Page 142 of A Pact of Blood

How in the realms am I going to manage to slash my opponent’s forehead without getting so close I let him bash my entire skull open?

I’m a little faster than him, at least. He might not be drugged, but he’ll be stiff and weakened from his timeimprisoned. Adrenaline can only overcome those effects so far.

Which means I can duck and scramble away from his powerful blows, but only just. Not swiftly enough to leap in and carve open his flesh.

I could try to cut his arms, which are the parts of his body most within reach, but I’m not sure how much force I’d need to use to sever the rough fabric of his long-sleeved tunic. I’d risk wiping off most of the potion on his clothing rather than getting it into his bloodstream.

Maybe if I could nick one of his bare hands…

I attempt a few jabs, but my opponent is hardlyslow. He whips the mace around, feinting and then blocking. The metal base slams against my sword with so much force the impact wobbles into my bones.

Gritting my teeth, I push myself to the side. The red cloth of our battleground is bunching beneath our feet. Sweat trickles down my neck and beneath the back of my gown.

Shouts of encouragement ring out from our audience, some as simple as, “Empress! Empress!” and others demanding that I “kill the traitor!” or similar sentiments.

How patient will they remain if I continue to struggle?

The rebel hurls himself at me so abruptly I don’t quite dodge in time. His mace clangs against the plate mail on my side, hard enough to send a jabbing pain through my chest.

I think he might have cracked a rib.

I inhale sharply and keep pacing around him, clutching my sword. If I can turn the same tactic against him…

I lunge forward with a swing of my blade upward, but the element of surprise isn’t enough. My opponent lurches backward and then lashes out with his weapon.

My sword merely whips through the air several inchesshy of his face. The spikes at the end of his mace scrape across my arm just above my elbow.

A cry breaks from my throat. Stinging pain radiates from the gouge in my flesh alongside the patter of blood onto the matching fabric beneath me.

The sword suddenly feels twice as heavy in my grasp, but I can’t relieve the strain. With another harsh laugh, the rebel charges at me, pressing his advantage.

I barely scramble away from his brutal swings. One catches me on the thigh just below the fall of the chainmail. The mace’s spikes tear through both my skirt and my skin.

I stumble, my leg wobbling under me. The wound throbs with the pulsing of spilled blood.

For a second, my head swims with dizziness. I propel myself farther away, trying not to stagger, my pulse kicking up to a frantic pace.

Before much longer, I’ll be too weak to have any chance at all. The soldiers don’t seem inclined to step in—and if they have to, then I haven’t really won at all.

Most of the spectators have fallen into an uneasy hush. They’re watching now to see if their empress is about to be murdered.

I wasn’t trained for combat. I’m not as large or as strong as the man I’m up against, and now I’m injured on top of that. How the fuck am I supposed to succeed?

This is why they drugged the woman. They didn’t think I could conquer any of the rebels while they were clear-headed, even if all I was trying to accomplish was killing my opponent by whatever means possible.

They assumed I was too weak, just as the man striding toward me does. Disgust is written all over his face.

He spits on the fabric like his fellow rebel did and glares at me. “Looks like I get to take down one part of this blasted empire.”

He might not be wrong. I can’t even imagine how the princes must feel watching this scene.

Picturing their horror while the rebel trudges grimly toward me, I jolt back to another time when it was two of my now-lovers confronting me. When Raul and Bastien stood in the abandoned bedroom, accusing me of manipulating Lorenzo to some horrible end and of toying with all their affections…

I knew then that I couldn’t defend myself with might. I had to play the lamb. Be the soft, simpering princess so many expected.

What if I can turn the tables the same way today?

The possibility steadies me despite the continuing blare of pain and the blood seeping through my gown. I limp back a few more steps, facing my opponent. I let my shoulders hunch and my sword lower.

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