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She smelled the smoke and felt Beck’s heart pumping with rage as
he realized his father was dead. There was a tiny part of him that
reveled in the old man’s death. He was king now. He was in his
rightful place. No one would tell him what to do or how to act again.
If they did, he would take care of it. He would be king not by right of
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ascension, but because he could kill anyone who questioned his place.
Torin had given him this gift.
Meg felt his disgust at the thought. He was torn by his own nature.
His father had abused and humiliated him, but Beck had loved him
anyway.
The sword Beck held as he surveyed the decimation of Torin’s
guard was the sword of the rightful King of the Seelie. He had used it
to kill a hundred of Torin’s advance guard. He’d sliced through them
with an easy efficiency. His body hummed with anticipation of more.
He enjoyed it. He liked the blood and the feel of his sword penetrating
flesh. He loved the dance of battle.
Through the smoke he saw Torin. He was surrounded by guards.
It was easy to kill them, too. More were coming. Beck could hear
them. They were making their way through the chaos toward their
leader. It wouldn’t matter. Beck circled his uncle. Torin would be
dead as they walked into the great hall, and then they would join their
brethren.
Torin wasn’t willing to go down easy. He held his sword, and his
eyes were no longer arrogant. “Even now, my soldiers are hunting
your brother. They will cut him down where he stands.”
Beck’s blood was up. “It will not kill me.”
Torin looked disturbed by that statement. “It will, eventually. He
is your brother.”
