yours are too." I hiss, turning and starting to walk away from him.