And, at her throat, a knife sank past a layer of her skin.
Supreme Commander Pateras bent beneath the arcing blade aimed for his throat, then rebounded with a thrust that forced the soldier back. They traded blows in a brutal rhythm, each man driven to the defensive by the other.
Dimitrios gathered his reins and began to turn his horse?—
Pateras stumbled, his footwork no longer the clean, disciplined rhythm of a trained soldier. His heel snagged on the stiff leg of a fallen horse.
The Supreme Commander crashed down, arms splaying wide in the blood-soaked dirt. A groan tore from between gritted teeth as he lifted his sword to counter another blow—too slow.
Dimitrios kicked his horse into a sprint.
The sword came down from above.
Pateras’s eyes widened?—
Dimitrios launched from the saddle, crashing into the soldier mid-swing. They rolled through blood and dust, steel flashing. One strike, clean and deep, stilled the soldier’s breath.
Pateras staggered toward him, breath ragged, face smeared with blood and dirt. His knees caked in mud. “Thank you.” He hauled Dimitrios to his feet. “I am in your debt.”
Dimitrios shook his head. “I’m just glad to find you’re still breathing.”
“Barely.” He grunted and pressed a hand to his ribs, where his cuirass had buckled from a brutal hit.
Around them, the battle was reinvigorated.
Dimitrios clapped him on the shoulder. “I hope you’ve got just a little fight left.”
Pateras gave a slanted grin. “A bit more, I think.”
They moved together, deeper into the fight.
The Soterran forces didn’t know what to do with the chaos that met them. A host of Perean soldiers, fresh and ready, swept through their lines with spears and short swords.
Behind them, dealing final blows to any who survived, were the blacksmiths and farmers and fishermen.
The north pass trembled beneath it all.
Dimitrios carved through the enemy lines with the weight of his father’s hope on his shoulders. His mother’s sacrifice was the fire in his lungs. His grandfather’s contempt fueled every strike.
But it was Milonia’s voice that lingered like a ghost at his ear. “To the people who love you, you’re already their king.”
Crowned, crownless, it made no difference. He fought for his people. And if he fell, all of Perean would know he’d chosen them.
A horn sounded in the distance.
Pateras had fallen back, lost to the surge, and Dimitrios pressed forward, alone. Breath scorching. Sword growing heavier.
Shapes closed in. A shadow passed over his shoulder.
He turned—one step at a time—sword gripped tight, breath ragged.
Four. Five. Six Soterran soldiers. Fanning out like wolves in a ring of dust and blood.
Behind him, the battle raged on. Without him.
So be it.
He raised his sword.
