There are only a couple more chapters in this book. I'd love to keep her story going, but just as an FYI the rating might change as their relationship progresses. ;)

-S

- Chapter 73

He closed the door behind him and stepped into the dimly lit office. Sitting regally behind his desk, his father watched him approach with a heavy frown. Unlike the last time he returned home, the office was empty of anyone else, except for father and son.

Once more his travels took him away for longer than he wished, and a week after his initial departure he was finally home. The second he entered through the grand doors he was ushered into the king's chambers by a messenger. Without even changing or laying down his weapons, he stood before his father anxiously.

"You have news?" Legolas asked, coming to a halt in front of the desk.

"Indeed," came the cool reply.

"And?"

Standing, Thranduil stepped around the side of his desk toward the fancy table along the wall and poured the two of them goblets of wine. Impatiently, he waited with bated breath as his father passed him the goblet in silence.

"Have your spies uncovered anything while I was gone?"

"Indeed," Thranduil repeated.

Sighing, Legolas tried to suppress his rising temper. "Adar, why the suspense? Too long has this been drawn out. I can feel her stress and restlessness grow as the days pass."

"I have found the culprit we have been searching for, although I am afraid the answer you seek comes with ill news."

Gripping the goblet tighter in his hand, his knuckles began turning white. "What do you mean?"

"The answer lies both here and in Lothlorien. Not one culprit, but two."

Legolas blinked and his chin jerked back. "I do not follow."

"A representative of Lothlorien has arrived with the final pieces of the puzzle. I have summoned the council to form immediately upon your return home. They are gathering in the throne room for a trial as we speak though they know not the reasons why."

Legolas raised his eyebrows. "This trial is to be taken up with the council?"

"No. I've made my decision already. They are merely there as a formality."

"Am I going to be informed before this trial is to take place?"

"We will speak of it, yes."

"And what of Shyloh?" Legolas felt his chest tighten. He did not want her there to bear witness of what might transpire. If his father found the culprits behind this entire mess, he wanted nothing more than to keep her away from any more harm. Even if he understood the fact that she had a right to know.

"She will need to be present. Now have a seat. There is much to discuss before we go."

Legolas drew in a breath, and for the next hour the two of them spoke behind closed doors. By the time they were finished, much had come to light, answers had been questioned, and Legolas was fuming.

Thranduil took a sip of his wine before setting the goblet down on his desk and standing. Then he reached down to the sword propped against the wooden edge of his grand chair. Legolas was familiar with the blade his father so fondly carried. The glint of the delicately engraved sheath reflected the glow of the flame in the fireplace. It flicked across the polished surface as Thranduil held it horizontally in his hand and extended it toward his son.

"You will need this."

Shyloh drew the string back on the bow. Drawing in a breath through her nose, she let it pass between her lips gently as she took aim and fired. The arrow sailed across the range and sank deeply into the wooden frame of the target. An almost perfect hit.

Lowering the bow, she stared at her handiwork. Not bad, but still not as consistent as she wanted to be. Despite returning back to top physical form after her injury earlier this year, she still found her aim to be slightly off. Perhaps that would be something Legolas would be willing to help her with once he got back.

She spared the guard assigned to watch her a brief glance. He stood a ways off to give her some space. Unlike Arossel, he didn't feel the need to hover so closely, and it was a nice relief to have a little breathing room while she went through the familiar motions of target practice.

He spared her a glance now and then but aside from the two of them, they were surprisingly the only ones at the range. It probably helped that supper was currently being served in the dining hall, but after Lord Iamben's discussion with her in the library earlier today, she wasn't feeling overly hungry.

Reaching down, she pulled the last arrow from her quiver and settled herself into position. Drawing the string back, she felt the familiar stretch of her muscles as she took aim. Touching her hand to her cheek, she breathed in, then out, and released her final shot.

The low whistle of the arrow flying through the air met her ears and she held her breath just like she always did until the familiar thunk of it sinking into the wood sounded.

Dead center.

Smiling, she slowly lowered her arms but the hairs on the back of her neck were suddenly standing on edge. The smile faded from her lips as her spine tingled.

"Well done." The deep, grave voice said from behind her. Her heart jumped in her chest and her body went on high alert. She would know that voice anywhere.

Before she could turn to face him, she went still as the edge of a steel blade slid across the side of her neck; not enough to slice her skin, but just enough to make her body freeze.

One wrong move on her part or a simple flick of his wrist would more than likely end with her neck being slit open. She could feel him step up closely behind her. Where was her guard and why wasn't he stopping this?

Her heart slammed against her ribcage, and she tried to swallow but her throat seized up. She felt his hand on her opposite side, and he slid his fingers up her arm from elbow to shoulder, sending a violent shiver down her spine before drawing her hair away from her neck and fisting it in his grip.

