Caleb lay broken and bleeding on the ground. His knights were strewn about him, slaughtered by the girl who stood over him, watching him struggle to stay alive. She held his sword in her pale hands.

“Finish it,” he said.

She knelt over him, her knees on either side of his chest, her hair falling over his face. The scent of apple blossoms filled his head. Her lips brushed his ear:

“A knight must die with his sword.”

Her voice was barely a whisper, the tiniest breath. She closed his fingers around the hilt.

Caleb looked into her dark eyes and fully realised the danger his king was in. The knight’s hatred of her had melted into obsession; he would follow her to the ends of the world if he were able. A groan of despair escaped his lips. If this was the power she possessed then they were all doomed.

She pulled his dagger from its sheath and buried it in his throat. The girl walked away from that place of death, her master’s orders ringing in her ears. There would be more bloodshed before the day was out.