Chapter 31

CHAPTER 31

“ L et me go!” Isolde struggled against Morton’s grip, the heat of the fire nothing compared to his madness.

His fingers dug into her arms hard enough to bruise, and his eyes reflected the flames with unholy glee.

“The Duke took everything from me,” Morton snarled, shaking her. “Now he’ll know what that feels like. To lose everything he?—”

A dark shape burst through the wall of flames behind them. Before Isolde could process what was happening, Morton was suddenly torn away from her and thrown backward.

“No one touches my wife.” Arthur’s voice was barely recognizable, a feral growl that sent shivers down her spine despite the inferno.

“Well, if it isn’t the noble Duke himself,” Morton sneered, regaining his balance. “Come to watch your precious home burn down to the ground? Your father would be so disappointed in how soft you’ve become.”

Something dangerous flickered in Arthur’s eyes. The flames cast shadows on his face, highlighting the muscle ticking in his jaw. For a moment, he looked like an avenging angel, terrible and beautiful in his rage.

“You dare speak about my father?” He clenched his hands into fists. “You know nothing about?—”

A terrible crack overhead interrupted him. Isolde looked up to see another section of the ceiling collapse.

“Arthur!” she cried out in warning.

He moved with lightning speed, lunging forward to punch Morton squarely in the jaw. The former tenant stumbled back, blood trickling down from his split lip.

“Is that the best you can do?” Morton taunted. “The former Duke would have?—”

“I am not my father.” Arthur’s voice was even as he advanced. “And you will never threaten my wife again.”

Morton charged with a roar of rage, but Arthur was ready. He dodged the wild punch and delivered one of his own, the impact sending a jarring shock through his knuckles. Morton staggered backward, his face contorted in a snarl.

The two men grappled near the burning wall, the flames licking dangerously close. Arthur felt the heat searing his skin and smelled the acrid stench of smoke. But he refused to be cowed by the encroaching fire—his focus was zeroed in on the man before him, the one who dared to threaten the woman he loved.

“You’re weak,” Morton spat, landing a blow to Arthur’s ribs. “Just like your mother. She was weak too, wasn’t she? Crying over you when the former Duke—” He lunged forward, his fingers clawing at Arthur’s face.

Arthur jerked his head back, barely avoiding the attack, then drove his knee hard into Morton’s gut. The other man doubled over with a wheeze, but his grip on Arthur’s shirt only tightened.

They crashed against the wall, plaster crumbling under the force of the impact. Flames licked at Arthur’s sleeve, and he quickly beat them out even as he and Morton traded vicious blows. His lungs burned from the smoke, each breath a struggle, but he still fought on.

Another ominous crack sounded overhead.

“The roof is going to collapse!” Isolde’s terrified cry cut through the chaos.

Arthur redoubled his efforts, slamming Morton back against the burning wall. The other man howled in pain as the flames singed his skin, but he refused to relent. His fist connected with Arthur’s ribs, and the impact knocked the breath out of Arthur’s lungs.

As they grappled, Arthur could feel the building shuddering around them, the very foundations groaning under the onslaught of the inferno.

A lifetime of choices and compromises had led to this moment—the reckoning he’d always feared and the chance to finally break free of his father’s shadow.

His roar of rage drowned out the rest as he slammed Morton against the wall. Another ominous crack sounded overhead.

“Arthur, please!” Isolde called out, watching in horror as more debris rained down. “The roof?—”

But Morton spoke again, his words designed to wound. “Poor little Arthur, always trying to protect the weak. How did that work out for your mother? For that mare you tried to save?”

Arthur’s fist connected with Morton’s face, sending him stumbling backward. “You know nothing about protection,” he growled. “Nothing about strength.”

Morton wiped the blood from his mouth, his smile turning vicious. “I know enough. I know you’ll watch her burn, just like you watched everything else you loved turn to ashes.”

He lunged suddenly, not at Arthur but at Isolde. She scrambled backward, but she was unable to stand up. The madness in his eyes promised a fate worse than the flames that surrounded them.

But before he could reach her, Arthur was there, placing himself between them just as he’d once stood between the frightened mare and his father’s cruelty. The parallel wasn’t lost on him.

“This ends now.” His voice carried even over the fire’s roar.

As if in answer, a massive beam crashed down from above.

Morton looked up, his eyes widening in sudden fear. He tried to dodge, but the burning timber caught him squarely, pinning him beneath its weight.

