“Elspeth–”
“I make a wager,” I snapped, braving his stare. “I am slated for death. If, by some divine miracle, I survive, I ask for your hand.”
Slow shock slackened the anger on his features. “You’re foolish,” he breathed.
“So is everyone in love.” A sad smile lifted my lips.
“You could command me.”
“To lay with me? Wed me? To command you would be to rob those things of their meaning,” I scoffed. “You talk ofmymarriage as if it is the only thing that bears significance. Well, that’s a lie. Your choices have value, Sainte.” I tooktwo hurried steps to his chest and settled my palm on his cheek before he could pull away. “Choose me.”
His eyes snapped shut, as if in protest of his internal struggle.
“If I survive the rite,” I whispered, “choose me.”
Chapter 31
Istrode through the Hall of Feasts with my chin held high, eyes locked on my brother. Conversations fell silent as I wove between tables. He turned from speaking with a woman in red and black robes, his gaze snagging on me, a vicious smile spreading across his face.
“Dear sister!” he roared. “Finally shrugging off your shame to join those truly favored by the gods?”
My mouth quirked into a sly grin. He didn’t know I had the Dire Wolf searching for therealGod Stones, and if anyone in Wynterborne could find them, it was her.
“To dine with a pack of wolves in the Great Icelands would be preferable to your company,” I mused, climbing the few steps to his table’s raised platform. “I’ve decided on the date.”
“It can’t be soon enough.” He spoke through his white-toothed grin, peridot eyes glinting with twisted amusement.
“Eager to be rid of me?”
“Eager to see Wynterborne with a crowned king. ‘Tis long overdue, little sister.”
“You do mean monarch, brother?”
I plucked a grape from his plate. His brows dipped, his glare tracking my movement. Unfazed by his attempt at intimidation, I leaned my hip against the table, blocking his view of the woman.
“Surely you wouldn’t want to put words in the mouths of the divine.” I lifted a single brow. “There’s still a chance I could win.”
Anderz advised me to keep him busy, his mind focused on the rite while the Dire Wolf conducted her search. So that’s what I intended to do.
“You?” He scowled, shoving his plate away. “Tell me, while living in the arsecrack of the world, did you receive any formal training?”
The woman snickered, but I ignored her. She wasn’t my target.
“And you’ve, what? Practiced with that fancy sword of yours?” I leaned in close to his sneer, lowering my tone. “I lived in the slums, Adastrus. Thatarsecracktaught me to fight for every scrap of bread, while yourformal trainerspraised your blows to a wooden post,” I scoffed, then eased away, grateful for the distance.
Just being near him violated my soul. Evil rolled off him like a stench from a pig.
“You know nothing of the gods’ plans,” I mocked. “Perhaps I will emerge victorious, not you.”
His blackened fingertips tapped against the tabletop with such force, I wondered if they’d crack—his calm, careless demeanor shattered.
“When?” he snapped.
I sighed as if explaining something to a child, then lifted my chin to address the quiet room. “In three days, the Rite of Combat commences! The gods shall reveal their favored, and the defeated pay with their life. Wynterborne will have her monarch, be it king or queen, and they are to rule without question!”
I turned back to Adastrus, lifting his wineglass in a toast. “To the death, big brother. To the death.”
The next days passed in a blur of relentless training. From dawn until exhaustion claimed me, Sainte’s grueling pace never let up. His frown deepened, and his mood darkened with each hour no news of the God Stones came.
