Page 128 of Crown of Wrath

Cole had died with a smile on his face, and that’s how Casimir will remember him.

Rhion Rahn had known Cole Cyrus since he was born. He was the Immortal that all children worshipped and all parents hoped their children would become. The best warrior. The cleverest. The fastest. A born leader.

Gethin had compared him to Cole so many times that he’d lost track. His father had told him he’d never be strong enough to be King of Steel until he could beat Cole in a duel. Cole Cyrus hadnever given him the chance. Every time they fought, Cole had found a way out of finishing the duel.

Rhion had come to hate Cole. Not because he had ever done anything wrong to him. In fact, ever since they’d been young, Cole had been nothing but respectful to the younger Prince. Sure, they’d fought, but that was how Immortals dealt with each other. When two powerful Princes tangled, it was sure to come to blows.

No, Rhion hated Cole because of what Cole represented. Perfection. Something unattainable. Cole was the crown that he’d never wear. Cole was the mountain that he’d never reach the top of. He was the wall that a man could fight until he was bloody, and the wall would never even notice that the man was fighting.

He’d tried to force the fight to the death on multiple occasions. He’d tried to fight him outside that tiny village, and maybe he’d have won. Then his Wyrdling bride had jumped into the fight and ruined it. After the battle, he’d replayed that memory so often he was sure it had all been a farce. Cole had kept Rhion busy. That’s all.

He never wanted to help his father trick him because, while he may have wanted Cole Cyrus dead, he wanted him dead in a duel. In fact, he’d flatly refused to help his father this time. He’d never stood up to his father before. Somehow, just like every other time someone had tried to defy Gethin Rahn, he’d had the perfect leverage.

For Rhion, it was Ainslee Emlyn. He’d been sure that he’d hid their betrothal from his father, but he’d been wrong. Gethin always knew. He hadn’t needed to harm a hair on her because Rhion knew the cruelty that his father was capable of. Death would have been a kindness rather than let his father torture her.

So he’d done what his father had asked. He’d become Maeve Arden, the Queen of Earth and bearer of the Painted Crown. He’d changed his skin to mimic everything about her, including the Crown.

He’d let his father trade him for Cole. He’d let his father smother his pride once again. He’d done it to save the woman he loved, and in his heart, he knew that even Cole would understand.

Then, after his father had his hand on him, Rhion had looked into Cole’s eyes and realized that Cole knew him as his rival. Cole hadn’t been furious. He’d smiled. He’d never been angry at Rhion. No matter how much Rhion had pushed the Prince of Flame, Cole had never given in to anger.

Cole knew what would happen when Gethin got his hands on him. He knew he was going to die. Nothing in the world could stop Gethin. And Cole smiled. He didn’t struggle or fight. Just like every other moment in Cole’s life, he stood proud and strong and was a pillar that every other person compared themselves to. Could Rhion have walked to his death as proudly as Cole did? He doubted it.

He was what the High Fae should aspire to, and his father was about to kill him. Then he exploded in flames so bright Rhion had to shield his eyes and take a step back. He’d seen House of Flame soldiers immolate. He’d fought against them when they’d taken the Keep of Flames, but this was something different. This was…

This was something from the dragons. This was magic in a way that Rhion had never experienced.

And then he fell. His father was brutally burned, but Rhion knew just how quickly he would heal. In seconds, Gethin would have killed the best man Rhion had ever known, and no one could punish him for it.

Except him.

Rhion had thought that he’d been standing up to his father earlier when he’d refused to help him. He’d thought that he’d been strong. All these years, as he’d done what his father had commanded, regardless of what it had been, he’d thought he’d been doing what was right. He’d thought that if he could earn his place as the Prince of Steel, he’d earn his father’s crown eventually. Then he could fix things.

Until the Shade… no, until Cole had told him what had been in his father’s journal. He’d made a deal with the Shade. A debt for the knowledge of what it would take for his father to give his crown to him. His father had written that no matter what Rhion did, only killing Cole Cyrus would be proof that he was strong enough to sit on the Throne of Steel.

Now Cole was dead. He could demand the crown. He could use this to prove to his father that he had earned his place. He was now the second strongest Immortal alive. He could protect the House of Steel. He could get the only thing he’d ever wanted.

When he looked at Cole, though, he forgot all of those things. All he remembered was the man that had stood up for Darian all those years ago when his father had demanded Darian be collared. He’d been burned to within an inch of his life, and he’d never given up his friend. He’d endured so much. Now, he’d given his life for who he thought was his wife. How many times could he have killed Rhion and saved himself? How many times could he have taken the easy way out and didn’t?

Cole Cyrus was the best of all of them, and Rhion was the reason he was dead.

He looked at his father’s burned face and reached into his own body to pull out the black-bladed sword he always kept hidden there, a trick he’d learned from his father. “I’m sorry,” he said to the King of Steel.

Gethin looked at his son as he healed the grievous burns that covered his entire body, and he knew that he’d pushed his sontoo far. Instead of trying to explain himself, he summoned the armor from the Steel Gauntlet. It flowed over his body, coating him in an impenetrable layer of steel.

“That won’t stop me,” Rhion said softly. His sword came down in a single strike, cutting directly where the end of the Gauntlet connected to the armor that covered his body. Rhion had found the Gauntlet. He’d worn it, and he’d learned its weaknesses.

His sword swung true, separating the relic from his father’s body—along with his hand. Gethin screamed in pain, and the steel that had coated his body evaporated into mist, leaving him unprotected against the only person in the world who knew his weakness.

“The heart,” Rhion whispered. “The heart is the only thing that the House of Steel cannot rebuild or move. It is always in the left breast. It is always weak to a strong blade. Even the one who wears the Painted Crown cannot survive their heart being pierced.”

Gethin shook his head. “No. I was supposed to die to Cole Cyrus. Calyr told me that the one who killed me would have dark hair and wield a black blade.” Then he looked at his son, who still wore Maeve Arden’s face. Still had dark brown hair. He carried a black blade just like Cole Cyrus. His son had been tempered in the fires of pain so similar to Cole.

Gethin had made a mistake. He’d dismissed his own son’s sense of honor. He’d forgotten what it was like to look up to someone. He’d underestimated just how much the world cared about whether Cole Cyrus lived or died.

“No. I command you to put down your sword,” he said, hoping that the pain of disloyalty would turn him away from what he planned to do.

“No one commands me anymore, Father,” he responds. “You’ve done everything to ruin this world, and the only man totry to stop you is dead. I refuse to accept that he died in vain. Rest well, Father.”

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