"I have been longing to get you alone for so long, Princess," he murmured quietly before pressing his nose into the fistful of hair he held. She felt the tug of the roots on her scalp as he drew in a deep breath and let it out in a sigh.

Was he seriously sniffing her hair?

The blade shifted against her neck as he drew himself closer. She'd been trained to get out of situations like this, but how in the world did he sneak up on her without her knowing?

Years of experience, perhaps, would have given him that kind of advantage, and it was clear he was able to use that against her. Her eyes darted around the archery range, but her guard was no longer in sight. How had he left without her knowing? She'd only glanced at him a few moments ago.

"Fear not," he said quietly, pressing the blade further into her neck. "Do as I say, and your death will be quick. Such a shame, too. I loth the idea of spilling the blood of something as beautiful as you, but it must be done."

"What do you want?" she croaked.

"Where should I start?" He gripped her hair tighter, jerking her head back at an odd angle. Air rushed from her lungs as she felt his chest hit her from behind. "Should I start with how my family was so easily discarded during Oropher's reign? How we were so quickly overlooked when he made that ridiculous law that displaced us from our rightful claim as next in line to the throne? Or should I start with you showing up and claiming the prince's heart?"

"What bothers you more, the fact that he will never marry Lastril or the fact that you will never be king?" She winced and groaned when he ripped her head back further and dug the blade painfully into her neck.

"I was almost rid of you once. When the Wildmen attacked you on your journey to Lorien, they almost had you. Most unfortunate that you escaped."

Her eyes widened. "You are in league with the Dunlendings?" she gasped.

"Don't be ridiculous," he sneered. "I only had one of my own spies inform one of his associates that a pretty little package was headed their way. They were to have their way with you," he paused for dramatic effect. "Then kill you."

Her nostrils flared out of anger, and she clenched her jaw together as the reality of the situation settled into her bones. Her brothers could have been killed that day they were ambushed by the river, and flashes of their panicked expressions filled her mind as she made her escape and left them behind.

Thoughts of what could have happened to her if they'd caught her or if she'd been unable to kill them made her skin crawl. What kind of monster did something like that? What kind of monster turned against his own kind like that?

"Once I found out you would be traveling to Lothlorien, I sent word out immediately so they could prepare an ambush."

"It was you all along," she gasped as the pain shot through the back of her head. "You sent the letter that I got on New Year's. You forged Legolas's hand. You tried to break our bond."

"Yes," he hissed in her ear, his warm breath fanning across the skin of her face uncomfortably. "Elrond's sons were not so thorough when they checked to make sure all the Wildmen were slaughtered. They failed you, Princess, in their haste to attempt to recover you. You see, a few of them escaped, and when I found out you were still alive, I offered a large quantity of gold for your head on a platter. See, orcs don't care about gold, but they do enjoy the hunt and the kill, and when a Wildman offers them a piece of the prize, how can they say no? It was fate you were in the woods that day you got shot in the chest. It was questionable whether or not you'd make it for a while but then as luck would have it, you pulled through. My brother was unable to get to you while you were fighting for your life so he could properly finish you."

He pressed the blade harder into her neck, and she felt the warm trickle of blood slide down her skin toward the collar of her tunic.

This can't be happening, she thought hastily.

"Your brother?"

A sound rumbled from his chest. "Of course, I always wanted to be the one to finish you. It appears that now I get my chance."

Then a voice entered her head, one she hadn't heard since leaving the Goldenwood. It slithered through the recesses of her mind and sent an involuntary shiver down her body.

Fight.

Determined not to go out without a bang, she drew her bow up and with a hard thrust, knocked the blade away from her neck. Of course, the blade became notched into the soft silver wood of the bow but for a moment, she was free. His fist jerked her head back but with her elbow, she thrust her body backward and jammed him in the gut.

He stumbled backward but it was enough to release her hair from his grip. With a jerk of her other arm, she wrenched the bow free from his sword and dived out of the way as he raised his hands and swiped at her.

She ducked her head just in time and the blade swished through the air with deadly accuracy. She tumbled to the floor and rolled out of the way before jumping back to her feet.

"Lesson learned, Princess," he muttered as he straightened himself and gripped his long sword in his hand. "When you want something done right, you do it yourself."

"What do you think you will gain by having me out of the way?" she asked, her chest heaving. He blocked the exit and as it stood, all she had on her person beside her now half-broken bow, was the small blade she kept on her at all times which was currently tucked into her boot.

Her quiver was empty, and any spare arrows were across the range in the armory. She could make a dash for the target she was using, but her bow was currently almost sliced in half. Plus, by the time she made it to the target and pulled out an arrow, he'd be on her, or she'd be dead.

Against someone as skilled as Iamben, she was suddenly doubting her skills. After all, he did sneak up on her and he did get rid of her guard without her realizing. How quickly it all happened still had her mind spinning. She touched the link in the back of her mind tentatively, but Legolas was not back yet, was he? She hadn't heard otherwise, which would mean he would be too far away to come to help her.

