Isabella raised her head. Though her eyes were still rimmed with red, the light within them had changed to a sharp sting.
"And if I fail?" she asked softly.
Rhaegar stared right into her eyes. Then, without a word, he reached to his waist and drew forth a short blade.
The edge gleamed cold beneath the moonlight.
With a swift turn of his wrist... The dagger drove deep into the stone table, sinking with such force that its hilt quivered.
Isabella recoiled in fear, her face paling instantly.
Rhaegar bent slightly, leaning closer, stealing all the air between them. His eyes were now but a breath away from hers—dark, turbulent, filled with something that stirred dread in the marrow.
He spoke, each word soft as a lover's whisper—yet it made her tremble.
"She is someone I would guard with my life. Touch her once… and I shall remember it for the rest of yours. This time, I spare you—for your father's sake. But should there be a next—"
He paused.
