sixty-three
Alain
Steel met steel with a jarring clash that sent vibrations up my arm and into my teeth. Gaspard’s blade slid against mine with an almost sensual precision, his eyes glittering with a hunger I recognized all too well. This wasn’t just combat. It was possession.
Every strike, every parry was his attempt to claim what he believed belonged to him. Isabeau. The forest. The power. But he’d forgotten one crucial detail as he pressed forward, forcingme back a step on the soggy bog ground: I wasn’t the pampered, sheltered prince I’d been when this all began. The claiming mark on my shoulder throbbed with power that didn’t belong in the bloodline of Durand, and I welcomed it like a drowning man welcomes air.
“Your father watches you disgrace your bloodline,” Gaspard hissed, pressing his advantage as I deliberately gave ground, leading him away from the witch’s hut where Isabeau had disappeared. “Fighting for a witch. Protecting a sorceress who spreads her legs for beasts.”
I didn’t rise to the bait. My focus narrowed to the space between us, to the subtle tells in his stance that betrayed his next move. Behind him, the forest guardians tore through the king’s men. Not killing them, I noticed, but disabling. Horses reared in panic as foxes with multiple tails darted between their legs. Birds trailing sparks set banners aflame. The magnificent stag with blue-tipped antlers stood sentinel at the forest’s edge, orchestrating the chaos with quiet authority.
“Alain!” My father’s voice boomed across the battlefield, cutting through the din of combat. “End this tantrum at once! Return to your place at my side!”
Gaspard smirked, pressing forward with a flurry of attacks that forced me to focus entirely on defense. His style was brutally efficient, honed by years of hunting that had nothing to do with sport and everything to do with domination. Each swing carried the weight of his arrogance, his absolute certainty that he was superior.
“Listen to your king,” he taunted, feinting left before slashing at my exposed flank. I twisted away, the blade catching only fabric. “This is bigger than your pathetic infatuation with my property.”
I circled right, forcing him to adjust his footwork on the treacherous ground. “She was never yours,” I replied, voice steady despite the exertion. “And this is bigger than you know.”
“Alain!” My father again, his voice tinged with something I rarely heard, uncertainty. Perhaps even fear. “Whatever spell that witch has cast on you, we can break it. Come home.”
I risked a glance toward him. My father stood at the edge of the battle, flanked by what remained of his personal guard. His crown sat slightly askew on his head, his immaculate robes spattered with bog mud. Beside him, Theron looked torn between rushing to my aid and obeying our father’s implicit command to stand down.
“This isn’t a tantrum, Father,” I called back, parrying another of Gaspard’s strikes. My arms burned with the effort, but the claiming mark pulsed in time with my heartbeat, feeding me strength I shouldn’t have had. “A kingdom sits in the balance. Not just ours, but another realm entirely.”
“Delusional,” Gaspard spat, though something in his eyes shifted. Caution, perhaps. Or recognition that I knew more than he’d assumed. “There is only Durand.”
I laughed then, a short bark of genuine amusement that seemed to catch him off guard. “Is that what your master told you? That there was only ever one kingdom?”
“My master?” His rhythm faltered for just a heartbeat, but it was enough. I pressed forward, driving him back two steps.
“The Dark Lord,” I said, the name dropping between us like a stone into still water. The ripples of its impact spread across Gaspard’s face. First shock, then fury, then a cold calculation that sent ice down my spine. “The one who whispers to you in the dark. The one who promised you Isabeau and power if you helped maintain his curse, but he used Isabeau against you. He made her what you had to lose to take them.”
“My son speaks madness,” my father protested, but his voice lacked conviction. He’d seen too much today to dismiss anything outright. Magical creatures defending a witch, his own second son wielding a sword with strength and skill he’d never displayed in royal tournaments.
Gaspard’s lips curled into something too cruel to be called a smile. “Your whelp knows more than he should,” he said to my father, never taking his eyes from mine. “But not enough to save himself. Or his little witch.”
Something changed in the air between us. The temperature dropped sharply, my breath fogging despite the summer heat. The shadows around Gaspard’s feet began to move independent of his body, writhing like living things, stretching toward me with hungry purpose.
“You sold your soul,” I said quietly, understanding dawning. “That’s how you tracked her so relentlessly. How you survived everything. Why the forest creatures fear you.”
“I made a bargain,” he corrected, as tendrils of darkness slithered up his legs, coiling around his torso like possessive lovers. “One that serves us both well. My lord gets his kingdom, his forest... and I get my prize back if I destroy you.”
He struck with renewed vigor, his blade now trailing shadows that hissed and snapped at my face when they came too close. I felt the claiming mark flare in response, a shield of warmth that pushed back against the unnatural cold emanating from Gaspard.
My father’s gasp was audible even across the distance that separated us. “Dark magic,” he whispered, staring at Gaspard with dawning horror. “You practice the forbidden arts.”
“Not practice,” Gaspard laughed, the sound hollow and echoing as if multiple voices spoke through him. “A master of them. Your witch hunts never found me, did they, Your Majesty? Never suspected the noble hunter who brought you such finetrophies. Who led your raids against suspected witches. Who promised to deliver the most powerful one of all.”
“You used us,” Theron accused, drawing his sword as he stepped in front of our father protectively. “The crown of Durand does not tolerate traitors.”
“Stand down, brother,” I called, never taking my eyes off Gaspard as we circled each other. The shadow tendrils lashed at me, but wherever they touched my skin, golden light sparked at the contact points, burning them back. “This fight is mine.”
“You cannot claim this right,” Theron argued, taking a step forward. “As crown prince—”
“As the claimed mate of Isabeau Dubois, daughter of a goddess,” I cut him off, “I have the right. The only right that matters now.”
Gaspard’s eyes narrowed at my words, true hatred flashing in their depths. “So she did bind you,” he said, voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Marked you like an animal. Tell me, prince, how does it feel to be owned by a woman who spreads herself for monsters?”
