We Both of Us Are Condemned to Die

         We both of us are condemned to die…
         Faced with this fate, I knew I would feel one of two things: anger, or submission. I knew I would choose one opinion eventually, but this would depend on the situation in which I’d find myself close to impending doom, of course.
         Nothing of my surmising had prepared me for this. I knew I was about to die; I was as intelligent as the next person. I could feel the cold metal of his sword biting into the skin of my neck as he held me from behind, about to draw the blade across my throat. We had an audience, so unfortunately this time he had to do it. There would be no mercy. Yet he was going to try and make this as painless as he could; I knew my life would end seconds after his father nodded permission. I might not even notice, if I continued thinking like I was. And if I had to go, as I knew I did, at least I was in his arms. At least I’d fought my hardest, only to be beaten by one I loved so much. I’d beaten everyone else…If I could turn my head, I would see the trail of bodies my lovely knives had gone to work on. Those were now beside my feet on the floor, useless to me. The only weapon I had left was my orchid shaped, razor sharp ring on my right ring finger. He knew about that ring, but did his father? Maybe I didn’t have to accept my death right yet, but it would mean I would have to take a chance at killing him. He would be the easier target, before his father. But could I sacrifice him to save myself? Suddenly, his father spoke, and the steel dug deeper into my neck. It would soon slide right across the front of it, ending my ability to speak, breathe, move and feel.
         “Damon,” his father’s eyebrows narrowed, and the one bodyguard left in the room cracked his knuckles. “Say your goodbyes, and then it’s the end.”
         “I understand Father,” I felt the rumble of his chest as he replied, his voice a controlled monotone.
         I felt him let up on the pressure of the blade and ease the sword down to his side, grabbing my shoulder at the same time to turn me around. I turned willingly, prepared to face him for the last time. He glanced down at my right hand quickly, letting me know I could lift it and slice his throat open if I wished. My thoughts on his death had been decided though, as soon as I looked up to see his eyes. I wouldn’t do it, I couldn’t. If I had to die, he had to live. I would accept my end if he continued on without me.
         I couldn’t say anything to him; we’d remained a secret up until the end. His eyes told me the story of his thoughts though, and that was enough for me. I allowed myself five blissful seconds of staring into innocent green eyes, filled with love, admiration and apology, before I turned myself around to face his father. Looking at Damon any longer would cause me to cry, and if I was to fully accept this, there would be no tears. The sword flew up to my throat again, but it was looser this time; I could barely feel it.
         When I saw his father’s face, he was smiling. Moonlight reflected off the angry scar slashed across his nose, and his eyebrows, so much like his son’s, narrowed as he looked above my head and into Damon’s eyes.
         “Son, turn her around again,” he ordered, and I could feel Damon falter. His hand, still on my shoulder, quivered.
         “Alexis,” he raised an eyebrow, his voice shaking, as I slowly turned. When I was fully facing him, he dropped his sword. It was then that I understood: I wasn’t going to be the only one to die today. Say your goodbyes, and then it’s the end, his father had said. The end for us both.
         “No!” I cried out, all my thinking gone to waste. I would not be at peace with this. My death would have been easy, accepted. He would be unhappy, but he would be alive. If Damon was dead, the world would be empty. I had to fight for his life; in my mind, my life was already over, forfeit. His could still be salvaged.
         My ring was my only weapon. I could kill someone with this ring; I had before. There was still blood on it from fights not longer than half an hour ago. If I turned fast enough-
         Before Damon had the chance to hug me close for the last time, I whirled around and blindly slashed at his father’s bodyguard, smiling when I felt the tiny knives slice through flesh to meet the major artery in his neck. He went down, his neck spurting blood. He would be dead soon; he was no longer my problem. Why had I agreed to death before? Because I couldn’t fight Damon…I would fight anyone else for my life now, since my death meant his simultaneously, and I could not allow that.
