This is one of my contributions to the Babies at the Border, the Fight Continues Fiction Compilation. This second annual fundraiser was able to raise over $7000, bringing the total for both years to well over $23,000 for charities to help reunite children separated from their parents at the US border. This is still a very worthy cause, and I encourage you to continue to support the efforts of those organizations still fighting for these kids.

Disclaimer: The author does not own any of the publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

Captive: A Dominion of My Heart outtake

Summary: Taken in the dark of night, Edward endures the cruelty of his enemies, both old and new. Will he be able to survive his captivity? An outtake written in EPOV, these are the events following those in chapter eleven of Dominion of My Heart. Not a stand alone chapter.

Edward

"Edward!" Her scream echoes across the distance. My head turns, and our eyes meet. In that one moment of distraction, the enemy wielding his sword strikes. His blade grazes my right arm, but it is enough to cause my sword to fall from my grasp. The men surrounding us take the opportunity in my moment of weakness to seize me.

Isabella's muffled screams are but a buzzing in the chaos that follows, and when I am able to meet her eyes once again, with flames and an army between us, I mouth a single order.

"Go!"

She hesitates, and I will her feet to move, for her to escape to safety, and with a final pleading look, she turns and runs into the darkness.

My eyes close, and I say a quick prayer of thanks to the Gods.

"Oh, King Aro will be mighty happy to see your pretty face," a voice taunts me from beyond my closed lids. I do not see the blow to my head coming, but I am soon blissfully unaware, swallowed by the darkness.

A kick to my bruised side startles me from my repeating nightmare. Smells of soot and ash, along with the burnt remnants of a ruined meal assault me as I gain consciousness. When my eyes open, I find I am still in the same hell in which I fell asleep.

The Rheman army's camp.

"Wake up, Cullen." The brusque voice of my guard gets louder as he nears, clean cloths to dress my wound in his hand. "If you behave and don't try to kill anyone like you did yesterday, we might let you eat something."

The corner of my mouth turns up in a slight grin as I think about my bold yet foolish move just yesterday.

I'd been led to the tree line along the road to take a piss, and when the guard had his back turned to me, I somehow managed to relieve him of his sword, running him through before he could yell for help. It was mere seconds before I was surrounded by a dozen men, all their swords pointed at my throat, and with my hands bound, I was helpless to defend myself against so many.

The only thing I've earned is men watching as I piss, and I'm never more than a few paces away from any one of them. Even now, the man changing my dressings is so close I can see the remnants of his last meal stuck between his teeth, his rancid breath nearly making me heave.

The man is none too careful as he removes the soiled strips of linen and ties new ones around my arm. "There, that should do it," he says as he tightens the knot. "Time to get a move on."

I remain silent but comply, rising from the ground and readying myself for yet another long day of walking behind a horse.

The sharp scents of my own blood and sweat, and the ever-present aroma of horse shit surround me as I'm pulled along. The chains binding my hands are heavy, and the soles of my boots are wearing thin. Each day it is a little colder, and the look of the sky and angle of the sun leads me to think the days of autumn are numbered. While this region is warmer than my homeland, I know colder days are just ahead.

I'm unsure how far we've traveled, but I am certain of one thing; if we do not reach our destination soon, I fear I may perish. Then again, when we finally arrive, I may perish as well.

Denied food nearly every day and water most, I can feel my energy slipping from me. Only thoughts of my wife, my Isabella, propel me forward. I am still unsure if she was taken by another group of men, and I cannot allow myself to succumb until I know for certain she is safe.

Another kick, this time to the back of my knee, sends me to the ground.

"Oops. Pardon me, My Lord. Seems I wasn't watching where I was going."

Several of them join in the man's laughter as I stumble back to my feet before the horse can drag me along the road.

I have lost count of how many days we've been traveling, and by now, I can deduce we are headed back toward Adwen. My fear that Aro has seized the castle is all but confirmed, judging by the boasting of the men escorting me.

