Though alarm flickered in their eyes at the sight of blood soaking her wrist, Arabella felt nothing—no fear, no pain, not even surprise. She brushed past their hands, stumbling forward toward the castle where Cassius lay. The thought of him bound to Rella's bargain eclipsed everything else. Her own wounds were trivial.
"Princess!" Lastor's voice cut sharp through the blur of sounds. The weight of command in it startled her into pausing. She turned, dazed, and caught sight of her sister among the cluster of faces—pale, stricken with terror. Her sister's lips trembled as she begged, "Please—at least let us tend to you while you walk."
"It's not much blood," Arabella muttered, though the words faltered when her gaze dropped to the grass. The earth was streaked crimson. A trail marked her passage, a cruel testament to how much she had already lost.
