Page 111 of On Brutal Thrones

My stomach knots.

“He watches you constantly. Do you know that?” Valtor asks. “Always checking where you are. Whether you’re safe. Whether you need him.” His lip curls slightly. “Pathetic, really.”

Anger flashes hot through me.

Valtor continues before I can respond. “He’s made it farther than he ever has with a team. Instead of trying to win at all costs, his goal has become to keep his team alive. All because of you.”

His words carry an almost accusatory edge. As if I’ve ruined Thorian by giving him someone to love.

“Although...” Valtor’s gaze drifts down my body again. “I can see some of the appeal.”

My hand twitches toward my dagger.

His eyes flick to the movement.

Then he laughs. It’s not loud, but it is the kind of laugh that makes me want to slap him.

“Oh, Lady Nocturne.” He smiles at me as if I’m adorable. “Please. If I wanted you, that little blade wouldn’t save you.”

Cold slides straight through me. I know he means it. And my fear becomes difficult to hide. My mouth goes dry. My heartbeat is so hard I can feel it in my throat.

Valtor notices. Of course he does. His smile widens.

I hate giving him that satisfaction.

“So,” I force out, “your son has disappointed you. Again. Is that why you came down here? To complain about him to his fiancée?”

Valtor’s smile disappears. The air thickens. For one horrifying second, I think I’ve gone too far.

Then he chuckles.

“No. I came to solve a problem.”

He begins drifting through the water without swimming, the river simply carrying him wherever he wants to go. “Thorian will not win these Trials.”

Every muscle in my body tightens.

“When he was born, I assumed he might become one of my greatest offspring. Instead, he became an embarrassment who refuses to go away.” Valtor sounds more irritated than angry, as though Thorian is a stain on a favorite shirt. “Year after year, there he is, reminding everyone that Valtor fathered a demi-god with no divine ability whatsoever.”

My nails dig deeper into my palms.

“He’s an annoyance,” Valtor says. “And I have more important things to concern myself with.”

Like his bet. His precious competition with the other gods. That’s what Thorian’s life is to him. An inconvenience in a game.

Valtor cups his hands beneath the surface. Water pools between his palms, turning slowly from sparkling blue to cloudy gray.

“I intend to win the Trials, Lady Nocturne. I always intend to win.”

There it is. The only thing he actually cares about. Himself.

“I’ve been watching you,” he says.

My skin prickles.

“And I admit, you’ve surprised me. No training. No real strength to speak of when you entered.” His eyes gleam. “Far too soft.”

“Thank you.”