My eyes blink, and black covers my hazel eyes.
I turn in Rohhit’s direction, the darkness taking over my body. "Briar," he steps back a few paces, sadness replaced by fear in his eyes. A deep breath expands my lungs as I try to control the rage seconds away from breaking through. A thought flickers in my brain,
Don’t let the darkness control you—you control it.
It would be so easy to kill Rohhit with whatever lives inside me fully present and ready to strike. I stalk toward him like a creature after its prey. Closing the gap, I lift my axe over my head—blinded by the darkness—and prepare to kill him.
Rohhit’s fist thankfully hits me before I can make my move. I fall to the ground, snapping back into my body. He’s immediately on me, pinning my arms to the cold ground. I grit my teeth, swallowing down the uncontrolled sensation flowing through me, and blink back into my own eyes, my own body—a spark of relief flashes across his face.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
Blood drips down my face from the strike, the coppery taste hitting my tongue.
I hear Silas scream from the sideline, “Get the fuck off of her!”
With a quick nod, I kick him off me, my axes swinging wildly. He tumbles to the ground with a thud that echoes through the mountains. I spring to my feet and close the gap between us as he turns, bracing for the impact of my axe. Instead, I drive my heel directly into the back of his ankle, targeting the injury from the second trial. He screams as he collapses again, clutching his leg in agony. I loom over his fallen body, meeting his tear-filled eyes.
"Do it, Briar," he whispers.
I take a deep breath and grasp the knob of my axe, driving it into his temple.
The thud resonates through my body, sending vibrations straight to my heart. I gasp for breath as his body relaxes—the pain momentarily erased—as he lies unconscious at my feet.
The crowd erupts into a thunderous roar. My father announces, "The Princess of Daramveer is our first-round winner."
Cheers and applause fill the air as guards enter the arena, lifting Rohhit's limp body. Healers rush to his side; Eden nods at me, reassuring me that he will be fine. My guilt weighs heavily—more burdensome than the axes in my trembling hands. Slowly, my gaze shifts to my father, who towers over the scene. I slide one finger across my throat, reminding him of the fate I promised him when we finally face each other.
"Next!" he bellows, his voice filled with fury, allowing no time for reflection.
Realization sinks in that the others must compete next—Silas. He must face Thatcher, who will stop at nothing to kill him just to punish me. Under the awning, away from the crowd, I pass Silas. His expression is stony. He grabs me forcefully, pulling me into a deep kiss. His tongue explores my mouth as if savoring me for possibly the last time. He pulls away to rest his forehead against mine, staring intently into my eyes.
"Whatever happens, you will win—you will rule—just don't lose yourself to the shadows," he advises. "Fight whatever is inside you. It can only control you if you let it. You are in charge of your destiny, my Briar."
A tear rolls down my cheek, which he tenderly kisses away.
"Don’t cry, my queen," he whispers, then releases my hand. The loss of his touch shatters my heart.
Thatcher stands in the arena, his bow ready. I watch Silas step into the combat zone, feeling a piece of my heart go with him.
They face each other, the wind eerily calm as if holding its breath. "Begin!" my father commands from above, and my heart skips a beat.
Thatcher charges like a rabid dog. Silas remains composed, his breathing steady. As Thatcher nears, Silas transforms into a black mist, disorienting him.
"Coward!" Thatcher yells into the void.
Silas reappears inches from Thatcher’s back, a sword now in his hands—Oak’s sword from the trials. My eyebrows lift in surprise.
How did he get that?
He swings, narrowly missing Thatcher’s neck, then ducks, as Thatcher prepares his bow to shoot Silas. I spot droplets on the arrow’s tip.
"Silas!" I scream from the sidelines.
Though he doesn't look away, I know he hears me—his gaze drops to the dripping poison. My throat tightens with a sob, knowing that it’s the same poison that killed my brother. Thatcher releases the arrow, which whistles past Silas's head, splashing the deadly liquid close to him.
Silas returns the attack with grace, demonstrating the skills of a seasoned warrior. He shifts again as Thatcher recovers, appearing just behind him. He lands a powerful kick, sending Thatcher stumbling forward into a rock. Silas is relentless, swinging his sword down in a killing stroke, but Thatcher rolls away at the last second. Sparks fly from the rock, striking Thatcher in the eye.
"Fuck!" Thatcher screams, clutching his face.
