He picks up speed, charging. All I can do is spin out of the way, ducking to avoid the swing of his blade.
As he turns his horse around, he smiles, baring his teeth, as if killing me is a game. I have no doubt that he’s going to hunt me down, and I have no way to truly defend myself from this type of attack.
His horse’s hoofbeats grow loud in my ears, and I lift my sword. Before he reaches me, bluish ice begins branching up the warrior’s legs, crystals forming and spreading over his torso, then climbing along his arms, until it finally engulfs his head.
He falls from his beast, which races past me, leaving behind an ice statue on the ground.
I scour the courtyard skirmish, searching for Colden. More frozen warriors litter the grounds as he fights, some only with patches of ice covering their noses and mouths, suffocating them in shortorder.
Two men advance on me, and my nerves suddenly turn to steel. I’ve been honed for this very moment for eight years.
The swing of my blade and the clang of our swords make the fury within me sing. These men brought war to our land. They likely slaughtered hundreds, and they will slaughter more if I don’t end them.
Instinct takes over. I block and parry and strike, taking down warrior after warrior, none of them expecting much fight from the fair-haired waif as they face me in the falling light.
It becomes a bloody dance, avoiding flaming arrows and swinging blades, even as I stab, gut, and destroy.
I lose sight of Colden, and that makes me smile. If he thought I needed him, he would be fighting at my back.
Behind me, horses grunt and scream. I turn to find the stables on fire and the village burning. Eastland warriors storm the castle, too. Thankfully, we got most everyone out of Winterhold in time.
I almost follow the Eastlanders into my home. It would be easier to kill them inside a place completely foreign to them. But around the bend in the road that vanishes behind the castle and winds through the village, enemy horses appear, hitched to some of our enclosed wagons built for transporting animals in the frigid northern weather.
What in the devils are they doing?
I step back and blend into the scenery as they ride past, coming to a stop near the main gate. Quickly, I scan the courtyard again for Colden. When I spot him, my heart seizes, and my blood runs cold as the ice living in my lover’s veins.
A few strides from the wagons, the prince holds Colden suspended against the remains of the ice wall. Crimson shadows coil around my king’s limbs, pinning him like a butterfly for all to see. Two Eastlanders fasten iron cuffs around Colden’s wrists and ankles, mocking him.
Panic flashes through my body like a streaking flame. I run toward him, but stumble to a sudden stop when the prince’s shadows retreat, and Colden falls to the ground in a powerless heap.
Eastland warriors are on my king before he can so much as lift his head, burdening him further by adding more iron chains. Though he fights like a bear, they drag him to the closest wagon, toss him inside, and seal him away.
Iron stifles godly power, and Colden’s power came from Neri. He’s defenseless now.
I have to get him out.
With dark determination and single-minded focus, I move toward the prince. My blood-covered sword is gripped tight as I step over body after body between us, Eastlanders and Northlanders alike.
With a black crow at rest on his shoulder, the prince momentarily presses his palm to the door of Colden’s wagon, then turns to mount his horse. Before he swings up, he looks over the courtyard and spies me stalking right for him, sword ready. I’m not far now.
His black eyes, glinting in the firelight burning all around us, sparkle with the excitement of a fight. He even readies his shadows. They rise in the air around him like red, nebulous ribbons dancing in the wind, just waiting to lash out and stop me.
They don’t get the chance.
A Northlander I recognize but don’t know rushes in front of me, his meaty arms spread as if to shield me.
“Leave Miss Bloodgood alone!” the man orders the prince, his voice trembling. Then he glances over his shoulder at me. “Nephele, get back,” he says, as if we’re on a first-name basis, and as if he has the authority to tell me what to do. Stupid man.
Wounded though it is, the prince’s entire countenance changes. He tilts his dark head, and those eyes of endless night settle on me so wholly that I swear I feel his stare caressing my soul. Tasting it.
Faster than I can blink, his shadows whip out and wrap around the Northlander’s throat, crushing it on impact.
“No!” I stumble back as the man crumples at my feet. I glare at the prince and sweep my arm in a wide arc. “You will pay dearly for all of this.”
“Will I?” he asks.
His shadows turn and come for me. I slice my sword at them, finding nothing but air.