"Have you had a good look at those princesses?" one of them asks from behind me, his comment followed by a long and low whistle. "It's a pity that older one, ripe and ready to plow, is being wasted on Prince Marcus. From what I hear, I'm not sure he even knows what to do with a cunt, other than beat it into submission."

He and another man laugh at Jane's expense until they're silenced by another. "You'll shut yer mouths if you know what's good for ya. If Aro catches wind of you talking about his son, yer heads will be on a pike on Broadcove's wall before the horses are unsaddled."

"Aw, we're just havin' a laugh, Sam. It's true, though. I heard from my cousin that Marcus called down to the brothel when we first got to Adwen." His voice lowers, and I tilt my head to listen more closely. "The whore never came back."

Finally, the man riding the horse I'm being led by bellows, "Enough! Paul is right. No more talk of the prince." He turns back, his narrowed eyes on the dolts causing the trouble. "And no more talk of the princesses." He turns back to the road. "What our king decides to do with his spoils is none of our concern."

I close my eyes and amble along, the tug of the chains spurring me on when my steps falter. Just when I feel I cannot take another step, I'm prompted to open my eyes.

"Would you have a look at that? Looks a might better than when we left, don't it?"

My eyes open, and what I see confirms what I assumed to be true all along.

Lining the walls of Broadcove Castle, the red and black banners of Rhema blow in the gentle breeze, signaling what I feared most.

Adwen has been taken by King Aro and his army.

Unlike the first time I passed through the gates of Adwen—my men at my back to barter an agreement with King Charles—this time I have no sword, no army to fight on my behalf. This time I am bound in chains, a prisoner of an opposing army.

I am marched into the courtyard like a farm animal being sent to the slaughter, and those watching along the periphery appear anxious to see what fate may befall me. I am distracted by the onlookers when we come to a halt, the chains binding my wrists tugged tightly until I stop.

The crowd parts, and the vile man I would recognize anywhere steps from the shadows.

King Aro Volturi of Rhema.

He studies me as he approaches, and an unease I have never before felt settles in my gut. I am a prisoner, restrained, unarmed, and at the mercy of a man feared by all the surrounding kingdoms.

"So good of you to join us, young Edward. I was told well wishes are in order on your marriage to the lovely Isabella." His head tilts up, and his eyes look over the returning men filing in behind me before returning to me. "And where is your new bride?" He looks to the man holding my chains. "My orders were for you to bring them both back here."

"She was able to escape, Your Highness." His voice trembles, but he stands tall as he addresses his king.

"Escape, Sam?" Aro turns, linking his hands behind his back as he begins to pace before us.

"Yes, My Lord."

"And how was she able to escape?"

"We do not know, My Lord. We believe she was able to get away with the rest of Cullen's men who escaped."

"Hmm," he says, nodding. "That is a problem, indeed." He eyes the group once more before turning to the man holding my chains. "And the Galon soldier who assisted us? I do not see him with you. Am I to believe he's run off as well?"

The men surrounding me all look to each other as Sam straightens his back. From all my years of leading men into battle and fighting alongside them, I recognize his posture: fear. He may be standing tall, but I know—Aro knows—Sam is about to piss himself.

"Alec is dead, My Lord."

"Dead?"

"Yes, My Lord."

Aro's eyes close for a brief moment, and he rubs at his temple. "And did you kill him?"

"I did, My Lord."

"Why did you kill him, Sam?"

"We decided it was too much of a risk to allow him to live. We were not certain where his loyalties lay, and we did not feel it was worth the risk, My Lord."

A long, deep sigh of exasperation leaves Aro. "You did not think I would want him interrogated? You did not think there were things—useful bits of information—we could have gleaned from him? Hmm?"

Sam's mouth opens, and it closes just as quickly. He realizes his grave mistake.

Knowing Aro's taste for blood and intolerance for mistakes, I am unsurprised by what comes next. After all, I would likely do the same.

