Lorraine saw the blade coming.
It gleamed cold and steady, already slicing through the air toward her face. She didn't flinch. She didn't think. Her body had moved before her mind caught up, stepping between the dagger and Leroy's braid, ready to take the hit.
She knew what it meant. That blade would mark her, either cutting deep or possibly kill her, but she didn't care. Her legs moved with conviction. Because no one, not even this wretched King, had the right to touch that braid. That braid didn't just belong to Leroy. That was her braid too. She loved that braid on him.
Then…
She felt a sharp tug on her waist. A hard yank.
Leroy.
He pulled her back just in time.
