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From my periphery, I swear the prince’s eyes crinkle with amusement.
Rhaegar and Mack cheer, along with a few of the Seelie. I find myself grinning, my dry lips practically pasted to my teeth.
Reina fell to her hands and knees, but she explodes back to her feet with a grunt. When she turns around, I flinch at the fury inside her eyes. Nostrils flared, she glances over at Inara, who gives her a little nod.
Wiping her mouth, Reina stalks toward me, mouthing, you’ll pay for that, bitch.
I’m ready this time when she attacks. I might not know martial arts, but I’m fast, and I manage to dodge her advances. But each charge, she gets closer.
Meanwhile, I’m slowing down. My arms ache; my head spins wildly from the exertion.
Then her baton catches me in the mouth. My bottom lip splits open as blood splatters.
Mother trucker, it hurts.
My adrenaline turns the pain into a dull ache, and I prod the area with my tongue, ensuring I still have teeth left. After that, she catches me on the temple, knocking me dizzy. Blood drips from my forehead into my eye. My fingers and hands are next. She strikes over and over with lethal speed—too fast to be human.
Every time she makes contact with me, the crowd gasps.
The next few minutes are a blur of metal flashing and throbbing pain. She lands blows everywhere. At first, she’s not even trying to hit my targets. She’s going for my exposed flesh. My face. My head. My hands. Anywhere there’s breakable bone.
Anywhere that will cause excruciating pain.
At some point, Eclipsa begins to rush over, but the Winter Prince holds up his hand to stop her. They argue and then Eclipsa storms to the corner, arms crossed.
Is he enjoying this? Watching me slowly get beaten to a pulp? Rage and betrayal surge inside my veins, forcing me to keep going.
Before I can switch my attention back to Reina, her weapon connects with my shoulder. I hardly feel the blow, even as the force slams through my body.
I stumble.
A few seconds later, a pulse of red flashes from my vest. Another. I didn’t even see her strike. The pain and adrenaline form a fuzzy cloud around my vision. I’m gasping for breath, not even caring how winded I sound. My bare feet slip on the puddles wetting the mat, a mixture of my sweat and blood.
A stinging blow to my abdomen nearly drops me to my knees. The air flees my lungs. I can’t breathe.
For a split second, I lose sight of the prince.
And then Reina switches the baton from her right hand to her left. I follow the movement as she swings the baton at my head, barely ducking as the baton glances off my skull. Waves of dizziness crash over me until I’m drowning in darkness.
Blinking, I claw my way to the surface just in time to catch sight of her bare foot inches from my face.
The roundhouse kick feels like being hit by a sledgehammer to the face. Next thing I know, I’m on my back, staring at the metal ceiling fan whirring above. As the room erupts in cheers, she steps over me and touches the Winter Prince with her baton.
A light, gleeful touch.
Damn.
Get up, I order my body. But it just lays there, broken and sad, in flagrant disregard to my order.
Traitor.
On her way to her cheering fan club, Reina smirks down at me. “Might want to put some ice on that.”
Ouch.
Mack rushes over with a towel for my face. “Is anything broken?”
“Just my ego,” I moan as I press the towel to my lip; the white fabric comes away soaked in blood.
