Page 69 of The King's Queen

Blaine salutes the king, then his gaze drifts to me. The moment our eyes meet, there’s a soft resignation in his face. A silent apology. He turns away, and I fight the urge to keel over.

Lucius faces the crowd, offering dazzling smiles and chivalrous bows to the noble ladies. His crimson cape flutters softly behind him, the sunlight catching on the golden embroidery. He looks every part the dashing hero of this story. If we had met under different circumstances, maybe he could have been.

Blaine stands at the opposite end the arena, away from any potential adoring fans. I had prayed that the nobles would favor him. He is a Krycolian who was willing to sacrifice his life on the front lines of the war, and by the gods, there must be someone willing to root for the underdog. As it would turn out, I am wrong.

The spectators gravitate towards Lucius, his empty words and false pleasantries. A façade, he had called it months ago. He had warned me from the start. I am starting to wonder where the mask ends and his true face begins.

The crowd is buzzing with electric energy. They sit on the edges of their seat, men, women, and children alike. All blessed, of course, courtesy of our palace’s prejudiced system. It’s been nearly twenty years since the last duel, and the people are itching to experience one for themselves.

Behind me, Tanja begins to pray, and Torin steps into the arena.

“The challenge is laid out as such. Captain Koar of Krycolis has challenged Prince Lucius Vangar of the Tesslari Empire to a duel for the hand of Princess Verosa Elyce of Krycolis, as sanctioned by King Ophelus Elyce of Krycolis.” Torin speaks loudly as he addresses the crowd. His voice doesn’t convey his fear, though I note the slight tremor that could be easily disguised as strain from shouting.

“The ancient laws state that whoever leaves this arena alive is the rightful betrothed of the one whom this duel was initiated for. All forms of weaponry and tactic are permissible save for any with relation to dark magic, including but not limited to cursed blades, curses, magical items, or concentrated dark magic.” He turns to the contestants with a bow. “With Deungrid overseeing this duel and my word to be true, let the duel commence at the twelfth strike.”

As if waiting for its cue, the bell tower begins to crow, its booming notes stretching over the expanse of the kingdom. On any other day, this toll would proclaim it noon. Today, all it spells is death. Someone will die before the next toll.

I look to the crowd, scanning for a certain face. I spot her easily.

Blaine’s mother sits, a formidable and lovely form stark against the cheering cowards surrounding her. It is not her rich skin tone, or the intricate red swirls similar to Kya’s that lace around her elegant neck that sets Navi Koar apart from the crowd. It is her powerful aura that makes the weaker men flinch when they make eye contact and makes others hush their whispers as she passes. She sits patient in the crowd, her face passive and calculating as she watches her son.

Blaine’s eyes flit to hers. Her chin dips in a slight nod. He mimics the gesture, then lifts his sword.

Lucius mouths something I can’t quite make out, and Blaine’s brows furrow. Within an instant, their swords clash in a cacophonous song that makes my ears ring. Lucius takes the offensive, driving Blaine back with sharp, stabbing motions. His style is unorthodox, as if he’s been raised by the spear rather than sword. Blaine blocks his latest onslaught with the flat of his sword and takes a quick step forward to take over the offensive.

Blaine’s motions are the opposite of my fiancé’s. His sword strikes in wide arcs and fluid motions as if the weapon is merely an extension of his arm. He slices upwards towards Lucius’ throat, and the Westerner dodges just barely, but not quick enough. A single drop of blood drips from the shallow cut on his cheek. The crowd gasps. Blaine has drawn first blood.

Lucius snarls lowly, and I scoff. Blaine should have slit his throat.

The dark thought sends gooseflesh sprawling across my arms, and I tuck in closer to my cloak. I shouldn’t have these thoughts, and I shouldn’t be enticed by them.

But I am.

The thought of Lucius’ blood spilling whispers to me like a clandestine lover, hushed murmurs of soothing words. The gentle caress of karma as the one he once viewed as an object holds the dagger that steals his life. The thought is almost too delicious to ignore.

Lucius charges in a flurry of motions, and Blaine quickly loses the upper hand. Where Lucius’ footwork is graceful and coordinated, Blaine struggles to keep up and stumbles. For a moment, they are a perfect match, and their battle becomes a dance. Where Lucius will advance, Blaine will counter. When Blaine feigns left, he strikes right. They move in harmony, placing small wounds that gradually grow in both number and size for a while, until Lucius manages to strike Blaine’s hand.

The captain’s sword clatters to the ground, golden flecked blood speckled across its hilt and handle. Blaine looks up in horror to dodge, but it’s too late. Defenseless and cornered, he squares his shoulders and braces to meet death.

Tanja inhales sharply with a small whimper from behind me, and my father hums contemplatively. As if this is nothing more than an unexpected move in a game.

That burning echoes in my veins again, and it longs to be unleashed.

Lucius raises his blade.

The crowd holds their breath, and I reach deep within that well of power in my core. I draw it out. I command it.

Move.

Lucius cries out as a strong flash of light bounces off his sword into his eyes, temporarily blinding him. It’s not much, but it gives Blaine time to scramble for his sword and make a stab at Lucius.

The Tesslarian recovers quicker than I’d hoped and is there to deflect the blow, though it cuts deeply into his arm. His left arm hangs limply by his side, but it is no more a dead weight to him than his sword as he barrels forward. I prepare to risk unleashing another bolt of light as Lucius prepares to stab, but he does the unspeakable.

Lucius drops to slide in the dirt on his hip, slashing a wide arc down Blaine’s face on his way down. However, the true horror comes as I watch him jut his foot out and hook it around Blaine’s disfigured leg, twisting it with a cruel snap. He screams in pain and falls as Lucius rises.

“Get up.” I plead. “Gods, get up.”

No cheap light trick will save him now. I barter with the gods as tears prick the corner of my vision. Lucius prowls forward and raises his sword. His smirk etches deep lines in his cheeks and pulls at the raised edges of his laceration, drawing forth fresh blood.

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