HARRY
I waited for my beloved, my queen, in the library, pacing in anticipation when the news reached me.
It was a handwritten letter, the bold script instantly recognizable. It was a handwriting I had known all my life: "I have her. Come alone if you want her alive."
My hands trembled around the parchment, and I squeezed my eyes shut. There was no way in hell that Richard could send me a letter from prison, and no way he could have captured Isabel. Yet the handwriting was unmistakably Melbourne's. If it wasn't Richard, then who the hell was it?
I crumpled the sheet and tossed it into the fireplace, watching the flames swallow it as the blood spiked hot in my chest. No, I cannot lose her.
I lunged for the drawer next to my reading desk. When I yanked it open, the golden sword I hadn't touched in years stared back at me.