Aro turns back to his soldier, and in a move so swift even I was unable to see it coming, he pulls the sword from his side and runs it through the man's chest. With his hand still gripping the hilt as the soldier falls to his knees, blood pouring from his mouth, Aro addresses the crowd. "Kill them," he orders.

The slide of metal as the swords are drawn from their sheaths is unmistakable. The guttural sounds of the men surrounding me echo in the enclosed courtyard as they meet their ends.

It is over as soon as it began.

"Someone see to this mess," Aro orders no one in particular before turning to address me. "And you, young prince, since you are my only bargaining tool now, I will need time to rethink my strategy. Your pretty little wife still being out there means there could still be a claim to this pathetic land, and I will need to have a little chat with Charles before I decide what to do with you."

He begins to walk away, but I call out to him. "So, Charles is still alive?"

Aro pauses and turns back to me, narrowing his eyes. "For now." He spins on his heel and disappears back into the shadows from which he'd emerged.

With nothing more said, I am pulled in another direction and led into the dark passages under Broadcove Castle.

The moans and grumbling of other prisoners can be heard from nearby cells, along with the squeak and scratching of rodents scurrying nearby. The smell of piss and shit are an ever-present accompaniment to the misery. They are sounds and smells I do my best to ignore. They are, after all, far better than the alternative.

Whispers of recounted events, tales of Rhema's invasion and attack can be heard as I close my eyes. Most of the men held here are accused of treason. They deny it of course, pledging their loyalty to King Charles. Their only apparent crime is their resistance to Rheman rule.

The men who are dragged from their cells are never seen or heard from again. Once they pass through the doorway leading up to the courtyard, it is as if they never existed. If it is especially quiet though, you can hear their cries of agony as they're tortured until their cries cease altogether.

The wound on my sword arm is red and swollen—painful—but it has scabbed over. I do my best to keep it clean with what little water I have. If I could only have access to a blade and flame, I could sear it, sealing out infection. I pray that I am strong enough to withstand whatever is next for me.

I cycle through periods of wakefulness and sleep, never knowing if it is day or night. Stale bread and warm ale are occasionally left, and I swallow what I can. The tightening of my stomach makes it difficult to take in too much.

Only thoughts of my beautiful wife sustain me as I drift between my captive existence and my nightmares. Though, when I manage to fall asleep thinking of her, often my nightmares are of her capture, her torture, and I wake in a panic, the bars of my cell barely able to contain me. It is not until I push away the fog that I remember where I am and that she was able to escape with my men. By now, she and the others must have reached Galon. I find comfort in thinking she is safely ensconced behind the castle walls, protected by my men and their king. Perhaps enough time has passed that she knows if she is carrying my son. I am comforted in the knowledge that if that is true, she is safe, they are safe.

The jangle of the prison guard's keys echo along the walls as he walks heavy-footed down the stone steps. As he nears, I straighten, watchful of his next move. We just received a meal yesterday, so there can be only one reason for his appearance.

"King Aro wishes to have a word with you," he says as he places the key into the lock. "Come on out with ya, Cullen. They've got a new place to lock you up." He chuckles as he pulls open the cell door, waiting for me to rise and walk through.

I get to my feet and stumble, the weight of the chains heavier than they were when I was first locked away.

"Move it," the guard says. "Don't want to keep our king waitin', now do ya?"

The courtyard is much like it was the last time I was in it—crowds of people lining the periphery as I'm led by my chains—but this time there is one glaring difference. A post has been erected in the center of the courtyard, chains and ropes attached to it, and I don't have to guess at its intended purpose.

"So good of you to join us, Your Highness. Won't you have a seat?" Aro grins widely as I'm led to the post, the clanking of the chains sounding as I'm bound once again. "We have quite the show for you today," he says gleefully.

