“Hand over the key, or will I have to remove it from your dead body?” the Rammulan prince asked, his machete at Queen Sarinda’s slender neck, drawing blood- scarlet against her pale skin. “It’s your choice, and the only difference is your life.”
“Why in the world would I give you the key to my people’s symbol of hope and the stronghold of the Kashum royalty?” she asked, her voice calm despite the intensity of the atmoshpere. “I have told you once and I’ll say it agina; I will not give in to you barbaric pigs!” He pressed the machette into her neck with a little more force.
“I had really hoped that I would be able to spare your life,” he murmured in her ear. “You would have made a wonderful bride for me.”
“I’d rather die than marry my husband’s murderer,” she snapped, anger dancing dangerously in her eyes.
“And you will,” he assured her, his voice an elegant hiss. “But first I think I’ll have some fun with you.” Fear mingled with the anger in her eyes, and she fought the ropes that held her tightly in place. “What’s this? The brave, wonderful and couragous Queen Sarinda is afraid?”
“Fear is not a shameful thing,” she said, giving up on the ropes and forcing her muscles to loosen. “Your dishonorable behavior is.”
“I hold your life in my hands, and yet you’re still willing to fight back? You’re a fool, woman.”
“If you held my life in your hands, then why am I not dead yet?” she asked. The prince exhaled slowly, his breath escaping through his teeth in a hiss.
“Enough,” he snapped. “You wish to die? Then so be it.” He jerked the machette back, and Queen Sarinda was no more.