My fingers tighten around my wrist. “Lucas left many scars on me. But this is the only one that can be seen.”
I raise the sleeve of Keldarion’s tunic, revealing this most wretched scar, the jagged lines ofLUCASwritten on my skin.
As the three princes stare at my greatest shame, I feel their rage rise like wildfire.
Ezryn reaches for me, holding my arm in his shaking gloved hand. I catch my reflection in the black T of his visor. There is fear in my face, but something emerges between my quivering lips, my watery eyes.
Anger.
At myself for feeling so afraid for so long. At Lucas, for making me feel that way.
They don’t say words, but Dayton pulls me tighter against his chest, and Farron closes in on my other side. Ez turns, still blocking us in.
“Protector of the Realms,” Ezryn’s voice rumbles with a foreboding intensity, evoking the sound of a gathering storm. “I stand with you.”
“I stand with you,” Dayton growls deeply.
Farron takes a deep breath, something flashing in his eyes, but it seems to quell when he gazes upon Keldarion. “I stand with you.”
They will not stop this.
Darkness curls in my chest. Is it Keldarion’s rage?
No.
It’s my own.
“Good,” Keldarion snarls, his grip tightening around the collar of Lucas’s shirt before he flings him across the room. With a sickening thud, Lucas crashes into a pillar adorned with vicious briars, shredding his flesh on the razor-sharp thorns. As he crumples to the ground, his agonized cry fills the chamber. He tries to rise, coughing up blood, but Keldarion gets there first, delivering a swift kick to Lucas’s gut as he rolls on his back.
The other princes still surround me, their bodies radiating with anticipation, content to watch until the Protector of the Realms calls on them.
Keldarion kneels beside Lucas, his white hair falling in disarray. The cords of his muscular arms bulge as he leans forward, resting them on his knees. “Tell me, which hand do you use to hold your knife?”
Lucas’s eyes widen and he mumbles incoherently. Keldarion grabs his wrist, then pushes it back. A horrible snap echoes through the chamber, followed by Lucas’s garbled scream.
“You know what?” Keldarion says plainly. “I’ve decided I don’t care.” He stands, then slams his boot down on Lucas’s other hand with a sharp crunch.
A whine like the keening of a dying animal emits from Lucas as he writhes on the floor. Kel has broken both his hands. Even if he heals, he’ll never hold his gun or his knife the same way.
Keldarion looks down at him in disgust. “You will regret the day you ever laid hands on her.”
He grabs Lucas by his torn shirt and lifts him. The boy I had once considered marrying goes limp as a ragdoll. Keldarion slams him against the pillar. Ice grows and encases him up to the waist. His arms hang at his side, head lulling on his chest.
Kel flexes his fingers, and a jagged knife of ice grows in his hand. “I will not debase the Lady of Castletree’s name by carving it into your wretched flesh. But I’ll carve mine, so you know who brought you to your end.”
Lucas howls, “I’m going to fucking kill you.”
“I won’t stop at your flesh.” Animalistic fury etches its way into Keldarion’s words as he drags the knife along Lucas’s collarbone. “I will peel back your skin, rip apart your muscles, and carve into your very bones.”
A choked sob escapes Lucas’s mouth, stringy strands of red hair sticking to his sweat-laced brow. A wintry numbness crawls up my body as I watch the scene play out.
“But the first cut does not belong to me.” Keldarion lowers the knife and turns to us. “Your blood belongs to my mate, the Lady of Castletree.”
Kel’s gaze turns from fury to reverent as he looks at me, the ice knife outstretched.
Ezryn steps aside, inclining his head. Dayton releases his grip on my shoulder, whispering, “Make him pay.”
“He doesn’t deserve mercy,” Farron says.