I watch as Aro moves to sit in a seat fashioned much like a throne. As he steps aside, the pale face of Jane shines back at me in the midday sun. Her eyes are vacant as she sits beside the man I know to be Aro's son—Prince Marcus. Jane's once pleasant enough face is marred with bruises, both old and new. I look past her and into the same vacant, blue eyes of Bree as she stands behind her sister. She looks so small next to the soldiers who guard the low dais.

Even if I wanted to speak, to call out and ask if they are well, I would not. I know it will do none of us any good. Bound as I am, I am of no use to anyone. As if to remind me I am at their mercy, I am unceremoniously shoved to the ground. With my hands bound behind me, my back rests against the pole, and I wait. Aro is obviously excited for me to see whatever it is he wishes to show me, judging by the wide smile on his face.

The steps leading inside the keep are in my line of sight, and as I stare straight ahead, forms begin to take shape in the shadows.

Stepping out into the light, King Charles is bound, much like myself, and being led by Rheman soldiers toward Aro and his assembled court. Charles is dirty, his face bruised and gaunt. He has clearly suffered at the hands of the man who has invaded his home.

"It would seem that Adwen has been led into dark times by their very own king," Aro begins. "Famine and disease have run rampant, all while King Charles sat greedily by and hoarded the taxes collected at his shores." He pauses and stares at the humiliated king, bound and on his knees before him. "I came to Adwen to offer my help." Aro's eyes snap to mine. "But Charles had already sold off one daughter to the highest bidder."

I internally scoff at his choice of words.

"He even bartered with the very lives of his people." His voice rises, surely to gain the attention of Adwen's people gathered at the rear of the courtyard. "He offered his throne to any prince of any kingdom able to produce a son with one of his daughters." He turns back to the bruised and battered king. "But that is not really the case, is it, Charles? You never intended to carry out the same agreement with any kingdom other than Galon, did you?"

"They were ready to attack us! I would have agreed to—" Charles' forceful words are cut off, a blade held to his throat by one of Aro's soldiers, and he is unable to answer for himself.

"I came here to offer my son to wed your daughter—"

"And I gladly accepted," Charles retorts in a raspy growl, the blade pressing against his throat. "You killed almost half my army! I had no choice but to agree, Aro! But you—"

"Silence! You signed an agreement with Galon. You neglected to offer the same terms to Rhema," Aro says, eyeing a now silent Charles. On his knees, Adwen's disgraced king looks up at Aro, seething hatred burning behind his eyes; yet he remains silent. "Therefore, I deem our agreement null and void. Your deception is an act of war against Rhema, and I hereby sentence you to die."

Gasps and murmurs are heard all around me as Aro reaches his hand toward one of his men, and a sword is placed in it.

"Any last words, Your Majesty?" he asks as he steps toward Charles, looking down on him.

From my place, mere paces away, I can see the enmity-filled sneer he gives Aro, but I also see resignation. He knows his time in this world has come to an end, and nothing he can say will change Aro's mind.

Charles' voice, although weak, is loud enough for the crowd to hear him. "Let it be known in all the kingdoms—from here to Rhema, to Moira, to Galon and beyond—these are false charges. It was you, Aro Volturi, who broke our agreement. I am innocent."

Aro ignores Charles' denial and raises his sword. "May your god have mercy on your soul." He brings the blade down swiftly and surely, severing the head of the king, leaving Adwen now under Rheman rule.

The stunned crowd dissipates as the Rheman soldiers push them from the courtyard. They amble past and around me, their faces all carrying the same look of shock.

I'm left chained to the post, my hands still bound behind me, and as fewer and fewer people remain in the courtyard, I realize they intend to leave me here.

Eventually, two guards arrive to dispose of Charles' body. I watch in morbid curiosity as one picks up the severed head and begins to carry it away.

"Where you think you're goin' with that?" the other asks, pointing at the head in the other man's grasp.

He shrugs. "King Aro wants it on a pike on the wall. I'm just following orders."

