“What—don’t take away my morning fun,” Dorian whined.
Nyssa’s gaze cut sideways at him. “Weren’t you just complaining about us letting them get close enough for you to have to use your sword?”
“It’s not my sword,” he said. “I stole it from Rhaif the other night. His precious Amaris sword, gifted by our traitorous mother herself. The first of many punishments for his being such a dick to me all these years. And also, I underestimated my need to release anger this morning.”
Nyssa let the bow dwindle in her hands and made a mocking gesture to the hills. “There are five left. Be my guest.”
A sideways smile rose on Dorian's lips. He shoved his boots on without another word and bounded down the hill. The few guards left slowed their horses, apparently taken aback by seeing the Prince of Promise suddenly charging at them with no protection other than himself and a sword. But the smile stayed on Dorian's face, and he changed into his true form.
As many times as Nyssa had watched him morph, the sight of it still made her heartbeat slow.
The creature he wore so well. Daring and brave in such a form. The only emotion that settled into his bones was a great bloodlust. And the more he filled out in his growth, the scarier he became.
Shoulders rounding, fists tightening—the confident aura. Hesitation had no place in his core. He was hungry, and not for nourishment of body, but for nourishment of mind. For blood and for vengeance.
The true form of the Promised King.
Eyes blackening, the streaks of his form pulsed from his black hands up his arms and from his eyes down his cheeks as though ink were spreading over his skin in the pattern of nerves. Nyssa could see the faint cracks of royal blue glowing through the lines—
The sword caught fire.
The soldiers slowed. Dorian picked up his own pace, almost running. As he reached them, he slid on his knees to the ground. The tip of one guard’s sword cut at Dorian's chest, but Dorian didn't flinch. Dorian’s blade swiped the legs of the guard on his right. Dorian pivoted to a kneel mid-slide, and his sword slashed through the backs of the soldier’s legs on his other side.
The guards fell, and Dorian paused for a moment on one knee, lashes lifting over his black eyes as he listened for his next victim.
A guard was coming up behind him. Chest heaving, Dorian grabbed a knife from his belt and thrust it upwards into the guard. The last two were now standing off to the side, exchanging terrified glances.
Dorian moved as though time did not exist. Slow and calculated between the attacks, but a whirl of black smoke and blue flames with every strike.
He rose deliberately from the ground and faced the remaining two. Dorian threw the knife into the dirt as he watched the guards circle him.
With a spin, he charged at the one before him. His blade cut the air in such a fiery rush that Nyssa hardly saw more than a whoosh of royal blue where her brother should have been.
The soldiers whose knees he had injured were attempting to grab their swords or spears.
Dorian sliced through the last standing soldier just in time to see one on the ground rising to his knees. Dorian’s blade sliced through the guard’s neck, and the Belwark's head rolled into a pile of fiery ash at Dorian's feet.
The last on the ground was moving. Dorian stalked him. His chest rose high, and his shoulders rounded further with every deep breath. Navy fire grew down Dorian's leg to his boot.
He stomped the soldier’s hand just as the guard reached for his sword.
Dorian savored this kill.
Slowly, he shifted his weight. The guard let out a scream as his hand turned to ash. Dorian’s head tilted with the guard’s cry, and the noise of his begging filled the foggy air.
Dorian deliberately pressed his other foot onto the guard’s neck. The movement of his boot touching the guard’s skin was so much like a whisper, Nyssa wondered if perhaps her brother was enjoying his morning spill a little more than he should have.
Nyssa watched as the Belwark was slowly engulfed in flames, his scream loud over the landscape, and then his body turned to dust beneath Dorian's tilted gaze.
The final guard was running away.
Dorian turned. A spear laid on the ground beside him. He kicked it up into his hand.
It flew from his grasp, and the soldier’s toes dragged the earth when the blade shot through his chest.
Dorian didn't move for a long moment. His fire slowly receded from his boots and hands with the black streaks. When he turned, Nyssa caught the moment his eyes changed from a total abyss of darkness back to their usual blue.
Wrath of the Promised Prince, indeed.
