“But you will not be the one dueling.”
Palomides turned to me, his eyes black slits. Monstrous. “The Brutal Prince shall be the one to prove himself today.”
63
VEYKA
This was a test.
For Arran and I both, and for all of the terrestrial kingdom.
If Arran died, Annwyn would be thrown into chaos. Palomides would use his succubus to take over more than just mines. At least we’d foiled that plan by slaughtering them all. Palomides of the Mines would no doubt send his guards in every direction, to every land holding, to report on the outcome of this duel.
But why take the risk? Arran was the most powerful fae in millennia. There was every reason to believe he would win this duel, unless…
Unless Palomides knew that Arran had been injured.
I did not let any of the emotion ricocheting through my body show on my face or travel through the bond to my mate.
I forced a wide, wicked grin to my face, despite the rain. I was fucking cold, but there was no time for such mundane concerns as personal discomfort.
I turned that lazy smile to Arran. “I shall enjoy watching you cleave him into tiny pieces,” I purred to Arran, just loud enough that it would carry through the rain to Palomides’ ears.
Are you ready for this?I asked Arran. He could have his feelings about speaking through the bond later.
I received a low growl in response—and not the sensual kind.
Great.
I grabbed Lyrena’s arm. A second later, we were on the opposite end of the killing field, far from Palomides and his sycophantic family. Kay and Vera could go where they wanted. I was certain Barkke watched from the shadows of the tree line, in his fae or beast form. I did not dare put my back to the still surface of the Split Sea. Legend said that its surface had not been broken in seven thousand years.
But I was living proof that legends were not always what they seemed.
In the distance, Palomides lifted his arm toward the sky. Even here, with a deluge of rain and all that space separating us, I heard his booming voice. “Begin.”
Arran shifted, the motion blurred by the sluicing torrent of water. Even at a distance his wolf was massive. As big as the Black Knight, who stood unmoving in the center of the plain. Like he had not even heard Palomides order.
Arran stalked forward. At an angle—circling his opponent. I’d seen him do the same thing in the sparring ring. A slow approach, choosing the best course of attack. Waiting to see how his opponent would react—turn with him or expose their side. A good way of assessing the Black Knight’s arrogance, using it.
The Black Knight stood solid, unmoving. He had not even drawn his broadsword.
A shiver of unease slid down my spine.
Just a raindrop.
Arran is the most powerful fae in millennia. Blessed with both flora and fauna gifts. There is no opponent he cannot defeat.
Except the nearest flora were the trees of the forest, far away even for Arran. That was why he’d shifted into his wolf.
One more snarl, and Arran bounded forward. I did not even have time to drag in a breath. He was that fast.
But the Black Knight still did not draw his sword.
He only lifted a hand to the sky.
Every hair on my body rose.
No. Impossible.
