Page 27 of Many Ruined Vows on a Forbidden Frolic

The crowd erupts in cheers. The countdown stops. Pikr is on his hooves again. His elven half leans heavily on his polearm to stay upright.

Relief floods me, followed by guilt. Halor’s smirk is back in place. He winks at me, and that strange confusion mixes with an odd sense of belonging that seems out of place.

I squeeze Feivryn’s hand, and she returns the gesture. Pikr hobbles to his starting line, and the fight for my hand continues.

Chapter Twenty-One

Pikquarrys

My body is broken. Several ribs, undoubtedly. My left arm hangs useless.

Somehow, I manage to get up before the countdown ends again, and again.

Another hit. My breastplate dents heavily from the blow, leaving a gaping opening. My lungs give out, their cage collapsing.

The ground is soft, a bed of new grass. I want to sleep.

Princess Loreleivnna’s voice urges me to keep fighting. My eyes flutter open, then closed, and I see her behind my eyelids, her pink lashes low, her cheeks darkened by some flirtatious remark. Her mouth moves, but I cannot hear it, though it looks like her lips form the words, My mate.

Mate.

That wicked cloud-breaker cannot have her.

I force myself off the ground. My front right carpus cracks under the pressure and I collapse again.

“Pikr! Get up!” Loreleivnna shouts, and I think this time it’s really her speaking and not a figment of my imagination.

The sound of her voice sends adrenaline racing through my veins. I force my other three legs to bear my weight, dragging the hoof of my shattered one like a carcass all the way back to my starting line.

As the next run is announced, I look for her, the woman I will soon call my wife.

She stands in a miniature field of golden lilies, like a resilient tree sprouting from despair. I’ll wipe the tears from her cheeks and enchant a necklace from the flowers at her bare feet. I’ll hold her, kiss her pert nose, and cherish every second of our engagement, however brief it may be.

The whistle rings out. I drag my gaze back to my opponent. He charges for me, and I engage every shred of willpower I have left.

Our weapons collide. Something strikes my side. The ground races to embrace me.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Loreleivnna

Pikr lies as unmoving as a corpse on the ground.

Something isn’t plucking right.

I fight against the nagging rope that cinches around my heart like a vice as it tries to pull my attention from Pikr’s mangled body, but I fail. My gaze lands on Halor as he saunters back to his starting line. His head is down, features obscured by hair and mane, but I see it: vapory wisps spilling from all-white eyes, like bits of sky leaking from the sockets.

“Magic!” I breathe. “Halor’s using magic!”

Father and his councilors are close enough to hear me. Their heads swivel.

“Halt!” Father shouts, his gleeful tone opposing the disappointed murmurs of his councilors. “The challenge is forfeit!”

I shove my way free of the crowd and sprint toward the track. My heart squeezes as I fight against invisible fraying rope, my attention solely on the unmoving centaur.

“Pikr.” I drop to my knees and clasp his face in my hands.

His eyes flutter, and I let out a choked sob, smiling through the pain.