Reborn To Change My Fate-Chapter 80 - Eighty

The muffled shouts from the floor below, the sounds of the Royal Guards, were a distant, growing thunder.

Marissa’s eyes, which had been locked on Senna’s, snapped to Derek. His mask was dangling from the cloak he wore, his outfit was torn, and his hand was clamped tightly around his other arm. And through his fingers, dark, wet, and glistening, she saw the steady seep of blood.

"You’re injured," she stated, her voice a flat, cold observation.

The sound of her voice, so calm in the middle of the chaos, seemed to break the spell.

"They are after you," she said, her mind putting the pieces together with speed: his disguise, his wound, the Royal Guards. This was not a random search. This was a hunt. And he’s the prey.

A low, painful groan came from the room.

Lord Ashford, the nobleman Senna had intended as a pawn, was stirring. The blow from the vase had only stunned him. He was a large man, and his skull was thick. He pushed himself up onto one elbow, his hand flying to his head, his fingers coming away sticky with blood.

"Who... who dared to smash me?" he roared, his voice a slurred, drunken bellow of outrage. He staggered, pulling himself to his feet, his eyes wild and unfocused. He blinked, trying to make sense of the scene. He saw Senna, her dress torn. He saw Marissa, a strange, new woman. And he saw a strange, dark, menacing man with a sword. He pointed a shaking finger at the two women. "Which one of you... which one of you did it?"

At that exact moment, the noise from the hallway erupted. The muffled shouts became a clear, terrifying, and very close command.

"SEARCH UPSTAIRS! THIS FLOOR! EVERY ROOM!"

Heavy, armored footsteps were already thundering up the private staircase.

Derek, his face a mask of pained, furious concentration, flattened himself against the wall, out of the direct line of sight from the doorway. He raised his bleeding sword, his body tensing, a cornered wolf ready for one last, desperate fight.

He was trapped. The guards has already surrounded the establishment.

Senna, who had been a whimpering, defeated heap on the floor, saw it all. She saw the guards. She saw the furious, bleeding Duke. And she saw the drunken fool, Ashford. In a split second. She would not be caught in the crossfire.

"I did it!" she shrieked at Lord Ashford, her voice a sudden, surprising burst of fury. "And what are you going to do about it, you drunken pig?"

She scrambled to her feet and, with all the strength in her body, she shoved the large, confused, and swaying Lord Ashford, pushing him with both hands directly out of the parlor and into the hallway.

He tumbled out of the doorway, a human bowling ball, and crashed, with a sound of clattering armor, pained shouts, and splintering wood, directly into the front line of the Royal Guards who were just reaching the landing.

"Get off me! What is this? Seize this man! He’s drunk!" the Captain shouted. The landing dissolved into a chaotic, tangled heap of shouting men, flailing limbs, and drawn swords.

The diversion had bought them seconds.

"Come on!" Marissa hissed. She grabbed Derek’s hand—his good one—and yanked him towards the other door in the parlor, the one that led to Senna’s private bedchamber.

She pulled him inside the dark,heavily perfumed room and slammed the door, twisting the key she’d seen Senna use to lock it. The room was a tomb, the only light a sliver of moonlight from a high window.

"They will break down the door," Derek growled, his voice tight with pain as he moved toward the balcony window, his mind still on escape.

"No," Marissa said, her voice a sharp, commanding whisper from the darkness. "They will find us. We have to give them a reason to leave us alone."

She shoved him, hard, toward the center of the room, toward the large, looming shadow of the four-poster bed. "Sit," she commanded. "On the bed. Your back to the headboard. Now."

He was so stunned by her sudden, absolute authority, and so weakened by his arm, that he actually obeyed. He sank onto the plush, silk-covered mattress, his wounded arm held awkwardly at his side.

"In urgent times," she whispered, her voice a breathless sound right next to him in the dark, "we must act as needed. They must not see your injuries."

