“I was pulled through a portal during our challenge. Against my will. Yanked into another realm by forces beyond my control.” He stopped in the center of the room. “I have been in the human lands. Trapped there. Until my brother found a way to bring me home.”
The crowd erupted in murmurs that grew louder and more confused by the second.
“A portal?” One of the nobles called out. “You expect us to believe-”
“I expect you to believe the truth,” Mal cut him off. “A portal opened during my fight with Andreas. It swallowed me whole. Deposited me in another realm. I have spent the past weeks finding my way back. But now I am here. And I am ready to finish what we started.”
Andreas’s expression had gone from smug to furious. “Convenient story. But how can you prove-”
“I do not need to prove anything to you.” Mal’s voice dropped lower. Dangerous. “I am the rightful king of Ravenor. I won thisthrone through combat. Through right of challenge. If you wish to take it from me, you will have to earn it. Here. Now. In front of all these witnesses.”
A man stepped forward from the crowd. Older, with gray hair and formal robes. The council leader, I assumed.
“Very well,” he said. “The challenge will proceed. Andreas Silver has called for formal combat. Malachar Ashborne has returned to answer. The rules are simple - fight until one yields or dies. No interference. No weapons save those provided. The victor claims the throne.”
“I accept these terms,” Mal said.
“As do I,” Andreas growled.
“Then let the challenge begin.”
The crowd moved back, forming a wide circle in the center of the room. Mal and Andreas faced each other across the open space.
My heart was pounding so hard I thought it might break through my ribs.
“Weapons,” the council leader called.
Two men stepped forward with swords. Long, gleaming blades that caught the torchlight. They offered one to each combatant.
Mal took his sword with practiced ease. Tested the weight. The balance. Andreas did the same, his eyes never leaving Mal.
“Begin.”
They circled each other slowly, calculating and looking for openings.
Andreas struck first. A vicious slash aimed at Mal’s chest. Mal blocked it easily, the clang of metal on metal echoing through the room.
They exchanged blows. Fast. Brutal. Each strike powerful enough to kill if it landed wrong.
But Mal was faster. Stronger. He moved with a grace that seemed impossible for someone his size, dodging and weaving and countering every attack Andreas threw at him.
Blood was drawn. Andreas caught Mal’s shoulder with a glancing blow. A shallow cut, but enough to make me gasp.
Mal didn’t even flinch. Just pressed his attack harder.
They fought across the length of the room. Mal drove Andreas back, step by step, his blade flashing in the firelight. Andreas was good and clearly trained, but Mal fought with the intensity of someone who had everything to lose. He was a force of nature, relentless and unstoppable, while Andreas began to tire visibly. His movements grew sloppier and slower while Mal looked like he could fight for hours more.
Then Mal’s blade found its mark with a deep slash across Andreas’s thigh. Andreas stumbled and nearly fell as blood poured from the wound.
Mal kicked his sword away before he could recover. Pressed the tip of his own blade to Andreas’s throat.
The room went silent.
“Yield,” Mal said quietly.
Andreas’s face was twisted with rage and pain. But he looked at the sword at his throat. At the cold determination in Mal’s eyes.
“I yield,” he spat.