I was trained to fight death, to not succumb, even at the end. My mind switched from submissive calm to battle induced fury as my eyes focused on my primary aim, Damon’s father. He wasn’t there.
         I turned to see if Damon had picked up his sword, and he had…but not the right Damon. Damon Connelly Senior had his own son at the other end of a highly sharp, highly lethal sword, one of my flower knives in his other hand and pointed casually in my direction.
         His eyes were on his son as he spoke to me. “Alexis, come and join Damon here, and this will be over as quickly as I can make it. I wouldn’t want you lovers to have to suffer.”
         “I can’t believe you’re doing this.” My voice was low and barely level as I raised my right hand, prepared to maim Damon Senior so he would drop my knife.
         “I wouldn’t try it,” he threatened, and edged the tip of the sword closer to Damon’s chest. “Just slide the ring off, and put it down at my feet.”
         “I won’t let you kill him.” Oh no, here I was, making deals. I never did this; Damon was the charismatic one, not me. “You can’t. You can kill me, but not him.” No charisma whatsoever; I wanted what I wanted, and that was it. Damon’s life, my death.
         “Alexis, drop the ring, and he won’t hurt me,” Damon assured me, and I nodded.
         The ring made a hollow noise as it fell to the ground. After that, silence. The next thing I heard after nothing was a sharp gasp, and I was shocked to comprehend that it was mine. But I hadn’t been injured; he had.
         “You obviously don’t know my son that well,” Damon Senior kicked his son off his own blade, and I chanced a look at Damon’s face while his father was wiping his blood off the blade. He had dropped my knife, obviously realizing I would be too shocked to attack him now. And he was right: Damon’s face broke my heart; as long as I was looking at him, I wouldn’t move. Pain, remorse, shock, love: all crossed his face in the time it took him to die. He had time to mouth a goodbye, as the only noise coming out of his mouth was a groan of pain. Then he was gone, on the floor, still and silent, in a growing pool of his own blood. His father had barely cleaned the sword, but he looked up now to inform me, “Damon lies.”
         “He didn’t lie,” I retorted, my voice barely even a whisper, my eyebrows lowered over my eyes. I was angry; submission was no longer an option. “He trusted you; you’re his father, and this is how you treat your own son?”
         “You are the opposition. By falling in love with you, he counted himself in with your lot. I cannot forgive that, Miss Pryce. But if you’ll forgive me, why am I still talking?” He smiled and advanced on me, Damon’s sword coming closer to my heart with each step he took.
         If I killed him, the rest of the government would regard this scene as entirely my doing: they would think I had killed Damon, his father, and all the guards in the hall. Of course, only the former would be a lie…Either way, I would die tonight.
         I cast one wistful look down at Damon: his blonde hair was becoming sticky and rusted with blood, and his green eyes had lost their light. The same would happen to me in seconds. I could feel the blade entering my chest, right between my rib bones. As the pain began to ensnare my senses, I looked up into my killer’s eyes, my face as blank and empty a stare as I could make it before I lost control over my mind. Then, as he drove the sword right through my heart, I brought my right arm up with strength I didn’t know I would have as my body was crying out for the pain to end, and slapped him across the face. It was weak, I knew, and he was laughing as I fell to the ground gasping and spluttering, but it was my last act of defiance.
         I had fought death as best I could, but I had to accept my end tonight; I’d already come to terms with the death of someone I never thought I would have had to watch die in front of me. And if we had to die, at least we had died together, saying goodbye for the last time. I could live with that, in the few seconds I still had life in me.
         I died beside Damon Connelly that night, his father standing over us, laughing as he watched me go. The last thing I felt, before succumbing to the thing I’d fought so hard to prevent before tonight, were the cold, stiff fingers of Damon’s right hand in contact with the rapidly fading pulse in my left wrist. And when my heart stopped with my pulse, and the blood began to settle in my veins, I felt nothing: not acceptance, not regret, not denial, not peace, not anger. There was nothing in the end.