"Just let him go. Take what you want from me. Just-"
"Just?" Malphus interrupted, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "You'd trade yourself for him? How sentimental."
His fingers curled around her throat, not squeezing, but reminding her of his power. "But he's already dead, my dear. He just hasn't accepted it yet." Isolde felt the first real spark of panic. She'd seen death in battle countless times, but this—this was different. This was her father, the man who had protected her, trained her, loved her. She couldn't bear the thought of him gone.
"Please," she whispered, the word foreign on her tongue. She hadn't begged for anything in years. Malphus seemed pleased by her desperation.
"Fine." Malphus's hand tightened around her throat, "I'll make it quick, since you begged."
