I throw my shovel to the ground, jump over the unconscious guard, and lunge for Katarina. Bruno’s hot on my heels, vaulting over a row of pews.

“I’m okay,” she gasps, struggling to sit up.

I help her, as gently as I can. She winces when I touch her arms, and I feel awful, worse than awful.

“Really,” she says.

Bruno pulls out a pocket knife and undoes the plastic pull-tie bonds that are holding her wrists together, and she moves her arms in front of herself, leaning back in the pew and shaking them out. I take one hand and massage it, gently, trying to restore the blood flow into it, and on the other side, Bruno does the same.

“Thanks,” Katarina whispers.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m so sorry, princess, I should have been there to protect you, I shouldn’t have let Sven—”

“Dom, it’s not your fault,” she says, her voice still shaking. “Stop it.”

“It was him who saw us, wasn’t it?” Bruno says, his voice low. “Or one of his retinue. That’s what he meant by if I can’t have you no one can.”

Katarina sighs. She’s starting to tremble, her core shaking, and I wrap my arms around her, kiss her on the temple.

“It’s okay,” I whisper. “You’re okay. You’ll always be okay.”

Behind me, the priest clears his throat, and we all turn to look at him.

“Could I borrow the stun gun for a moment?” he asks, very politely.

“Why?” Bruno says, suspicious.

The priest nods to one of the guards on the floor.

“I believe he’s waking up,” he says.

Bruno shrugs and hands the device over, and the priest gives the man a quick zap, then hands it back.

“Nice shot with the candle-holder, by the way,” Bruno says.

The priest inclines his head slightly.

“I was an army chaplain for a quite a while,” he says. “I learned a few things. I doubt they realized that when they forced me to come along.”

“Are there more guards?” I ask.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “But I know there are at least three at Saint Christopher’s Orphanage.”

His mouth forms a thin line, and right away, I understand how they convinced him to come here, and nod.

Out in the halls of the dungeon, I can hear shouting and footsteps, the clattering of weaponry. The priest folds his hands, and I hold Katarina tighter, because now she’s trembling so hard her teeth are chattering.

The door bursts open. The priest raises his hands, and men stream into the chapel.

“Tomassian Royal Guard! Get AWAY from the Princess!” A man holding a huge gun commands.

Bruno and I stand, hands in the air, facing a forest of automatic weaponry.

“It wasn’t them!” Katarina shouts, even her voice shaking. “It wasn’t them, they saved me.”

* * *

They clap us in handcuffs anyway, even the priest, and haul us off, ignoring the Princess’s shouts that it wasn’t us. At least they tie up Sven and his goons as well, letting them wake up bound on the floor.

The Princess herself they whisk away almost instantly. I ask where they’re taking her but I’m met with angry, stony silence, and I don’t press the issue. I’m more than certain that she’s being cared for and is in good hands, and right now, that’s all I care about.

We’re marched upstairs, to a wing of the palace I’ve never been to. It’s a series of small, windowless rooms with a single table and two chairs in each. Bruno and I are separated and shoved into different chambers.

I guess this is the modern dungeon, technically not as barbaric as the underground one, but I sit there for hours, not sure what time of day or night it is, but I don’t care.

The only thing I can think about is Sven’s hand on Katarina’s throat, her face as she struggled for breath. The sickening, gut-churning feeling as the guard blocked my way with his fist, keeping me from getting to her.

She’s okay, I tell myself. She’s okay and that’s what matters.

But I can never let that happen again. I think I’d rather die.