“Don’t understand? What don’t I understand? I heard you, your confession, you killed your father for the throne! For power!”
Lyra’s men began to move. As one they marched forward, swords at the ready. They skirted just outside of Killian’s range until the three surrounded them, trapping Killian and Fyar inside the three points of a triangle.
“That’s not why, and you know it,” said Fyar. He acted like he hadn’t seen Lyra’s men move, like there was no danger. Trusting Killian to be the one to act in the meantime. “Don’t bastardize his death to suit your narrative. My father was a sickness to Netyere, plain and simple. He was ruining us.” Fyar raised his chin, unapologetic, unwilling to show his regret in front of the enemy. “Let’s not pretend that this is for my father. You want my power. You want my throne—my birthright. My father is simply your excuse to try and take it from me.”
“It’s you who doesn’t understand,” said Lyra. “Believe what you will, but I never wanted it to come to this. I always backed you. Always. I was always on your side, until you became a stranger to me. I looked at you and I didn’t recognize who you were. You became cold. A killer.”
“The war changed us all,” Fyar said hotly. “It opened my eyes to just how bad my father’s condition had become. I had to do something.”
Killian blocked a jab from the right side. A test to see if he was paying attention while the royals blabbed on. He was.
“Murder was your answer?” Lyra questioned, his voice rising.
“It was the only way. There can only be one king. Only when one dies can the next take up the mantle, and my father refused to make the sacrifice himself.” Fyar put his hand over Killian’s, wrapping long fingers around the hilt of the sword he found there. Killian relinquished one of his blades easily. Fyar would fight. “So, here we are. You after my head.”
“I wouldn’t,” Lyra warned. His eyes never left Fyar’s but Killian knew it was him the prince was addressing. Killian had been tensing, reading himself to move once Fyar gave the word. “I sure wouldn’t want to slit your brother’s pretty neck over you.”
Time stopped. The world tilted. “What?”
Lyra raised a hand, and out from the fog appeared another of his men, pushing in front of him a half-dragged, half-walking Kade.
Hands bound in coils of rope, Kade had a dagger biting deep into his throat. His eyes were wide and wet when they met Killian’s. A whine slipped from his mouth.
Killian saw red, losing himself for a moment he took a step forward. Fyar put a hand on his shoulder to calm him, it worked well enough, just barely stopping him from lunging across the distance and ripping Kade’s captors throat out with his teeth.
“I’m sorry,” Kade croaked. “I didn’t mean—”
“Quiet,” the elf holding Kade growled, yanking sharply on the handful of auburn hair he held. Killian jerked at the sound of Kade’s pained cry. “That’s enough out of you.”
“Ah ah,” Lyra sang. “One wrong move from you, and he dies. I’d be careful, Captain. His life is in your hands.”
Killian was shaking.
“He wouldn’t,” Fyar whispered in his ear. “Kade is leverage over you. He won’t kill him.”
“I’m sure you’re willing to take that risk, cousin.” Lyra’s eyes cut sharply to Killian. “But are you?” And then, “Chrys.”
The dagger at Kade’s neck drew blood.
“Wait!” Killian hadn’t even realized he’d spoken. “Wait.”
Fyar hissed.
Slowly, Killian lowered his sword, and Lyra grinned. “Goodboy. Over there you get. Go on now.”
Killian couldn’t face Fyar as he followed Lyra’s commands like a leashed mutt. He stepped away from Fyar’s side—abandoning him— to stand on the sidelines.
“Your sword.” Chrys jerked his chin.
Killian snarled, but drove the blade straight down into the ground in front of him, and backed away.
“Look at that. Your loyal dog, muzzled. How does it feel, cousin?” Lyra sounded awed. “I have to say, when my brother first wrote of his plans for you, Kade del Torau, I didn’t expect much. He’d already failed once with Fayren. And we both failed with Serura. But you…oh yes, you have exceeded my expectations. Delivering the poison directly to Porthos’ hands and now bringing the the mad dog to his knees.” Kade squeezed his eyes shut. Ashamed. “I must thank you—”
The clash of steel against steel rang in their ears.
Fyar had swung around, fast as lightning, his sword arching high and precise to go after the elf at his back. There was a sharp cry as blood was spilled.
The fight began.
