Page 34 of Kingdom of Lies

My desperate cry echoes through the air, but Hayes only shakes his head with a sad expression. “The duel must run its course now, no matter what happens.” The crowd, all adorned in their finest clothes, watches on as if this is just another event in high society.

As I see Draknir waver under Morta’s skilled attacks, I rush to the edge of the temporary killing grounds. My heart pounds in my chest as I plead with him, "Please yield! I will do anything they ask!" Tears threaten to spill from my eyes as I struggle to keep my voice steady. The scene before me feels like a nightmare, a twisted and cruel game being played out for the entertainment of others.

Let him live, even if my dignity is forfeit.

At my words, lucidity returns to Draknir's eyes. With sudden clarity, he smiles gently and shakes his head.

Some inner fire reignites within him.

Slowly, agonizingly, he drags himself up, bloody but unbowed.

Awe and hope surge wildly within me at the sight. “Never… for your honor I will always fight.” He gets up and once more resumes his guard. At first, he fights desperately, bleeding and giving ground before Morta's ruthless onslaught.

But as Morta arrogantly presses his advantage, seeking a fatal strike, something shifts within Draknir. A dark and dangerous calm descends upon his features, his eyes narrowing with intense focus. With a calculated movement, he adjusts his stance and raises his sword in front of him. His lip curls.

Every action is deliberate, every ounce of energy carefully conserved. Morta charges forward with reckless abandon, but Draknir's sword deflects each blow with ease. The sound of metal on metal echoes through the air.

Draknir's expression remains composed, focused only on his opponent's next move. He parries Morta's increasingly frustrated strikes with an eerie, fluid grace.

I watch spellbound at this transformation – it is as though some otherworldly force guides Draknir's steps now. Morta's rage makes him careless. Sensing this, Draknir waits with coiled patience for the perfect opening.

At last the chance presents itself – a wild horizontal slash leaving Morta's torso exposed. With surgical precision, Draknir drives his sword home, then wrenches it free in a spray of crimson.

I quickly cover my eyes, trying to block out the gruesome scene before me. But despite the violence and chaos, I can't help but feel a surge of elation and pride as the crowd erupts into cheers around me. Ignoring the rules of tradition and propriety, I run towards Draknir with reckless abandon. I reach him just as he collapses from exhaustion, his body covered in blood and sweat. Without hesitation, I wrap my arms tightly around him, feeling the warmth of his body against mine.

"Thank you," I whisper, my voice trembling with emotion. In that moment, all of my relief, gratitude, and budding love for this brave warrior pour out in that embrace. The smell of iron and sweat fills my nostrils, but it only adds to the intensity of the moment.

At first, Draknir holds his shoulders stiff, unaccustomed to such unabashed displays of affection. But as the warmth of my embrace seeps into his skin, he gradually relaxes, tilting his head to press his bearded cheek against mine. His arms encircle my waist tentatively, as if unsure of how to respond to this sudden surge of emotion. I feel his heart racing and his breaths coming in ragged bursts, mirroring my own tumultuous feelings. In this raw, vulnerable moment, we are simply two souls stripped of any pretense or facade. Without thought, I turn my face towards his, yearning for more connection with this man who has captured my heart.

Sensing my need, Draknir meets my lips in a gentle kiss. Every fiber of my being seems to awaken. I melt into him, all my doubt burning away like morning mist.

This feels right – no artifice or coercion, but a pure connection.

We stay lost in the kiss until cheers penetrate our haze.

20

DRAKNIR

The kiss is unlike anything I could have expected. She is sweet and tender, her mouth is a warm welcome for the feelings I'm just now noticing exist within my chest. Should I be in love with her already? By gods I don’t care. She opens for me, blossoming into the kiss as her shyness melts away.

"Kathleen," I say, my voice rougher than I intend. The rumbling gravel of my voice surprises me. The kiss has left me heady as I speak against her lips, my breath comes in pants.

She gazes up at me, her brown eyes wide with a mix of fear and something softer, warmer. Her breath hitches, and I can almost taste her anticipation.

"Draknir?" She's unsure, hesitant, and gods, it makes me want to shield her from every shadow in this accursed place.

I lean down, my decision as resolute as steel. "This is all worth it," I murmur against her lips before I kiss her once more.

The world narrows to the press of her mouth against mine, soft and yielding. She kisses me back, her hands finding their way to my shoulders, clinging to me.

I drink her in, the feel of her lips, the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body pressed against mine. It's too fast, too soon. I want to take my time, but now that I’ve got my hands on her, now that I can taste her, I can’t stop. Not when it comes to her.

We break apart, breathless, and everything comes back into sharp focus—the watching eyes, the murmurs, the tension of a thousand unspoken thoughts.

"Enough!" My voice cuts through the gardens, silencing the whispers. I stand tall, despite the ache of old wounds and the fresh ones that sting my skin. "By the laws of our lands and the rites we've just undergone, we are wed. But don't think for one heartbeat that I'll let any of you watch the proof of our consummation."

Outrage meets my declaration. It buzzes like a hornet's nest disturbed, a cacophony of shock and anger. I don't care. Let them be outraged. I'm not some beast for their entertainment.

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