Page 177 of Settle Down, Princess

“I don’t care about that.” The ghost shifted then, changed, and I was forced to watch my father’s death happen all over again. His body jerked as sword after sword punched into him, then he coughed blood as Magnus and his allies assassinated the one obstacle in the way of what they wanted. “I don’t care about the crown.” I swallowed hard, knowing what I was about to say was both truth and lie. “I don’t care about you.”

“You’ll care when I’ve got your bitch under me,” Magnus snapped, my father’s ghost disappearing before my eyes to reveal my true enemy. “Perhaps I should just deal a mortal but not fatal wound, forcing you to watch as I rape her over and over.”

I didn’t see the past, the future, anything, just what was here right now. My true brothers at the back, standing between this repulsive little monster and the woman we swore to protect, Jessalyn glowing twice as brightly as the golden stag right now. Her eyes found mine, and for a second I felt relief, that there wasn’t anger or pain that I’d caused within them. Just a mute plea, nay, a demand, because she was ever a princess and they weren’t the type to accept excuses from a man. A demand that I put an end to this.

It was something she’d been communicating to me since the moment we met, from the flush-faced girl passed out in her father’s palace corridor, to the girl releasing all of her inhibitions in the stews of Stormare. Over and over she asked me to kill the king before he could kill her. Creed had talked about the need for us to prove ourselves to our princess, but what was required went far beyond the acrobatics of the mating games. It was this.

I smiled slowly, knowing that if I died in this attempt, my brothers would step forward to ensure Magnus died. If we failed, then the Duke, his son, now sitting on his horse beside his father, or any of the other lords affected by Magnus’ negligence would step forward. My ‘brother’ had amassed a group of avaricious bastards and moved as one to kill my father in his bed in revenge for what happened to the queen, so there was a strange kind of poetry about organising the same end for Magnus.

“Best focus on killing me first, Magnus. You’ve never succeeded at it before, no matter how hard you’ve tried. The last time you managed to get a hit in, I was barely twelve years old.”

I looked him up and down with insulting slowness, taking in his lax grip, the shake in his arms. The Raven had done his work well, weakening my brother with poison, so the world was to see what I already knew. He was a weak, small man gifted power he had no right to wield, by logic, by reason, or by virtue of blood. I might be the Bastard Prince, but he was just a fucking rabid dog that should have been put down years ago.

When he bared his teeth at me like a dog, I laughed, dodging out of the way of his clumsy strike with little effort. He’d made me into this by forcing me into the army, a man that had fought so many men who wanted to kill him, but none of them managed to touch me, not unless I allowed them to. My grin widened as he spun around, eyes wide in shock that he didn’t even manage to scratch me.

He wouldn’t be able to claim the same.

There are small licking kinds of cuts that sting like a bitch but cause no mortal damage. I let my blade caress the line of his arm, leaving such a wound right now. The brief blossom of blood had him staring, then letting out a girlish scream, right before his blade snapped up and he rushed at me. The lords loyal to us all chuckled at his noises, and even some of his allies joined in, though nervously. They didn’t know what to make of what was happening, but I did.

My whole life felt like it was moving towards this point. The minute my mother was brought to the palace, when we joined the royal household, I was set on this path. Perhaps some of my brother’s sadism was contagious because I just looked at the wound, the obvious pain in his expression, and went back for more.

The same sort of cut, but to the face? It was even worse. All of those nerve endings were so close to the skin’s surface, so when the tip of my blade flicked across one cheek, his screams grew much higher pitched. Magnus rallied quickly, though, striking wildly, without discipline or real skill, which can be dangerous in itself. Not because he was likely to hurt me by intent, but because in his hands, an uncontrolled blade could do all sorts of damage. I was forced to jerk back once, twice, feeling the sword cut through the cotton of my shirt, the whip of wind grazing my skin, not the edge, but I was up and under his guard, jerking my belt knife out with my free hand and raking it along his ribs before pulling away.

“Take him down, Arik!”

I grinned as I turned in response to Roan’s shout, something that would’ve had the drill sergeant we’d trained under as cadets shouting at me. Never take your eyes off the enemy, we’d been told that over and over, and yet a strange kind of cockiness had me playing to the crowds. Perhaps it was because I felt like it wasn’t just me that was striking back at the king. Every man he’d killed, every woman he’d brutalised, every child he hurt, I was their sword, their protector.