He heard the sound of ripping fabric, the hiss of laces being yanked free. "What are you doing?" he growled, his eyes straining to see her in the pitch-black.

"Making a scene," she replied. The torn pieces of her dress were on the floor. He heard a soft rustle, and then she was on the bed with him. Her shoulders and some of her skin was exposed. Her bodice was gone left for her chemise. Her knees landed on either side of his legs, and she straddled him, her weight settling onto his lap.

Derek’s entire body went rigid. His heart, which had been pounding with the adrenaline of the fight, now gave a single, hard, disbelieving lurch. He could feel the heat of her body, smell the faint scent of her skin and the wine she had drunk. This wasn’t the first time she had done this, but this was different.

She grabbed the bed curtains, yanking them shut, plunging them into an even deeper, more intimate darkness, a small, close, and suffocating tent.

CRASH!

The parlor door, the one they had just come through, splintered and burst open. "This room is clear!" the Captain’s voice shouted. "Check the bedroom!"

BANG!

The bedroom door, the one Marissa had just locked, was kicked open with a force that shook the entire bed frame. The heavy velvet curtain was drawn from the door and light flooded the room, but not their small, curtained sanctuary. They were just two shadows, two shapes, entwined in the dimness.

The Captain, his sword drawn, his face stern, strode into the room. He saw the bed. He saw the drawn curtains. He saw the two, unmistakable silhouettes but he kept advancing towards them. 𝕗𝗿𝕖𝐞𝐰𝗲𝕓𝐧𝕠𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝐨𝚖

Marissa acted instantly. She wrapped her arms around Derek’s neck, her body pressing against his chest, her hair, which had come loose, falling over his shoulder. She held him in a desperate, "passionate" embrace, and then she placed her lips against his.

She looked at him, an order for him to play along.

Derek, stunned for a split second by the shock of her lips, by the sheer, cold audacity of her plan, understood. He kissed her back, this time. Her eyes widened, screaming, " I didn’t tell you to kiss me."

Derek played his part far too well. His good arm, his left, wrapped around her bare back, pulling her even tighter against his chest, his fingers digging into the thin, exposed linen of her chemise.

"Who dares disturb my fun?"

Derek’s voice roared from behind the curtain. It was a loud, deep, arrogant, and thoroughly enraged bellow of the Grand Duke of Denver, interrupted at the most inconvenient of moments.

L

From the doorway, Senna, who had been shoved aside by the guards, watched. She saw the shadows on the curtain. She saw the two figures, locked together. She heard his voice. And her face, which had been filled with fear, crumpled. The blood drained from her face, leaving her pale as a ghost. She looked... hurt.

The Captain of the Royal Guard went even paler. His blood, his courage, his authority, it all drained out of him, leaving him a cold, terrified, sweating man. He had just kicked in the door on the King’s most powerful, most volatile, and most famously decadent Duke, while he was... occupied. This was a career-ending, and quite possibly life-ending, catastrophe.

"I... I... Your Grace!" he stammered, his sword clattering as he hastily sheathed it. He dropped into a bow so low his head nearly touched the floor. "I... I didn’t know it was you! We are on a King’s mission! We are hunting a traitorous fugitive!"

"Your Grace," Marissa’s voice suddenly cried out from within the curtains. It was a high-pitched, fake, and perfectly breathy moan. "Who are these rude people? I... I still feel sore from last night... I told you I couldn’t go on any longer..."

The performance was so real, so shameless, so utterly believable, that the Captain flinched.

"ALL OF YOU!" Derek bellowed, his voice a thunderclap of rage. "GET OUT! Get out of my sight! Do not ever interrupt me again! Or I will have all of your heads on pikes outside the city gates by sunrise!"

"My deepest, deepest apologies, Your Grace! Forgive me!" the Captain squeaked, his voice high with terror. He backed away, bowing, stumbling over his own feet. He turned to his men, who were crowded in the doorway, their own faces a mask of horror. "Check the other rooms! Check the roof! Go! Now!"