Living in a Rewrite of My Own Book World

Chapter 10.5 - Always a Little Too Late (James's POV)

"James..."

I heard her voice call out my name before her eyes rolled up and she fell unconscious to the ground. My heart stopped and I ran forward, catching her head before it could strike the hard floor. Holding her in my arms, I anxiously scanned her for signs of life. I pressed my fingers to her neck, relieved to feel a strong pulse and her warm breath on the back of my hand.

Why had she passed out though?

I patted her cheeks, trying to wake her, desperately suppressing the panic growing in my heart.

"Katrina! Are you ok?"

Her eyes fluttered opened, her gaze vague and unfocused for a few moments before training intently on my face. Once she recognized me, she broke into a bright smile, causing my breath to catch in my chest. Even dirty bloody and injured she was heartstoppingly beautiful.

I couldn't let myself be distracted. "Where are you hurt?" Looking her over again, I noted the cut on her cheek and the bruising around her eye. He had struck her. While she was alone and at his mercy, in a place I couldn't reach, he had laid his filthy hands on her.

I'm going to kill him.

She lifted up a hand giving me a light green bottle. "I've... poisoned."

"Is this the poison?"

She shook her head no.

"The antidote?"

She nodded.

I opened the bottle, realizing the issue. The stopper was wedged in; it required quite a bit of force to pry it open. As weak as she was now, she would never be able to get to it. I held the open bottle to her lips holding up her head to help her drink it without choking. She swallowed it without complaint, simply reaching out to touch my face with a bloodied hand.

"Thank you."

"Savalle poisoned you?" My vision went red with blind rage. Death was too good for the bastard. "Where is he?"

A light gesture indicated the room behind her. I leaned over looking through the doorway, somehow unsurprised to see him dead on the floor with a knife in his chest. Once again I was too late. I tightened my fists until my knuckles were bright white, having no outlet to vent my rage on. I felt utterly useless. As I was trapped in this depressing line of thought, her words brought me back out.

"James, thank you for coming." She whispered to me with a tired smile, "You saved me." With that she fell asleep, looking much more comfortable now that the poison in her system had been counteracted. I stared at her face, unable to hide a tender expression as I held her close.

Why was it only with her that I always was a little too late?

Just a few years ago my heart was much calmer. Coron and I were both well born, talented, destined for greatness. With everyone around us plotting to use us or destroy us, we quickly adapted to the toxic environment that was the Royal Court, planning how to best assure his ascent to the throne. Plots within plots, we could only trust each other.

When it came time for us to select Coron's future wife, we disagreed on the criteria to use for the selection. The prince's head was filled with romantic notions of falling in love and having a happy marriage. I had a more realistic approach, his wife would be queen, a political power, someone who could either help us with our goals, or weigh us down. It was important to make a rational choice.

As for me? Although it was deemed almost as important that I take a wife to continue the Harrington line, I had very little interest. She would be from a good family, well-mannered and quiet. As long as she stayed out of my way and didn't embarrass the family name, I had very little requirements.