“Ye tried to break me,” he said.
“I tried to free the clan,” Sebastian snapped. “From ye. From the idea that blood alone makes a leader.”
“And now?” Kieran asked. “What does this make ye?”
Sebastian’s gaze flicked briefly to Lydia’s belly. “Victorious.” He nodded once to his men. “Kill him.”
The two soldiers lunged, and Sebastian shoved Lydia backward, keeping her shielded by his body, the dirk never leaving her throat. The clearing exploded into motion. Kieran met the first attacker head-on, steel ringing as blades clashed. He ducked, twisted, and forced the man back with sheer power, but the second struck from the side, driving Kieran off balance.
He stumbled, recovered, swung again—just in time to deflect a blow aimed for his shoulder. The ground was slick, treacherous, and the men were skilled enough to exploit it, even if each alone was no match for him.
Suddenly, a sharp impact jarred his arm. Pain flared hot and immediate, stealing his breath, and Kieran gritted his teeth andpushed through it, forcing the first man to retreat. But the second seized the opening, striking high.
Kieran felt the hit on the side of his head, blunt and brutal, before he felt the weakness that followed.
His vision blurred at the edges, but he stayed upright, swaying ever so slightly on his feet. He was not going to give up so easily; Sebastian was a fool if he thought his men could defeat him, if he thought that blade would ever pierce Lydia’s neck.
“Kieran!” Lydia cried out, terror tinting her tone.
He snarled, driving forward with everything he had left, knocking one attacker back hard enough to send him sprawling. The other circled, cautious now, aware that even wounded, Kieran was deadly.
Sebastian watched with avid interest, his fingers tightening in Lydia’s hair as she struggled uselessly against him.
“Aye,” Sebastian said. “That’s it, fight. Show her how even ye bleed.”
Kieran forced his breathing steady, watching the man as he circled him. It didn’t take long for him to attack once more, and this time, Kieran was ready, meeting his blade mid-air. Behind him, the other man stood and stumbled towards him with a roar, and Kieran twisted, parrying his blow before his blade could get too close and then counterattacking.
His blade caught the man in the hip, cutting him down. He fell with a grunt, blood pooling under his body as he writhed in the mud, but Sebastian barely had the time to look at him. He turned back to the other man still standing instead, their swords crossing once more, Kieran pushing him back with all his might.
Behind him, grunting echoed, and Kieran, terrified of what he might see, turned to find Lydia struggling in Sebastian’s grip. He was struggling, too, his age and frailness making it difficult for him to keep her steady, but that dirk was still pressed to her throat.
One wrong move and she, too, would be bleeding on the ground.
Impatient to end the fight, Kieran turned to the man once more, only to find him right there, before him, his blade raised high. Distracted as he had been by Lydia, he hadn’t noticed the man approach, and he parried the blow last minute—though not entirely. The blade caught him on the shoulder, blood welling under his shirt, pain searing through him as he gritted his teeth.
This ends now.
With a roar, he pushed the man back and then swiftly pierced through his chest, his blade sinking deep. The man fell, gasping for air, and when Kieran pulled his blade out of him, he collapsed onto the ground, already dead.
The world narrowed again, this time to breath, balance, and the fierce will not to fall. Kieran moved despite the pain, despite the slick weakness creeping through his limbs.
The clearing fell suddenly quiet. Only Sebastian remained.
And Lydia.
Sebastian snarled, fury twisting his features as his men lay defeated. “Useless,” he spat and tightened his grip on Lydia, dragging her back against him as he stepped away from Kieran.
“Ye cannae win,” Sebastian said hoarsely. “Ye’re wounded. Ye’re slowin’.”
Kieran straightened, every movement deliberate, every breath an act of defiance. “Ye always did mistake patience for weakness.”
In that moment, whether by instinct, courage, or sheer desperation, Lydia moved. She stamped down hard on Sebastian’s foot and threw her head back, catching him beneath the chin. The dirk wavered, his grip loosened just enough.
Lydia tore free and ran.
Sebastian shouted, reaching for her, but it was too late. Lydia stumbled across the clearing, her skirts tangled, her breath coming in ragged gasps?—
“Kieran!” she cried.
