Bálor walked over to the woman who appeared to be sleeping—if you could call it that. He touched his hand to her forehead and nearly jolted at the amount of heat radiating from her. That was normal for him, but a human? It was a wonder she wasn't dead.
She whimpered and then her eyes opened, fell on him.
"Please, no," she cried, her voice cracking. "Please, just kill me. I want to die."
"Shhh," Bálor gently shushed her. "Just rest. I'll take care of you," he whispered, touching her forehead again. He infused a sleeping spell on her and once she was unconscious, he gave a flick of his wrist.
He could instantly hear the clatter of doors opening all throughout the warehouse. Heard the cries of disbelief from all the poor women who'd been held prisoner. Heard their footfalls as they ran for their lives. All the guards dropped dead at once as if some out of nowhere plague had dropped them where they stood.
They were all dead.
The women were free.
Now, he needed to tend to his future queen.
He lifted her limp frame into his arms and set out, carrying her out of the building. Once outside, he gave a nod to the warehouse and it exploded into flame. Never to house such evil again.
Then the King disappeared into the night with his prize in his arms.