Page 108 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
He thinks I’m broken.
Bruised.
Barely standing.
Easy pickings.
He’s king. I’m nothing. And that’s why he laughs, even though I know his name. “You challenge me?”
“I invoke the ancient rite ofrakvir,” I say, my voice raw, cracked. “A duel to decide who gets to wed this woman.”
The laws of the Storm Court are older than any crown, and if he insists on this ancient, barbaric wedding, dusting off some forsaken part of our history, I can only repay the favor.
“You insisted on a traditional Storm wedding. Challenges are allowed, and to the death,” I add.
Echoes and shouts ripple through the amphitheater. No one invokes those laws anymore, not since the Mist Wars ended, but they’re still written. Still binding. It’s not a wedding arena for nothing, and for once, Alaric’s arrogance works in my favor, because he can’t imagine losing.
Nathaniel walks offstage in a hurry, the tails of his coat flying behind him.
Devi’s lips part in surprise, the first sign that she heard me. That she even knows I’m here. She cranes her neck around to glance past Alaric and meets my gaze. The cold in her eyes, the tightness in her jaw… those aren’t just signs of lyranthium poisoning. They’re signs of suffering.
“You’d die for her?” Alaric drawls, mocking. “Even with my seed still leaking out of her sweet cunt?”
Devi’s silver gaze drops back to the ground at that, but I don’t miss a beat.
“I would.”
Rage floods my blood, chest, and ears. That monster.
I swallow the acrid swell rising in my throat, forcing it down before it can poison my thoughts. He hurt her. Violated her. And that breaks me more than any wound Alaric could ever inflict. No wonder she’s given up—she’s in shock.
“Very well,” Alaric purrs, rolling his shoulders. “I accept.” He strips off his jacket and undershirt and throws them both to the ground.
I do the same, revealing my bruises, lacerations, and burns.
Devi stirs. Her now translucent gown gleams like frostbitten snow in the night, but it’s the heat in her cheeks that quickens my pulse. A flicker of life. Defiance. Her fists tighten against the silk at her sides.
“You promised he’d be safe,” she whispers. The words are barely audible, but the ache in her voice is sharp enough to pierce stone.
Two sprites fly to keep her from getting involved, one on each arm. They turn her back around and force her to her knees.
“The bride must wait for the victor at the altar,” Brel says mechanically.
Devi retreats back into whatever hell she’s buried herself in—chin lifted, face blank, eyes dead, but everything is different.
The pain fades. The unbearable weight pressing down on my ribs eases. Because if there’s even a sliver of her left in there, if she’s still fighting in her own,hopeless way, then I can fight, too.
I will kill Alaric Rayne if it’s the last thing I do.
Alaric raises his hand, and sparks race along his fingers, waiting to be unleashed. Wind gusts into the arena. Thunder cracks above us. The stone under my feet vibrates.
The rules are clear. No armor. No weapons. No tricks. Only Storm magic and brute strength. Nothing else. I can’t rely on my mother’s gifts. This fight is on his terms.
I set my feet. My knuckles tighten.
Alaric drinks in the sight of my wounds. “Look at you. You’re already broken.”
He doesn’t wait. The wind slams into me. I slide back, boots scraping on stone, but my balance holds.
