The man—Prince Vaelor—inclines his head with a mock bow. “Your Majesty,” he drawls, the title soaked in venom and mockery. “My mother sends her regards. She would’ve come herself, but she didn’t think yourhomewas worth the voyage.”
Kael doesn’t take the bait. “You’re far from your mother’s seas. Are you sure you’ll be all right out from under her skirts?”
The muscles in Vaelor’s jaw feather almost imperceptibly, but I notice. “You’re not happy to see me? Shame. We always got along so well as boys,” Prince Vaelor bites.
But Kael stays on target. “The ships shouldn’t have reached Thornewood for another day,” Kael says, his tone measured and cool.
Vaelor smiles, and it’s all teeth. “Ah. That’s the beauty of progress, Kael. Zerynthia has spent centuries clutching relics, spells and the old ways, and we’ve been buildingmachines.” He gestures to the sigils along his armor, the faint glow threading through his veins. “A few of our ships move on tides of Aether now—faster than wind, faster than magic. By the time yourNymerian friends whispered of our approach, we were already at your gates.”
Tides of Aether?
“This will not end well for you,” Kael replies simply, stepping forward, sword gleaming with rain. But I can see the way the muscles in his jaw flick. The way his knuckles go white with the intensity of his grip. The way the tether snaps taut with barely leashed restraint.
“The visit to Thornewood is just for fun, Kael, no matter how it ends. The rest of the units will be in Kryntar before the night’s out, and we’ll take it with ease. Caeloria will rule Aevryn and all its riches before dawn breaks,” Prince Vaelor taunts with a menacing grin. As if this is a quarrel between children. As if we’re not talking about the legacy of a kingdom. The lives of innocents. The fates of the entire fucking known realms.
But something more sinister rises from the depths of my gut.
Iftheykill Maldrak before unbinding the spell, they kill all the Marked soldiers, too. And Nalya. Kael. Me.
Fuck.
“Take your unit and leave my lands,” Kael commands, his voice holding the weight of all the kings who’ve come before him. “You will not survive. None of you.”
“Youarea fine swordsman, Kael, I’ll give you that,” Vaelor admits with a humorless laugh. “But I’ve never known you to show mercy. This is fear speaking. Not to mention you’ve got three bitches and fucking Therion, and whoever this idiot is,” he stabs his finger toward Ronyn positioned high in the tree with his arrow nocked, “against my elite legion of Caelorian-trained warriors.”
Behind him, the Caelorian ranks draw their weapons in perfect unison. The sound is a single, metallic chord.
Kael exhales through his nose, steady and lethal. “You should’ve brought more men.”
Vaelor smirks, laughing in an arrogant huff. “I’m intrigued to know how you plan to take on an elite unit of trained killers with these… slum rats, Kael.”
But Kael is lost to bloodlust. He’s lost to the calm that descends right before he kills. He goes preternaturally still—like an animal on the hunt. He sheathes his blade, as if the weapon is unnecessary. Because heisthe weapon.
Then, he moves?—
He stalks towards Vaelor, each step a warning.
“I will flay the skin from your bones and stretch it into the banner we hang from the square,” he says, voice low enough to curdle the air. “I’ll pluck the eyes from your skull and let the crows feed on your arrogance. I’ll take your tongue and return it to your whore of a mother with my wax seal on the box. When your men see what’s left of you, they’ll forget the wordloyalty.”
He stops inches away from Vaelor, voice nothing but a promise of death. “You think skill wins wars? You’ve never met wrath.”
The words land heavy as a death knell.
Vaelor tries to hold his ground, but no one misses the way he retreats. Just an inch.
“Fighting for riches will never win over men who fight for a reason. You should remember that better than anyone,” Kael taunts, tapping his lip in the same place Vaelor’s lip is scarred. Hinting at past rivalries, it seems.
“But you are right about one thing,” Kael admits.
“What’s that?”
I can see the slight twitch of Vaelor’s hand, itching for his own blade. He’s unnerved.
“I show no mercy.”
Vaelor tries to stay calm, nonchalant. “Is that right?”
“Look closer,” Kael snarls, gesturing towards my hands that still gleam gold. “You won’t live long enough to tell the story of how this ends.”
