“Get up.” Sigvid kicks him in the gut. “Where is that mighty protector of King Rendel? Fight like a real warrior.” He circles him like a ravenous wolf, stirring up dust in his wake.
Face picks up his sword in his non-dominant hand. “I will kill you, Salt Prince,” He points the tip of the blade at him, “and then I will end the Queen like King Rendel should have done.” He swings at Sigvid’s head, only to be blocked and disarmed.
Sigvid uses his other axe to slice down Face’s back until he howls in pain. “Pick up your sword.” He commands.
Face plucks his sword from the dirt and attempts to swing, butSigvid’s axe slices off his non-dominant hand before his blade can cut through the air. Face screams as blood sputters onto the dust.
“This was supposed to be a fair fight.” Sigvid glares down at his wailing opponent. “But with you acting like a little bitch, we can forget it.” He kicks his chest, knocking him back to the ground.
“Tell me the name of the other guard. I know he is here.” He hisses, his axe hovering over Face’s heaving chest. “The one Rendel hired and used to torture her.”
“Pretty Boy.” He cries out.
Sigvid slides his axe up the enemy combatant’s chest, leaving a deep red line before blood pools. He swings at his knee, lobbing off his leg. Sigvid smiles as Face's misery intensifies. The amount of blood around him stains the dirt in a gory pond.
“You deserve this.”
The crowd cheers as Sigvid tosses the man's still-bleeding leg into the stands to wild cheers. He leans down and, using the sharp blade of his new axe, slices his other wrist clean off and then his jugular vein.
Sigvid spits in Face’s dead eyes before he struts back to the gate, the crowd chanting “Beast!” thrums in his ears.
9
AVINA
Three Winters Ago
Year 97, 9th Era
Sapphire Palace, Ridge Province
Fireworks burst in a dazzling display of vivid hues over the Sapphire Palace as the entire Ridge Province celebrates His Majesty King Rendel Manchineel of the Timber Province's engagement to their own Princess Avina Bloodstone.
Out of the entire country of Treland, only one person remains unimpressed with the union.
Princess Avina stares blankly into the full-length gilded mirror. A false smile upon her crimson-painted lips reflects out to those in the room who choose not to acknowledge her misery.
“You look lovely, Your Highness.” An elderly maid gushes from over her shoulder.
Her cousin, Duke Bertram “Bertie” Alexandrite, has convinced her to wear a navy ball gown accented with tiny diamonds in the corset. Avina’s messy curls now sit straightened in a stiff bun atop her head. The showstopper of her outfit is a heavy diamond necklace her fathergifted her from the Bloodstone Family’s royal collection. The damned monstrosity feels heavier than it should as it rests on her clavicle.
This young woman in the mirror is a stranger to the princess—a pretty doll dressed to the nines for the amusement of others, namely her father and soon-to-be husband. If only the elaborate costume she wears did not need to sit upon her chubby form.
“You do look lovely, Shadow. Doesn’t she, Viktor?” Bertie shrieks, his hands fusing over the skirt.
“She will steal all of their hearts.” Viktor gushes as he snakes an arm around Bertie’s waist, tugging him away from Avina’s increasingly nervous expression. Quickly, her cousin readjusts his meticulously maintained golden hair in the mirror over her shoulder.
In the reflection, she meets both their prideful looks. She wants to feel the glee the rest of the kingdom holds for the union. After a brief moment alone with Rendel two weeks ago, she wishes her father had married her to one of the Thordsson brothers.
Sons of such generous and kind-hearted people would not behave toward her with such disrespect as Rendel already has. And now it was their engagement soiree, at which she must profess her happiness to all of Treland.
‘Happiness,’ which churns her insides.
When was the last time she felt happiness anyway?
“There she is, the woman of the hour.” Her father, King Ceowald, sweeps into the room in long, periwinkle robes that match his eyes.
“May I speak with my father in private?” Avina addresses the room. The maids, her cousin, and Viktor all bow before slipping out of her bedchamber. She nervously curls a loose strand of hair that manages to escape the tight bun atop her head.
