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The way he drawls the term of respect, it’s obviously a mockery.
Sitting up, I’m careful not to put weight on my slightly burnt hand as I scoot back. I’m shaking, adrenaline and relief clashing together in a dizzying cocktail. Woozy, I rest against the wall behind me.
“I’ll treat my wife however I please,” Zarid retorts. “And you, my lowly subject, will be punished so severely, you’ll wish you were never born.”
“You’ve already done your worst.” Kai spreads his arms. “Guess what—I’m still here. So…” His tone turns casual and conversational. “How skilled are you with a sword?”
Not one to miss an opportunity to brag, Zarid boasts, “I’ve been training with the Day Realm’s best warrior since I was old enough to hold a stick.”
Tipping his head to the side, Kai hums skeptically. “That can’t be true.”
“It is true.”
“No.”
“No?” Insulted, Zarid scoffs. “What do you mean,no?”
“You couldn’t have trained with the best because you’ve never trained withme.”
Zarid’s nostrils flare at Kai’s confident statement, then he makes one of his own. “I can beat you.”
“If you’re such a talented swordsman,” Kai taunts, twirling his blade, “fight me the old-fashioned way. No powers. Just weapons.”
I see what Kai is doing. He’s leveling the playing field. By challenging Zarid’s pride, he’s making sure they have a fair encounter. Because if Zarid uses fire, Kai doesn’t stand a chance.
“Fine,” Zarid agrees, retrieving his blade from the mount on the wall. “No powers.”
“Swear it,” Kai pushes.
“I swear.” Without hesitation, Zarid leaps forward and swings his blade.
Kai blocks, and then the battle begins.
The clank of metal repeatedly hitting metal echoes in the room as the men duck and jump from one spot to another.
I’ve never seen a real sword fight before.
I’ve watched sparring and games. Zarid used to make his entire harem sit in the audience during his fencing tournaments. He always won. Always. Though, I strongly suspect his opponents let him win.
Or maybe he just never allowed himself to go up against someone more skilled than he is.
He never took on a warrior like Kai.
Kai, the most graceful fighter I’ve ever seen in action. With every twirl and jab, blood flies from his wounds, but despite his injuries, his movements are smooth.
It’s like his sword is an extension of his body. He reminds me of a painter, using his brush to create a unique scene.
One by one, Kai plucks the diamond buttons off Zarid’s shirt. The little jewels ping across the floor every time they fall. Red is slowly taking over on the white silk, and Zarid’s cuts are countless.
They’re all shallow slices, not significant enough to cause major weakening, and I’m betting that’s intentional on Kai’s part.
He’s playing.
Zarid hasn’t actually made contact with Kai yet. Every time the king gets close, Kai moves out of the way as if he predicted it. It’s mesmerizing—the footwork, the spinning—like a choreographed dance.
However, he hasn’t forgotten about me. Allowing himself a moment of distraction, his eyes dart to me for a split second.
I must look so cowardly. Knees drawn up to my chest. Jittery and small.
