Page 68 of A Pact of Blood

There’s a spring to his step that’s a little unsettling. He’s giving off the kind of manic energy I’ve become uncomfortably familiar with in my many years as his foster brother—the kind that usually produces some sadistic idea of “fun.” I drift to the edge of the large room, giving him a wide berth.

Marclinus veers from one cluster of nobles to another, his mouth stretched in a wide grin. His laughter peals through the room with a harsh edge that sets me even more on guard. He taps his fingers against his sides, his gaze darting this way and that.

Something twitches in his expression, and he draws aside one of the footmen. In a matter of minutes, a few of the staffhave pushed the chairs and card tables at one end of the room toward the walls, clearing a wide-open space.

I catch Bastien’s gaze where he’s lingering by the dart boards. The tensed set of his mouth suggests he’s just as apprehensive as I am.

Another servant arrives carrying a bundle of fabric he spreads out on a table beyond my view. Marclinus beckons us all over to the cleared area of the room. He tucks his hand around Aurelia’s elbow, tugging her close.

His lips curl with an especially wicked smirk. “My court, I’ve thought up a special entertainment just for us! Why should the commoners have most of the fun, am I right?”

The nobles let out several whoops and exclamations of agreement, but many of the faces around me look wary too.

“My empress and I have put ourselves through tests of mind and might while the rest of you loaf around,” Marclinus goes on in a teasing tone. “And as my wife has rightly pointed out, the other royals in our midst haven’t truly made themselves part of this court. If they enjoy setting themselves apart from the rest of us, I think we should make our resident foster princes at least offer a little amusement.”

A chill condenses in my gut.

I know what’s about to happen wasn’t Aurelia’s idea. She may have made a comment during our trek that prompted Marclinus to separate the four of us and force us to socialize with only the other nobles, but that would have been with an eye to deflecting suspicion.

She’d never have encouraged any course of action likely to do us real harm. Her expression now is perfectly placid, but her hand mostly hidden in the folds of her skirt has balled.

Marclinus is already waving us forward. “Come on now. Let’s see all four of our princes. It’ll be a good test of yourown mettle for whatever roles you find yourself in with your royal families.”

All four of us. As I trudge out into the cleared area, my gaze slides to Neven, who’s emerging from the crowd of nobles with a scowl slashed across his face.

He had a hard enough time keeping his cool when it was Aurelia being harmed by Marclinus’s machinations. If it’s the rest of us…

I need to keep a close eye on him.

Bastien and Lorenzo join us, Bastien grim and Lorenzo’s forehead furrowed with worry. Marclinus draws Aurelia off to the side of the open floor, near the table I can now see glints with several weapons: blades of various lengths, a mace, a battle hammer.

The imperial prick motions to the offerings. “You’ll each choose your weapon, and then we’ll have a thrilling melee. The last one standing will be announced the prince of princes and receive a special meal at our luncheon.”

My stomach flips over. I’d rather starve than attack my foster brothers. What fucking madness is Marclinus playing at?

Aurelia glances at her husband. She keeps her tone light and good-humored. “Husband, this challenge hardly seems fair when one of their number is an experienced victor of the arena battles and the others, I assume, have rarely fought.”

Marclinus chuckles. “I suppose those three will need to be strategic and try to topple Prince Raul as a joint effort before they battle it out between themselves. Go on now. Pick your weapons.”

Aurelia’s jaw flexes as if she’s held back something else she’d want to say. I flick my hand by my side in a hasty gesture I learned from Lorenzo, the one she’s warned us off with more than once.It’s okay.

She can’t intervene more without leaving him wonderingwhy she cares that much about our well-being. The consequences for her and us will be so much worse if he ever guesses her true feelings.

I stride over to the weapons table. My foster brothers follow more hesitantly.

“You’d better not think you can get one over on me,” I declare, as much for our audience’s benefit as theirs. “I know exactly how to take each of you down.”

With our backs to Marclinus, I risk a longer chain of gestures.I’ll look after you. Fall when I strike.

I am the only one with much combat skill. Neven has plenty of strength, but he lacks the discipline to be strategic in a fight. Bastien’s main skill is with arrows, his awareness of the air currents helping him judge the best shots. At hand to hand, his missing lung will leave him depleted before he can put up much of an attack.

And Lorenzo has always hated even the controlled sparring of our periodic workouts. He’d rather be sitting in a corner strumming some instrument.

So if we’re going to put on a performance for Marclinus’s enjoyment—and that of however many nobles enjoy seeing us bash and stab at each other—I need to take charge. I can drop them to the floor in a way that looks painful but with injuries more superficial than deadly.

Bastien gives a subtle nod to show he understands. Lorenzo grimaces and replies with a gesture of his own:Be careful.

Neven huffs as if insulted by my bluster, but when he glances at me as he picks up the mace, worry has darkened his bright brown eyes.

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