Her protector.

I sought Jessalyn’s gaze, needing to feel her eyes upon me, but she didn’t meet my gaze, but looked past me, eyes widening. That and Magnus’ growl told me everything I needed to know, my whole body thrown sideways to duck out the way from my enemy’s strike.

Magnus let out a shout of triumph, but it was cut off midway as my leg shot out, slamming into his thighs and sending him tumbling over it. His sword flew out of his grip, landing between the hooves of the horses, his fingers clawing at the dirt, trying to get closer to it as he fought to fill his lungs. That frantic wheeze made clear he’d been winded by his fall.

As I approached slowly, sword in hand, I heard it, just a faint whisper on the breeze. As I gripped the hilt of my sword with both hands, as I raised it up, point aimed at Magnus’ unprotected back, that sound grew louder. Like the rustle of leaves when the breeze rushes through, like the sub-vocalisations of courtiers when they have news they don’t want to share widely, the whispers grew louder and louder, forcing me to look up. The golden stag didn’t emerge from the trees to witness what I was about to do. A ritual execution of quite a different type. No, it was Ariel who stepped out of the trees. Her gaze met mine, cool, constant, assessing, as if she observed what I was doing, but wasn’t sure if I had the balls to follow through. More women came forward, each one’s faces seared into my brain. Rochelle, Tiana, and…

He pushed through them all, each ghost fraying and falling apart as he raised his bow. One of the hunters from all that time ago, his hair and beard much more grizzled now. There was a note of regret in his eyes, at odds with the low chuckle my brother made as he flopped over onto his back.

“You thought you could best me?” Magnus croaked. “The fight was never between just you and me. I know the depths of your treachery, that you merely pretend to obey my orders, doing what you want instead. I know you plan my death every moment you’re alive. Well, I planned yours too. I’ll just tell the wolf shifters I killed the stag, use your crown of antlers to verify it. The beast men are too damn stupid to know otherwise. I will wear your skull as a crown, the blood still sticking to it as I choke the living daylights out of my queen.”

It was always going to come down to this. The bowman would shoot me the moment I moved, but if I made the choice that would ensure my survival, so many others would suffer. Something in me knew the sacrifice I’d be required to make for my band, my mate, would be my own life, and as I raised my sword, I made clear to Magnus that I didn’t care.

His mouth moved in slow motion, his whole chest sucking in to shout out his order. I heard the twang of the bow string, thought dimly that I should send up a prayer to the gods, ask for their forgiveness so that I might watch the people I loved from the heavens, but there was no such piety in me. Gods that allowed such a monster to survive let alone maintain absolute control over others were not beings I wished to worship. I would writhe in hell for eternity if that’s what it took to kill my ‘brother.’

“NO!”

The duke’s shout heralded the failure on my plan. His horse rushed forward, knocking me aside and out of the arrow’s path, the massive beast slamming his shoulder into me, sending me flying. The duke, however, was not so lucky.

I hadn’t seen my father’s death, just the aftermath of it. Blood, so much blood, that had been my impression. I thought the same as the arrow slammed into the duke’s side, right in the same spot we were instructed to hit the stag, because if you shot true, the arrow cut through the ribs and straight into the heart. Blood expelled from the duke’s lips in a great plume, his horse rearing up, hooves pawing the sky as I watched the man arch back in the saddle, right as the girth strap snapped.

“Rohan…” I followed the duke down, catching his body before it hit the ground and softening his fall. “Rohan, no—”

“It was always going to come to this.”

The Duke of Fallspire smiled weakly at me, right as I heard the scream of his son. Swords were drawn, shouts of fury filled the air, but all I could hear was him.

“Your saddle—?”

“I couldn’t be sure which horse Magnus would take,” he said, then coughed out a great gout of blood. “I had to sabotage both saddles to be sure. I was prepared to die today, Arik. I had to avenge Ariel…” His hand shook as he raised a hand to place it on my cheek. “That’s your job now, lad. I deserted you right when you needed me the most, and I’m doing so again. James…?”

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