My father grunts again, but I know he feels good because Brachard referred to us as theirs.
When Varguk lifts the other and throws him, the male lands at the edge of the circle across from me. He lifts his head and looks right at me, grinning through a mouthful of blood.
“You would have preferred me, wench. I have my father’s favor.”
What does that mean?
I don’t have the chance to find out because Varguk takes him in a chokehold and Leviton loses consciousness, his face turning a sickly gray as his oxygen is cut off right in front of me. Varguk doesn’t let up. He continues his hold until Leviton is still.
And doesn’t wake.
But then Varguk stands, his brother’s body crumpling to the ground. Varguk is breathing heavily, one foot between Leviton’s shoulder blades.
“Is he dead?” I ask, horrified.
“He may well be,” Brachard says.
The other Southpeaks dispersed throughout the crowd move forward and calmly pick up the body of the king’s fallen son, one voice starting a trilling sound that the others chant to. They lift him above their heads in some sort of ceremony.
“Southpeaks, be gone,” the sheriff calls out. “Except for the one who’ll remain to guard, ye all git and take that one back to yer king.”
Varguk comes to stand before us. He never loses eye contact with anyone as he raises his arm to the crowd and introduces himself as my new guard. Then he turns to me.
“Milady, I would be honored to protect you.” He drops his head and raises his fist to cover his heart. “My life for yours.”
Blood is dripping from the side of his mouth. His knuckles are bruised and bloody and he looks exhausted.
“Well matched, were you?” Brachard asks. “Trained with your brother?”
“Aye. Born on the same day of different mothers, yet a year apart. My father pitted us against each other.”
Ouch. Not even Blackhearts make brothers fight.
“Do you have other siblings?” Bakog asks.
Varguk nods, then gestures with his head. “His brother, Auglesh. Two years younger thanLeviton.”
I eye the males leaving with his brother’s body as they march in a line away from us.
“I’ll have your head on a platter if anything happens to my brat,” my father growls, his voice deep.
Varguk simply nods. It dawns on me that he’s exhausted—way exhausted. More so than a strong male should be.
“Was that your first fight today?” I ask.
He turns a shrewd eye toward me. “Nay. We were only allowed fifteen males to enter the gates. We fought to see which would get in.”
“And your brother did too?” my father asks.
Varguk shakes his head. “He was already in, apparently. Getting on the humans’ good sides.”
Looks like I got the better guard then, if he beat his well-matched brother while the other was fresh and he was exhausted.
“Well, let’s sit and eat, shall we?” I ask brightly, wanting to get this exhausted male off his feet before others try to test him. I have no doubt he’ll continue to fight and that makes me sad.
He’s a handsome male, rugged and brutal, even with his face broken.
“Negan, come sit with us,” Shalia says.
