Anna rushes up the steps with the Caiden and some guards, hiking up her skirt to avoid tripping.
This cannot end in bloodshed.
At her side, she and Caiden are sprinting as if the winds of time are pushing them forward towards Elsa's room.
It was no more than five minutes after the guards came to investigate the noise created by Caiden's battle that she heard a bloodcurdling scream.
And it came from upstairs.
She had managed to piece the situation together: with Michael being gone, that dark lady or whoever she was, took advantage of this and tried an another attempt on Anna and Elsa's lives.
Elsa can't be dead. She can't be!
They hit the stop of the stairs. The shouts behind them grow; the commander of the guards ordering his men to keep the princess safe.
To hell with keeping her safe! She had been lucky – and never felt safer – to have Caiden at her side when the demon attacked. But Elsa had left early.
What if the creature got to her first?
Gods, oh gods!
They turn down the familiar hallway, gasps and curses erupting from the group when they behold the wooden doors.
The guards that were assigned to watch Elsa lay on the floor with their throats cut from ear to ear, their internal organs spilling out onto the stone.
The door to her sister's chambers . . . it's been forced open.
Anna prays for speed in her step as she crosses the threshold and –
She beholds the room.
There is blood everywhere.
It's splattered across the walls, like someone had exploded and it's smeared along the floor like the body was dragged to and fro.
And at the center of the room . . .
At the center of the room . . .
Michael.
Gods – it's Michael. But at the same time, it isn't.
He is entirely covered in blood. It covers his mask, his arms, his legs. The blades of his weapons have lost their shine in turn for the rustic coating.
There is nothing beneath his cowl – nothing of this world.
That black fire burns through all thought and feeling until all remains is his rage and his prey.
Anna stands at the center of the doorway, gazing at Michael, and the assassin's broken body before him.
It's empty, artfully mutilated, so cut up that a thick puddle of blood turns the floor black and tainting the tips of his white hair. Daggers were driven through his wrists and ankles, deep cuts along his legs, one eye gouged out and his chest cavity open to see the side of his heart.
Gods above . . .
More guards are also dead, their bodies chopped up into bits. People file in behind her, and they fan out around Anna.
No one approaches Michael, and Anna can feel her knees quaking – in fear.
Michael just, stares at the assassin, his shoulders hunched forward, his arms limp at his side, holding bloodied blades, his nostrils flaring and heaving through his teeth.
Anna's eyes flick to the assassin, looking past the shredded skin, white bones protruding from places.
His alabaster skin, burnt-gold eyes and moon-white hair hinted of a kind of ethereal beauty only achieved by the Fae. By elves.
But it isn't until Anna beheld his hand, and the protruding claws that arc out. Not like Caiden's wreathed from shadow, but of – of iron!
Their tips have bits of blood on them, and she can match it with the rips in Michael's cloak. A stream of blood bubbles from his mouth.
His face is contorted to looking like he's in the middle of a death scream, his iron teeth – teeth! – are tipped in blood as well.
That scream, that horrible scream that iced her blood – that was this assassin.
But where is her sister . . .?
Michael doesn't even look at them, his hair covers whatever exposure of his face, his breathing still loud. Strands of his hair stick to his skin from the blood.
Anna takes a step closer to him, murmuring his name, "Michael . . .?"
Caiden is at her side, carefully approaching the assassin. A careful, discreet tug on her elbow has her stepping back.
She almost wants to run out of the room as Michael slowly turns his head to face her. By the gods . . .
His eyes – by the gods his eyes! The sapphire blue is a living flame. And his pupils have shrunk to the size of pinpricks of blackness. Blood drips down the side of his face, gathering at his chin. He's still breathing heavy.
His eyes are just . . . wild.
There is nothing human in them, nothing remotely merciful. It freezes her heart.
"Michael," Caiden says carefully. Michael's eyes flick to him quickly, and Anna carefully sets a hand on her throat.
He's treating Michael like a predator, and Anna worries he's about to launch.
What he is right now, the edge on which he is balancing on . . . gods help them all.
Caiden gets dangerously close and extends out a hand. Michael jerks his head towards the shadow weaver, causing everyone to flinch.
"Where is Elsa?" Caiden asks softly.
As if his voice has broken the chain that was binding him to the darkness, Michael's eyes blink, and they blink again.
A loud bang comes from the back of the room. Heads turn and Michael turns towards it, his blades still clutched in his hands as if he expects them to dissipate into dust if he lets go.
A large armoire is set along one wall and there's another bang that echoes from. Anna's throat constricts. Someone attempts to step over to it, but Caiden stops them, his eyes attentively on Michael.
The door bursts open and Elsa stumbles out of it, gripping the door to steady herself.
She's changed into her pale grey nightgown, but she holds her head as she regains balance. She groans and shakes her head, and when she turns toward the crowd, she gasps and screams, covering her mouth with her hands in shock and horror.
"Wha – by the gods –!"
She can tell Elsa grows paler then normal. She almost looks as if she's going to vomit. Her eyes gleam as she beholds her guards.
Michael shifts on his feet, and suddenly his eyes are wide, his brows furrowed, and he removes his hood.
Her sister's eyes go to Michael, and her fear only grows.
At last—after these months—she sees the lethal predator she expected to find the very first day they met.
There's a loud clang as Michael drops his swords. He takes a step towards the queen, his feet sloshing in the puddle of blood.
But Elsa takes a step away from him.
She's afraid.
Michael begins to tremble. His hands start shaking as he takes another step towards the queen.
"Michael . . ." Elsa breathes.
At the sound of her voice, Michael drops to her knees, tears streaming down his cheeks.
He slowly shakes his head, but that wildness is still in his eyes. "I'm sorry." is all he can say. "I'm so sorry."
Elsa's eyes flick from Michael to the unnamed assassin's deformed body.
Then a flicker of understanding swims into her eyes and she kneels before him. Her hands take Michael's face and she merely stares at him.
"I never wanted you to see –" he whimpers. He would've finished but his voice gives out, and he only shakes his head.
He's acting like he isn't himself – which, possibly he isn't.
Elsa only pets his head. And then all together, Michael collapses into her sister's arms, sobs wrecking his body. Tears of relief and joy that she is alive. But at the cost of exposing who he really is – the monster that dwells beneath his skin.
To her surprise, Elsa doesn't flinch at the blood covering him. She only caresses his face as he rests his head on her shoulder.
As Caiden and the guards file in and escort Michael and Elsa out of the room, Anna's stomach twists as she and Elsa take one last look at the assassin's broken body along the floor.