His scream was cut short as the flames engulfed him, the fallen beams becoming his funeral pyre.

Isolde turned away from the gruesome sight, fighting down nausea.

The heat was becoming unbearable, and black spots danced at the edges of her vision. The smoke was so thick now that she could barely see Arthur through it.

“Isolde!” His voice seemed distant. “Stay with me, love.”

Strong arms lifted her, cradling her against a solid chest. She breathed in his familiar scent beneath the smoke, letting her head fall against his shoulder.

At that moment, despite the raging inferno surrounding them, Isolde felt a sense of security she hadn’t known since the night of the ball, when Arthur had first come to her rescue.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, carrying her toward what she hoped was safety. “I won’t let you go. Never again.”

The world spun hazily around her as Arthur navigated the burning corridors. She could feel the strength in his arms, hear the steady beat of his heart even as debris crashed around them.

It was as if they existed in a private cocoon, separate from the chaos and danger that encroached on all sides.

Isolde’s lungs burned with every breath, the acrid smoke searing her throat. But she forced herself to keep breathing, to stay conscious, clinging to Arthur as if he were a lifeline. If she succumbed to the darkness now, she might never see his face again—the face of the man she loved more than life itself.

Mustering the last of her strength, she reached up to touch his cheek, needing the reassurance of his warmth.

“Arthur,” she whispered, her voice barely audible above the roar of the flames. “You came back for me.”

“Always,” he replied, his voice thick with emotion. “I’ll always come back to you.”

Isolde allowed her eyes to drift shut, trusting him to guide her to safety. In the maelstrom of fire and smoke, his steadfast presence was the only certainty she needed.

Every step was an eternity as Arthur carried Isolde through the burning house. The staircases were gone now—he’d have to find another way down. Her weight in his arms felt precious beyond measure, making his heart clench each time she coughed against the thickening smoke.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, feeling her grip on his shirt weaken. “We’re almost out.”

The fire had spread to nearly every part of the wing now, leaving them precious few options for escape. He remembered the servants’ stairs. It was narrow and steep, but if it hadn’t collapsed yet…

A burning portrait fell as he passed, missing them by inches.

Isolde flinched in his arms. “Arthur,” she croaked. “I can’t breathe.”

“Yes, you can.” He held her tighter, ducking under a partially collapsed beam. “Breathe with me, love. In and out. That’s it.”

The servants’ staircase appeared through the smoke like a miracle. But the flames were already licking up its wooden steps, eating away at their last chance of escape.

No choice. They had to try.

“Hold tight to me,” he instructed, shifting her weight to better protect her from the flames. “Whatever happens, don’t let go.”

Each step could be their last. The wood groaned beneath them, weakened by fire and age. Arthur moved as quickly as he could, trying to ignore the pain spreading up his legs, the daggers in his lungs as he tried to draw breath.

Halfway down, the stairs began to collapse.

He didn’t think—he jumped, turning to bear the brunt of the impact as they hit the lower landing. Pain shot through his shoulder, but Isolde was safe in his arms. That was all that mattered.

“Almost there,” he promised, though his vision was beginning to blur. “Just hold on.”

The ground floor was a maze of flame and fallen debris. Somewhere ahead, he could hear voices calling—the servants, perhaps the fire brigade. But which way?

There! There was a gap in the burning walls, showing the blessed night sky beyond.

Arthur surged forward with the last of his strength. One final push through hellfire and they’d be safe. Just a few more steps…

They burst into cool night air as the rest of the roof finally collapsed. Arthur stumbled forward, his legs giving out as hands reached to help them. He curled his body protectively around Isolde as they fell, still shielding her even as darkness threatened to overtake him.

“Your Grace!” multiple voices called out. “Quick, bring water! Blankets!”

But Arthur focused only on Isolde’s face as they were dragged away from the burning house. She was alive. She was safe. Nothing else mattered.

“Arthur?” Her eyes fluttered open, filling with tears as she reached up to touch his soot-stained cheek. “You came back.”

“Yes,” he managed, his voice rough from smoke. “Yes, darling. I am here now.”

She smiled then, weak but radiant, and Arthur felt something profound settle in his heart.

All the walls he’d built, all the fears that had kept him isolated—they crumbled like the burning walls of Meadowell.

In that moment, holding Isolde, he understood that true strength wasn’t about keeping people at a distance. It was about having the courage to love completely, without reservation.

Before he could tell her everything he’d discovered about himself, about them, darkness claimed him, and he knew nothing more.