"Well, what are we supposed to do with the rest of him?" he asks exasperatedly.

"I was told to leave him." The guard's eyes flash to mine then back to the other man. "Seems he wants our guest here to have some company."

I close my eyes and pray. I pray for my life, I pray for my wife's safety, and I pray this nightmare ends before I find myself at the end of Aro's blade.

My eyes snap open. The ragged, threadbare blanket a servant left out of pity for me blows off of me yet again, leaving me exposed to the wind and light rain. In the fog of my mind, I realize I must be cold, but I do not feel it.

I am numb.

It is a state I have forced myself into, only allowing my thoughts to dwell on the short time I shared with Isabella. Remembering her smiling face, her melodious laugh, the soft sounds she made while she writhed beneath me; they all bring me comfort and give me focus in this never-ending nightmare.

My head lulls to the side, and my eyes fall on the decaying corpse of my wife's father.

In my time as a warrior, I've witnessed death countless times. I've killed men, beheaded my enemies, even left them to rot on the battlefield, but I've never watched a man be eaten by bugs and picked apart by the birds.

Exposed to the elements for so many days I've lost count, the sight of Charles' body is stomach-turning.

I turn my head away from the gruesome scene and rest my forehead on the pole. Every day or two, I've been moved, my hands chained in a new position, and today my arms are wrapped around the pole, bound together in front of me by the same heavy restraints.

I wince as the change in position pulls at the fresh wounds on my back. Left there only yesterday, they are still open and painfully raw.

The shuffling of feet nearby draws my attention. It is not the heavy stomping I associate with the guards, the ones who like to whip and stab at me for fun. No, it is the soft footfalls of the one person I care to see at all.

Susan of Thornbridge, the woman who once sat proudly beside Adwen's king as his courtesan, is the one who tends to my constant wounds. Though she is not the painted version of herself I first saw so long ago. No, now she is adorned in dresses as threadbare as my meager blanket, her feet ensconced in dirty slippers, holes allowing her toes to peek through.

"How are you feeling today, My Lord?" she asks softly as she approaches, kneeling beside me.

My response, like most days, is to groan. I've not been able to mutter more than a few words at a time since I was chained up in the courtyard.

"I've some ale for you," she says as she brings the cup to my lips. "Should help soothe your throat."

I swallow greedily, the lukewarm ale acrid and bitter on my tongue but soothing to my throat. "Thank you," I rasp as she pulls away the cup.

She nods once and sets to rummaging through her basket. She pulls out and unfolds a cloth, dousing it with a pungent-smelling liquid before holding it to my wounded flesh. She doesn't bother to warn me, as this is our routine most days. While it may burn like the fires of hell, I know it has kept the infection at bay. It is a welcome agony.

"Seems they got a might carried away this time," she mumbles under her breath and shakes her head. "If they keep this up, they'll have nothing to send your father but a body. You can't take much more of this."

"How long?"

"How long what, My Lord?"

"How long have I been here?" I manage to ask weakly.

She hums. "More than a moon cycle, less than two. It was near on a month you were held in a cell before you were brought out here." She looks around and then up to the sky before turning back to me. "And I worry winter will soon be upon us."

She leans toward me, meeting my narrowed eyes. "Have some faith, My Lord. Many things are afoot here at Broadcove."

"What?" I ask, my voice cracking.

She peers around the courtyard, searching for anyone who might overhear, all while avoiding looking in the direction of her dead and decaying lover. She leans close enough for me to hear her low whisper. "Your men are close. They were able to get one inside. He—"

"Here? One of—"

"Shh. Yes. You must have faith, My Lord. He is posing as one of the outlying farmers, here to tend to the animals. I cannot say much more, but when the time is right, you will be saved. I am sure of it." She pulls away and pats my shoulder. "There. That should do it." Again, she looks into her basket and pulls out a hunk of stale bread, placing it in my hand. "I'm sorry, My Lord, but this is all I was able to manage today."

