Draven dropped heavily to one knee, the wet thud of his body hitting the dirt cutting through my panic. His teeth clenched so tightly I could hear the grinding of his jaw, a low, agonizing growl tearing from his throat.
"Draven!" I shrieked, my boots skidding in the dirt as I instinctively lunged forward to reach him.
"Stay back!" he snarled, his voice a jagged edge of raw fury and pain. "Stay back, Seraphina. I'm going to teach this bastard a fucking lesson."
I froze, my breath trapped in my throat as I watched him grip the shaft of the black-feathered arrow with his right hand. With a brutal, unyielding jerk, he dragged it out of his flesh. A fresh torrent of dark crimson blood sprayed across his tunic, and he clamped his palm over the gaping shoulder wound, a string of lethal curses spilling from his lips.
From the center of the room, my father let out a low, mocking laugh, dusting off his silver-lined furs. "Look at the great Duke now. Brought low by a single piece of iron."
