Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 165 - Hundred And Sixty Five

The rope tightened. The rough hemp bit into Marissa’s skin, burning like a ring of fire around her neck. Her breath was cut off, her lungs screaming for air that wouldn’t come. Black spots danced in her vision, growing larger, threatening to swallow the world.

She clawed at the assassin’s hands, but his grip was iron. He was stronger, heavier, and determined to finish the job.

And then, she started laughing.

It was a choked, horrible, wheezing sound. It wasn’t humor. It was the sound of disbelief.

The assassin frowned, his eyes narrowing above his mask. Why was she laughing? Was she mad?

Marissa’s thoughts raced, frantic and clear, even as the darkness closed in.

"Will I die again?" she thought, the memory of the fire in her past life flashing before her eyes. "Will I suffocate? Is this my fate, to always die just as I start to live?"

"No," her mind screamed, a fierce rejection of destiny. "I don’t want to. I don’t want to leave. I have just tasted freedom. I have just tasted power."

She thought of the heavy gold token in her pocket. She thought of the Golden Swan.

"I don’t want to leave my wealth," she thought. "I fought for it. I earned it."

Then, a sweeter, sharper pain hit her heart. She saw a small face with dark curls and a gap-toothed smile.

"I don’t want to leave my sweet little Ryan," she thought, tears springing to her eyes. "I promised him honey cakes. I promised I would visit. I cannot break a promise to a child."

And then, the final image. A man with a scar on his hand, holding a wreath of flowers, looking at her with eyes full of a love he was just learning to show.

"And," Marissa realized, the thought hitting her harder than the lack of air, "I don’t want to leave Derek."

She wouldn’t leave him. Not now. Not when they had just started.

Her hand, scrabbling on the floor, brushed against something sharp.

A shard of ceramic from the broken water pitcher.

She grabbed it. She didn’t think about the pain as the jagged edge cut her own palm. She gripped it tight. With a surge of desperate strength, she swung her arm backward.

SLASH. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

She drove the shard deep into the back of the assassin’s hand, the one holding the rope.

"ARGH!"

The assassin roared in pain. His grip faltered. He let go of the rope instinctively, clutching his bleeding hand.

Marissa gasped, sucking in a huge, ragged breath of air. Her throat burned, but she was alive. She rolled away from him, scrambling to her feet. She was dizzy, her vision swimming, but she ran.

She ran toward the open cell door.

The assassin recovered quickly. He snarled, ignoring his wound. He lunged after her, his speed terrifying. He was faster. He was reaching for her hair, his fingers inches away.

Thwip.

A sound hissed through the air.

THUNK.

An arrow, black and deadly, flew out of the darkness of the corridor. It struck the assassin in the thigh, burying itself deep in the muscle.

The assassin screamed again, a high-pitched sound of agony. He collapsed, his leg giving way beneath him. He hit the stone floor hard, writhing in pain.

Marissa didn’t stop. She didn’t look back. She stumbled into the hallway, her legs heavy, her breath coming in sobbing gasps. She was disoriented. The dungeon corridor stretched out before her, long and dark.

She ran blindly.

She rounded a corner and slammed into someone.

A solid, warm wall of a chest.

She gasped, flinching back, thinking it was another killer. She lost her balance, her knees buckling.

But strong arms caught her. They wrapped around her waist, pulling her close, steadying her.

She looked up.

"Derek," she whispered. Her voice was rough, a broken rasp from her bruised throat.

He looked down at her. His face was pale with terror, his eyes wide. He saw the fear in her eyes.

"Forgive me," Derek said, his voice cracking. "I’m late. I’m so sorry."

He pulled her into a crushing hug. He buried his face in her hair, holding her as if he were trying to put her broken pieces back together. He planted desperate, frantic kisses on her forehead, her hair, her temple.

"I thought I lost you," he murmured against her skin. "I thought I was too late."

Marissa clung to him. She buried her face in his coat, breathing in his scent—leather, horses, and safety. The shaking started then, a violent tremor that rattled her bones.

"I’m alright," she whispered, though she wasn’t sure if it was true. "I’m alive."

Derek kissed her forehead one last time, a lingering press of his lips. Then he pulled back slightly. His expression changed. The fear vanished, replaced by a cold, murderous rage.

He looked around the empty corridor.

"Where are the guards?" Derek demanded. His voice echoed off the stone walls. "Where are the men who were supposed to protect you? Why is this aisle empty?"

There was no answer. The royal guards were gone.

A shadow detached itself from the darkness near the cell door.

It was the Elite Shadow. The one Derek had sent to watch over her. He was holding a bow. He was the one who had shot the assassin.

The Shadow walked forward. He dropped to his knees in front of Marissa and Derek. He lowered his head until it touched the cold stone floor.

"I’m sorry, Your Grace," the Shadow said, his voice flat and devoid of hope. "I failed to protect the Duchess. I wasn’t aware when he enter the cell. I let him touch her."

The code of the Elite Shadows was strict. Failure meant death. Incompetence in protecting the family was the highest crime.

The Shadow reached for the dagger at his belt. He drew it. The blade gleamed in the torchlight.

He brought the dagger to his own throat. He was ready to end his life for his mistake.

"Stop!" Marissa cried out.

Her voice was raw, but it was commanding. She reached out a hand.

The Shadow paused, the blade pressing against his skin. He looked up, confused.

"You saved me," Marissa rasped. "You shot him. If not for you, I would be dead. Do not add another death to this night."

Derek sighed. He reached down and took the dagger from the Shadow’s hand.

"She is right," Derek said. "You were outnumbered. The royal guards abandoned their post. You acted when it mattered."

He handed the dagger back to the Shadow, hilt first.

"Stand up," Derek ordered. "Your service is not done."

The Shadow stood, sheathing his weapon. He looked at Derek with renewed loyalty.

"Where is he?" Derek asked, his voice dropping to a dangerous growl. "The assassin."

The Shadow pointed back toward the open cell door.

"He is tied up in Her Grace’s cell," the Shadow replied. "He cannot walk. He is waiting for your judgment."

Derek’s eyes narrowed. A dark, cruel light entered them.

"Good," Derek whispered.

He turned to Marissa. He touched her cheek gently.

"Wait here," he said softly. "I need to have a conversation with our guest."

He turned and walked toward the cell, his steps heavy and filled with promise of pain. Marissa watched him go, leaning against the wall for support, knowing that the man inside the cell was about to wish he had died by her hand instead.