I nod once in thanks and take her offering. Too unsettled with her news to eat it, I merely hold it in my weak grasp.

She gets to her feet and brushes the dirt from her skirts. "I shall be back tomorrow to see to you, My Lord."

As she turns to step away, a stiff breeze blows, sending my thin blanket into her path. Her feet get tangled, and she falls to her hands and knees, just a few feet away from Charles Swan's rotting form.

Her strangled sob pierces my heart. I know she was not his wife, but she cared for him as one would. It brings to mind the heart-breaking sound Isabella made as she watched my captors attack me, so it is doubly painful.

She struggles to her feet and flees the courtyard, leaving me to wait for my captors and what torture they might have planned for me this day.

I wake to the familiar, sharp sting of the whip as it slices through the cloth covering my back. There is not much left of my shirt, only a few stitches still holding together the torn patches of fabric.

I hiss as the lash makes contact once more, and the men tormenting me laugh.

"Just picked up a new whip this morning." The taunting voice of Jacob Black calls out from behind me. "I knew I needed to break it in, so I thought ... what better way than to test iton royalty?" He and his cohorts chuckle at my expense, and I do my best to not let the pain show on my face.

Even weakened and broken, I will not allow this animal to think he's getting the better of me.

"Is that the only reaction I get? A hiss? Come now, I can see from here how deeply it cuts into your flesh." He pauses, and his tone changes when he continues. "Perhaps once you're released to go home, your pretty little wife will be so disgusted by your scars she'll see the error of her choices," he spits, "and return to her homeland."

He steps closer and kneels beside me, his voice low, threatening. "Who among us has ever heard of a man giving a woman a choice to marry him?" he scoffs. "How weak are you that you gave her a choice? Were you not man enough to take what was given to you?" He leans in close, his words only reaching my ear. "I would have just ... taken."

As he wanted, I struggle against my chains, fury welling inside me to rip him apart, piece by piece.

He steps beyond where my partially flailing limbs can reach him, once again chuckling. "Seems I've hit a sore spot with His Highness."

It does not take long for me to expend every measure of strength. I am left slumped against the pole, my chest heaving from exertion in my ill attempt to strike him.

"Not as strong as you once were, are you?" he taunts. When I do not respond, he grows impatient with his game. "But that is no longer important. King Aro has grown bored of watching you lie around out here." He smirks. "Says it's time to get some answers from you. Luckily for you, he's ordered a change of scenery. Thinks you'll be more willing to tell us what we want to know if I can ... persuade you, and he's left it up to me to decide where that will be."

While Jacob rambles on, the men accompanying him unlock my restraints and haul me to my useless feet. Supported almost entirely by their weight, I'm held face to face with Jacob's evilly gleeful expression.

"How about we see just how much it takes to break you, Cullen?"

Sweat pours from my body, and blinding pain courses through me. Jacob Black stands an arm's length away as he pushes the white-hot branding iron against my skin. I grit my teeth, using every ounce of restraint I have to stay silent.

"Still nothing?" he asks, sounding disappointed. "You Northerners are certainly a hearty bunch, are you not?" He smirks as he quenches the iron in a barrel of water. He walks over to the fire blazing in the hearth and kneels down to tend to it.

My eyes close during my brief reprieve, and I begin to wonder how long today's session will last.

I've again lost track of the days, one bleeding into the next as I'm left suspended from my restraints. The unforgiving planks at my back leave me no place to rest, but sometimes I cannot help but nod off. It is in my brief moments of sleep where I find comfort in dreams of my wife. Her soothing voice reminds me she is waiting for me, that if I am to protect her, I must remain steadfast.

I must not tell them what they wish to know.

Since being dragged into Jacob's lair beneath the castle—beyond the cells of other prisoners and into a hidden room where the sun does not reach—I have been repeatedly asked about Galon's defenses, the numbers of her army, which weapons we possess and how to infiltrate Masenthorne Castle.