Still, she let the barriers she'd created around her mental bond with him drop, almost like they never existed, and relaxed her mind as best as possible. But Iamben's confession toward her attempted murder had her mind reeling, however, and now that she knew what she did, there was no way she could die like this. Not without someone knowing.

"You should have heeded my warnings and left for good. A half-breed like you has no place in this kingdom," he growled as he stepped closer. She retreated backward when she felt a tug on the mental link in her head, but she had very little time to attempt to decipher it, because Iamben was attacking.

He swung his blade high then swiped at her with such skill that she was scrambling for cover. His blade hit the stone of the ground just where she'd been standing, and she hardly had a chance to recover before he was coming at her again.

She snatched the blade from out of her boot and gripped it tightly as she dodged another blow. She needed the perfect shot but getting close to him might be difficult, and though she knew how to throw a blade, he had the skills to most likely dodge it, and there was no way she wanted to be caught weaponless. He ousted her in size, skill, and physical strength, and as her heart pounded wildly, she tried to come up with some sort of plan.

He struck and she darted to the side but in her desperation, she tripped over the empty quiver and the stand she set up for practicing. She fell to the ground heavily, then took advantage of his nearness and before he could swipe at her again, she raised her foot and thrust it into his knee.

Her attempts to snap his kneecap was a failure, she wasn't quite close enough to deliver full impact, but it did cause him to fumble, and it offered her the perfect opportunity to strike. Raising her fist, she drove the blade deep into the thigh of his leg, but she lost her grip on the hilt when she tried to twist out of the way as he thrust his sword down toward her at the same time.

They both cried out in pain. Iamben because of the blade stuck deep in his thigh, and Shyloh because of the sword that sliced easily through fabric, flesh, and bone.

Glaring down at her, the corners of Iamben's mouth tilted up in a victorious sneer and she watched the next few moments play out as if she were watching it in slow motion. Searing hot pain exploded near her lower ribs, and her left hand shot up to cover the fresh wound on her right side.

He adjusted his grip on the hilt of his sword and then raised his arm to deal out the final blow.

Her mind barely registered the faint sound of whistling when suddenly Iamben froze. His eyes widened and his mouth popped open in surprise. A second later, his upper body jerked as a second arrow pierced his chest.

His sword slipped from his grip and clattered to the ground, and his chin dipped, his eyes falling on the feathered shafts suddenly protruding from his chest.

A third arrow hit him a second later. He stumbled backward, his arms falling to his side, and then he was falling.

In a heap, Iamben's lifeless body collapsed to the ground.

She gasped and clutched her side, trying not to groan in pain as blood seeped between her fingers and pooled on the ground beneath her. Seconds after Iamben's body collapsed, she could feel his hands on her. She didn't have to look to know it was him, she just knew he was suddenly there.

"Nimbrethil," he groaned as he knelt by her side and settled his bow on the ground next to him. His hands peeled her own from her side and he applied pressure to her wound. "Stay still. Galdiron is on his way."

"You're here," she mumbled, blinking up at him. "You're back!"

"I only arrived a short while ago. We got word you did not show up for dinner and Iamben was missing," he said. His brow was furrowed into a deep frown and his eyes took her in from head to toe, silently and quickly assessing her for other injuries. "Lay back," he instructed when she tried to sit up. "Please don't move."

"It was him," she gasped. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "It was him the whole time."

He nodded, but his eyes were fixated on her side. "I know. Please, Nimbrethil, don't move."

She cried out when he pressed against the bottom of her ribs harder.

Light footsteps to her left somewhere met her ear, and Thranduil's tall frame appeared in her line of blurring vision.

"How bad?" the king asked quietly. He crouched down by his son and took in the blood on Legolas's hands.

"Hard to tell," Legolas murmured, his eyes darkening. "Her neck…" He shook his head slightly.

Oh shoot, she forgot about that. With a bloodied hand she reached up, but Thranduil caught her wrist before she could touch her throat to explore the damage Iamben inflicted.

"Don't do that," he instructed grimly, pulling her hand away.

"My Lords!" She recognized Galdiron's worried voice, and more footsteps approached. When the healer reached them, his eyes raked over the lifeless form of Iamben to Shyloh's bloodied side. He swore under his breath before crouching down on her non-injured side as black dots began infiltrating her vision.

She breathed in and out through her nose, attempting to keep her head from spiraling into blackness. She blinked, trying to clear her eyesight, but the urge to fall asleep was too strong and her eyelids grew heavy.

"Nimbrethil," someone said to her, but she couldn't register who. The searing pain in her side worsened despite the light fingers that began working on her, but as they talked, the more it sounded like they were speaking under water.

And as they tried to coax her back to the land of the living, her world darkened and for once, she just let it happen.