Page 90 of Of Iron and Moonlight

With a sharp exhale, Gavriel shook off the spike of panic. A series of abrupt offensive cuts, and he managed to wrench the fae’s sword aside and bring his own blade to the male’s chest. He pressed it in, drawing the barest smear of dark violet blood.

It wasn’t required. He did it anyway, bending to the demands of courtly entertainment.

Applause sounded as the wound closed.

Gavriel offered an exaggerated bow.

“Remarkable,” Oorlon declared, abandoning the slab of meat he had been slicing for a slow clap. His eyes gleamed. “Who would challenge him next?”

Gavriel’s heart sank. He chastised himself for training so hard earlier in the day.

“I will.”

Heads turned.

Finnleif rose from his seat, silver curls falling to his shoulders, amethyst eyes bright with confidence as he stalked around the table. Cursed moons. He was older, but still among the stronger Norrelian nobles. And worse yet, one of the more skilled.

This time, Gavriel knew, the harder duel would be containing his own dread.

“Very well.” Oorlon smiled regally. “Let us see how our Lord of Lunnholm fares against our Baron of Netherfen Hallows. If I recall correctly, this pairing can go either way.”

Gavriel inclined his head, hiding his fatigue behind a courteous smile.

Wagers murmured as Finnleif drew his sword, the gesture rich with vanity. Gavriel reminded himself he knew the patterns the noblemale favored. Knew his tricks. A thin strand of confidence resurfaced. He could manage this. He had to.

“I do hope you don’t disgrace yourself so soon after His Majesty’s praise,” Finnleif taunted with a toothy grin, flashing his fangs more than necessary.

Gavriel answered with a tight smile and fixed his attention on Finnleif’s shoulders.

Oorlon flicked his hand. “Begin.”

Steel rang.

Again.

Gavriel matched Finnleif blow for blow, tracking the familiar lines of attack.

But tonight the force behind them was not as he remembered. Each blow carried greater power. Each advance held more threat. Even for a fae, the strength felt unnatural, beyond what should have been possible.

It took only a few passes for Gavriel to understand he would not last long at this pace. Against such vigor. The only plausible strategy left to him was ending the duel quickly.

He slowed his breathing and yielded ground on purpose, drawing Finnleif into confidence. The fae circled with a smirk.

Lunged.

Gavriel slipped aside, pivoted low, and swept his leg.

The maneuver was inelegant by any dueling standards. But effective. Finnleif crashed to the floor. His sword skidded away in a flash of steel.

Gavriel’s blade found his throat.

Something told him, in this instance, drawing blood would be unwise.

Applause. Some genuine. Some bitter, paired with coins passing from hand to hand.

Finnleif snarled. “A cheap trick, Baron.”

“Well done,” Oorlon called from his table. “Join us, Lord Pietre.”