Even though Jacob promises the safety of my family—Isabella's safety—I know if I divulge any of this information, they are as good as dead. My beautiful bride and the child she may now carry would be in grave danger.

So, I remain silent.

Even when he removes the small toe from my foot, I do not say a word. He's since threatened to remove my tongue, saying because I refuse to speak, there is no reason for me to keep it.

He's yet to follow through with his threat.

I've been mutilated, cut, burned, whipped, starved and deprived of sleep, and still, I stay strong.

For her.

I know if I do not, Aro's army will eventually march on Galon, their ruthless warriors pillaging and destroying simply for the chance to seize the kingdom.

I cannot allow that to happen.

Shuffled footsteps get my attention, and I open my eyes. I watch as Jacob rises to his feet and brushes off his hands. He walks over to the tall bench in the corner and rests an elbow on it. He plucks up a piece of bread and rips off a hunk with his teeth. "Who knew tormenting you would be such hard work?" he asks around his bite, his grin widening as he chews.

I concentrate on breathing, on staying alert. We've done this more times than I can count, so I know he's not through with me for the day.

He hums as he cocks his head. "What is it going to take? Aro told me I could do whatever it took to make you talk, but I couldn't kill you." He tosses the rest of the bread back to the plate and stands straight, stepping toward me.

His focus is intense as he nears, but I do not allow him to intimidate me.

"Why he needs you to stay alive, I can only guess. He must want a show of good faith when he knocks on the mighty King Carlisle's door asking for his lands." He grins malevolently. "Though, at this rate, I'm not sure how much of you will be left."

He turns his head, glancing at the workbench where he's stashed away his implements of torture, and then looks back to me, his smile evil. "Maybe I can lighten your load for the journey."

He's gone and back in the blink of an eye, a small, innocent enough looking blade in hand.

He holds it up, the short but sharp blade glinting in the firelight. "I have to wonder if your darling little wife would be so welcoming if you were to return to her unmanned." He looks down and then back up at me. "Do you think if I cut off your cock and fed it to the hogs, she'd still look at you the same? Hmm?"

He drags the tip of the blade down my chest, the sharp point scratching a faint line into my flesh. It comes to a stop just above the top edge of my pants. The gap between the fabric and my skin only widens as the days pass, and they barely hang at my hips.

He pushes with a faint amount of pressure at the base of my flaccid cock. My heart races and thunder pounds in my head as the edge of the blade just barely cuts into my skin.

Suddenly, he pulls away, and all of my breath whooshes out of me, my body sagging in relief.

"Wouldn't want to risk you bleeding to death." The corner of his mouth turns up in a sardonic grin. "After all, I wouldn't want to fall out of favor with my new king. He's promised me more riches than I've ever imagined if I lead them to victory in Galon. And the hand of a certain princess. Why would I want to risk any of that?"

Jacob steps away and throws the dagger toward the bench. The tip of the blade lodges in the wood.

"I think that's enough for today." He offers me one more mocking smile and turns to walk from the room. Just before he reaches the door, I gather the strength to call out to him.

"Black!"

He turns, surprised to hear me speak.

"When I get out of here, I vow to you, I will kill you. If it's the last thing I do in this world, I will end you."

His answering laugh is the last thing I hear before the door falls closed, leaving me alone to think about all the ways to kill Jacob Black.

The creaking of the door alerts me to someone's arrival. I do not even bother to raise my head, expecting it to be my tormenter. But it is not Jacob's familiar slow and heavy steps that follow. No, they are light and swift footfalls, barely heard as they approach. By the time I lift my head, Susan comes into focus.

"Come now, My Lord. We must make haste. There is not much time." She moves to reach above me to unlock my shackles. Before she turns the key, her eyes meet mine. "You've been chained up an awfully long time. You'll be weak, and I do not think I will be able to catch you. I need you to use every bit of strength you have left to catch yourself."

