I could open a portal rift and shove them each through it, one by one, eliminating my opponents in the Pit by sending them for a frigid swim in Wolf Bay rather than killing them. I could do that. But I wouldn’t.
There were times for mercy and times for strength. In the terrestrial kingdom, strength was the only measure of value. They would not think my mercy a strength.
If the cost of a seamless transition of power was the terrestrials in the Pit, I’d pay it. I’d come to fear many things in the months since Arran pulled me from my apathy. Love meant fear. I loved Arran. I loved my friends. I even loved my kingdom. And to save the thousands, I would sacrifice the few. I was afraid for my kingdom. But I was not afraid for myself or my soul. It had turned black a long time ago.
I left Excalibur sheathed across my back. I was tall enough that no one would have enough of a height advantage to takeit from me. If they stupid enough to try. I palmed my daggers instead, the jeweled scabbards secure at my waist, their secret known only to my own party. The amorite swirled blades reflected back the light of the white-gray clouds above, the wolf-heads carved into the hilts caressing my palms.
The low rumble of Arran’s beast raised the hairs at the nape of my neck.
Do not worry, Brutal Prince. This is what I do best.
If he had an argument for that, he held it back. Morgause snapped her fingers. All around me, terrestrials leapt down into the Pit. The fight for the Round Table had begun.
Two terrestrials waited just below, blades raised and ready, eager to match themselves against me. What they hoped to gain by killing their queen, I did not know nor want to. It was absurd that the same terrestrials who sought a knighthood by my hand wanted to draw my blood.
If I could kill them, then they did not deserve that knighthood.
Bloodshed did not have to make sense. Not among our kind.
I jumped—and disappeared into the void. I reappeared behind one of their backs, sliding my dagger up beneath his armor and straight through his kidney. A killing blow.
The male across from him watched his partner fall. He did not turn away from me, lifting his axe to attack. My respect for him rose a notch—only to disappear entirely as a massive bear rose up behind him and ripped his head from his body, tossing it into the second level of the Pit.
I laughed.
And began.
Arran did not exist. Nor Lyrena or Isolde or Barkke. Nor even Morgause, though I was certain she preened over the scene like the queen she imagined herself to be.
There was only that moment, the swipe of my blade across the flora-gifted terrestrial’s throat, severing his blades of grass and his arteries in one slash. I felt the gush of blood as it splashed across my face, savored its warmth before spinning and lodging my knife in the shoulder of the same bear shifter from moments before. The beast roared, swiping with his mighty claws. But it was huge and bulky, while I was swift beyond reason. I flayed open its belly and leapt over its entrails as they spilled onto the dark stone floor of the Pit.
I did not pause to count, but I could feel the contenders around me thinning. There was less movement at my back, less to keep track of in my peripheries. Still, I kept moving. Moving was the best defense in a battle like this; Arran had taught me that. It was different than the sparring ring, where I only had one opponent. In close quarters like this, with so many opponents, slowing down for even a breath meant presenting an easy target.
But I did not need to take a breath. My lungs burned with excitement, not exhaustion. I hardly needed to plunge myself into the void. I was capable all on my own.You are strong, and you are powerful. And every realm should be trembling at the strength of the new High Queen of Annwyn.
Arran’s words were a memory that fueled me through the next kill. A hawk shifter I relieved of one of his wings. A flora-gifted who found her thorns could not make me bleed, even when she wrapped them tight around my wrists.
I stabbed, slit, swirled—and then stopped.
A hatchet met my dagger.
So similar to the weapon my mate wielded, but smaller. Though its blade was no less deadly. And unlike Arran’s axe, the head of the hatchet shone with swirls of amorite.
Mordred.
Morgause had sent her son into the Pit.
A table of destiny.
He held his weapon strong against the push of mine, not giving an inch.
Five shall be with you at Mabon.
We could not remain like this, locked in a single hold. We were too vulnerable. I could not kill Mordred. It might neutralize Morgause. But it would destroy Arran. He had not shared his feelings with me, beyond shock. But I knew my husband. He was attached to his parents, he’d grieved his brother’s death and the part he’d played in it. I could not kill Mordred.
One is not yet known, but the bravest of the five shall be his father.
The bravest of the five was Arran. Of course, it was. Arran, who had loved me even when I was nothing but a shell. Who had sacrificed himself for me again and again. Who had chosen me, even when his memories deserted him, even when the easier thing would have been to walk away.
