Adastrus grinned, noting my reaction. “Drink up, little sister. It’s a time for celebration.”
My jaw clenched as a servant set warm soup beside me. Sainte sampled it first, and I gripped handfuls of my skirt, nails digging into my thighs. I anticipated a long night of questions and accusations, so it surprised me when everyone at Adastrus’ table ignored me. Even the regent himself seemed more focused on gloating.
Just when I thought the evening would glide by without incident, my brother rose from his seat. The cruel gleam in his eye did not bode well for me.
“Good ladies, and fine sirs!” His voice echoed through the hall, silencing all chatter as nobles, ambassadors, and dignitaries directed their attention. “I realize you’ve traveled far, endured our harsh winter, expecting a coronation. Until today, there were premature rumors of my sister’s ascension. Those were misguided hopes. The gods have chosen me as their favored.” He paused, his smile growing as he gave Counselor Dyre and Lady Aliea a pointed leer.
“I wouldn’t have you leave without news,” he continued. “Take with you, back to your homes, your castles, your kingdoms, a message worthy ofcelebration! I would like to announce that the coronation of the new King of Wynterborne will proceed as planned in a fortnight!”
Cheers mixed with confused murmurs, and I frowned as my brother’s gaze narrowed on me. Madness sparked in his bright eyes as he sipped from his glass, letting uncertainty ripple through the crowd. The fact that he couldn’t take the throne while I lived clashed with the fear that he might have me killed in my sleep. If he persisted, the high court would have to assume he intended to eliminate me before ascending. That would be grounds to delay the coronation.
“You can’t–”
“Oh, but I can, little sister.”
“Not while I–”
“I, Prince Adastrus,First Bornof King Vardis,” he declared over the crowd, commanding their attention once more, “Regent of Wynterborne, challenge Elspeth, Second Born, to the Rite of Combat.”
My breath caught in my chest. I held his stare, avoiding guidance from Sainte or Anderz. Was refusing an option? Would I, if I could? Teeth grinding, I stood and offered a small bow. When I met his gaze, I lifted a brow in challenge.
“I accept, brother.”
“I trust you’ll keep this between us? For the people’s sake?” Mocking placation tinged his tone. “Your Valahant need not fight in your stead as I am without one. We would give the good folk a fair fight?”
I glared, remaining silent.
His grin widened, and he raised his wineglass, eyes trained on me. “To the death, little sister. To the death.”
The walk to my rooms felt like I was in someone else’s body, as if I navigated through thick fog. Memory, rather than conscious thought, guided my steps through the castle. Sainte’s presence remained steady, a silent shadow.
Once inside my chambers, the maids dressed me in my nightclothes, then I dismissed them. With a blanket draped over my shoulders, I stood by the fire, its flames flickering across the room while I pondered the gravity of the situation.
My brother essentially ordered my public execution. I never engaged in a formal duel before. Gods, I wasn’t even handy with a sword. While I knew how to fight with a dagger in a dark alley, such tactics were neither proper nor sanctioned. No, I’d be given a sword with the order to defend myself, miss the first strike, then Adastrus would remove my head from my body.
My expectations were grim, and Sainte’s silence echoed my apprehension.
“There’s no escape now, is there?” I murmured, watching the flames flare, then subside, consuming the wood with vigor.
“No.”
His validation tightened my jaw.
A bitter laugh escaped my lips, heart twisting, as I pulled the fur blanket tighter over my shoulders. “I’ve come this far only to face beheading.” Disbelief tinged my words.
How could I have stayed so long, endured so much only for it to culminate in death?
I sniffed, then faced him. “We need to get Lyana and Ethyan out of here.”
He leaned against the table, his arms crossed over his chest, a hint of agitation rippling beneath his calm exterior. A furrow formed between his brows, and a strand of dark brown hair cascaded down to his temple. I started toward him on slow, careful steps. His nostrils flared with restrained rage, and I reached up to caress his cheek, offering what solace I could muster.
“How long do I have?”
“Until the coronation,” he replied through gritted teeth. “As the challenged party, you have the privilege of setting the time. It’s expected within the week.” His eyes pressed shut, and when he met my gaze, it filled with resolve. His warm palms grasped my face, gentle and sincere. “I will do my best to prepare you.”
“Don’t get your hopes up.” I whispered, leaning into his touch.
“You couldn’t disappoint me.”