Even in the haze of disbelief, I nod, agreeing with this woman, even though I do not know what is happening.

The lock clicks as she turns the first key, and my left arm falls heavily at side.

"Oh, that might be a problem if I unlock the other. Maybe I should have started with your feet." She laughs, but it is a nervous laugh, her anxiety strong enough to creep into me.

"What is happening?" I ask, my voice harsh and broken from disuse.

"Your men have infiltrated the castle. The night watch is not the most diligent bunch, and the rest of the men are off and occupied for the night." She kneels, looking up at me as she unlocks my leg shackle. "Seems the brothel chose tonight to send over a fresh batch of girls for the soldiers to enjoy. Those not plowing into the poor girls are there to cheer them on. They're all well deep into their cups, so I don't see them being able to run to the rescue of the watchmen. There," she says as the other lock clicks. "Easy now. Your muscles are weak, and you'll need help to walk."

"And you're to help me?" I ask incredulously.

"No, I thought I might have the honor, My Lord." Peter's voice comes from the doorway, and my head swings up to meet his worried gaze.

"Peter? How—"

"There will be plenty of time to answer questions, but now is not that time. We've only minutes to get you through the gates before the others know you've gone. Help me, Lady Susan?"

"Last one," she says as the final lock clicks, but she holds the shackle closed. "Hold to the chain until you find your feet, My Lord. Steady yourself, now."

I do as she says and hold firmly to the same chains that have kept me bound for months. The weight on my feet is foreign, and I feel weaker than a newborn foal, my legs unsteady and ready to collapse under the weight of me.

"Easy now, My Lord. I will help." Peter slips in beside me and loops his right arm behind my back, placing my left over his shoulders. "We've got a way to go, but we will get you out of here."

My legs are nearly useless, and Peter has to practically carry me up the stairs leading outside. What troubles me most is the fact he seems to have no trouble holding me up. When we reach the top, the crisp and cool night air fills my lungs, and I take what feels like the first deep breath in weeks. It very well might be.

Faint sounds of clashing steel can be heard in the distance, but Peter is not deterred from getting us safely away. We creep along the edge of the courtyard, toward the castle gates, and when we reach it, the only men guarding it are dead.

As we are about to pass through the gate, I turn back and watch as Susan falls back.

"Wait," I say gruffly to Peter.

"My Lord, we really must—"

"Come with us, Susan. You'll be safe in Galon."

She shakes her head. "No, My Lord. Go. Go home to your wife and protect her. She's needed someone her whole life to do just that, and I think she'll finally have that in you. Go now."

"They will realize it was you. They're sure to kill you."

Her head turns to where Charles' body laid for so long. It's long since gone, but I am sure the memory of it will forever remain in her mind. She looks back to me, tears filling her eyes. "No, my place is here. And I am counting on them taking my head. My life was over the moment they took his."

My gaze does not linger on hers, and I nod once. "Very well. Just know that I am indebted to you. Everyone in Galon will know it was you who made the way for my escape. May your journey to the next life be swift."

A/N: A big thank you goes out to Fyrebyrd, 2brown-eyes, gabby1017, and Ceceprincess1217 for doing their prereading duties once again, as well as to jayhawkbb for editing. Any mistakes up there are all on me.

Dominion of My Heart was voted #5 on the top fics of 2019! Thank you to all who voted! Xoxo. It's also nominated in a few categories, along with a few of my other stories, in the TwiFic Fandom Awards, going on now. The round one poll is open through this Tuesday, 3/3 until 11:59, EST. You can find it at twificfandonawards. blogspot. com. Just remove the spaces.

I still hope to re-visit these characters with outtakes, and perhaps a future take or two at some point, so be sure to keep this one on alert.

I've also posted the banner for this in my Facebook group, Sunshine Fics, and on my Twitter, CSunshine1220, so come chat with me! I also share teasers and chapter pics there every week of my current WIP.

Thanks so much for reading!

Lots of love
~Sunshine