62. Arran

The day darkened well before nightfall, the morose gray clouds an appropriate match for my mood. Midday had come and gone. It was Lyrena who recalled Palomides' exact words—the duel will take place after midday.

After.

Palomides was up to something—more than just keeping succubus in his dungeons, which was damning enough. Whatever it was, I had no doubt it was meant to disadvantage Veyka in the duel. Put her off balance.

More the fool, him. Palomides may have learned Veyka's favorite food, but he did not know her as well as he thought. Veyka was perfectly at ease, spending the day eating pastries and playing cards with Lyrena. Occasionally, they paused for a bit of sparring. But after they shattered a vase, they contented themselves with verbal barbs rather than physical ones.

I was the one on edge.

Maybe fucking Veyka again would have released some of the tension. The Ancestors knew, I was a second away from giving in when Lyrena had interrupted.

The scent of her still lingered in the air. Her usual primrose and plum, yes, but also the tangy sweetness that had exploded from between her legs.

Everything she'd shared in the dungeons, the tenuous connection we'd made, had only intensified the compulsion to be with her. My mind was fighting my beast, and losing.

I pressed my forehead to the chilled window pane. The need for her was going to burn me alive from the inside out. I fixed my eyes on the distant hilltop, tracing the outline of the trees. Nothing of note. Down to the plane, the white snow turned to dirt and muck, and a lone spot of black.

I sucked in a breath just as the knock sounded on the door. When I turned, Veyka and Lyrena were already on their feet, ready. We all knew.

"It is time."

Syros, the snake shifter, led us out of the castle. The rain came down in sheets as we cleared the inner bailey. Guards lined the battlements now, but they were as silent and immovable as the day before.

I already knew where we were going.

The Black Knight waited in the center of the lifeless plain.

Behind him, many yards away, Palomides and his niece stood at the base of the hill. They both wore heavy cloaks to shield them from the storm. We did not.

Veyka had left behind her heavy fur mantle. If she was cold, she did not show it. The rain slid in rivulets from her leather armor, but she swaggered along, utterly unbothered.

Begrudging admiration yawned awake in my chest.

"Welcome, Majesties," Palomides' voice boomed, loud despite the distance and pelting rain.

Veyka and I stopped at the same moment, our bodies in sync, even if our minds and hearts were not. In the periphery of my vision, I watched her prop one first on her hip while Palomides yammered on.

"Not even Castle Chariot is grand enough to host a duel of the magnitude you have conferred upon us," Palomides said. "Henceforth, this plain shall be consecrated by the royal blood spilled—"

"No royal blood shall be spilt today," Veyka interrupted. "I grow tired of your proselytizing. Remember that if you are ever summoned to Baylaur."

Palomides' eyes narrowed to slits. A serpent shifter, like his nephew. I could have guessed.

But Veyka was unimpressed by the promise of fangs. "Set your terms," she ordered.

Palomides licked his lips. Even from the distance, I could see—it was forked, even in his fae form. "I am a simple male. Defeat the Black Knight, and you shall have your amorite."

Veyka unsheathed the blades from across her back. "Fine."

"To the death," Palomides added.

Veyka rolled her shoulders. "Yes, yes," she said, sounding thoroughly bored. "Prove I am strong enough to rule the terrestrial kingdom and all that."

Palomides laughed.

"I have no doubt you could, Majesty."

Veyka stilled.

"But you will not be the one dueling."

Palomides turned to me, his eyes black slits. Monstrous. "The Brutal Prince shall be the one to prove himself today."