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“I have a duty to you,” I said. “To you all. And I swear to take that responsibility seriously and with all the accountability it requires.”
“Adorable,” Welzes mocked, reclaiming the attention of the room. “But pretty words will not save you, sweet boy, nor grant you something that is not yours by right. Nowarrest him,and know that any man who disobeys my order again shall face the same fate as the rest of these traitors. Youandyour families.”
The threat was enough: the civilians hurriedly glanced down at their feet, the guards fell into motion once more, and hands grabbed roughly at me. Across the hall, Mathias snarled out curses and howls of pain as he struggled against his own captors, and Velichkov growled ineffectually as he was cut off from us by a wave of assailants bearing down on him.
*
Chapter Forty-Five
“Just when I thought you could sink no lower, Renato, you attack my palace with filthy barbarians,” the false king said in disgust, finally deigning to descend from the protection of the dais now that Ren, Valeri and I were held tightly by his guards. My brother was bleeding from several cuts on his face and arms, and it had taken a while for him to fall to the sheer number of armed Quarehians who’d surrounded him. He was a formidable warrior but also one who’d deliberately put himself in the middle of enemy territory,alone,to serve as a distraction in a plan that had clearly had no Blessed point to it other thanget in there and cause a fuss.It was on the level of one ofmyplans, for fuck’s sake, and I’d thought more of Ren and Val than that.
“You mean Prince Valeri?” Ren asked from where he hung from the hold of two guards nearly twice his size, looking as casually unconcerned as he did when he lounged across his bed. It was all for show, of course: I could see the tension in the lines of his neck, but the prince had always lived to the power of appearances. “He’s not so bad. Far more honourable than you, Welzes, much better looking, and there’s no question he’ll wear his crown with more grace and capability.”
Oh fuck me, Ren was complimenting my brother? Within hisearshot?
We were all going to die.
“I challenge you to a duel,” Val said abruptly, surprising us all. His eyes were narrowed on Welzes. “Fight me.”
But the false king made a disdainful noise, dismissing his words with no more than a flick of his fingers. A king did not have to accept such a challenge and no one would blame him for refusing when his opponent was the heir to Temar, a man skilled in warcraft and yet less than even the lowliest Quarehian peasant. Even if Valeri won, none here would accept his authority over their own ruler.
“An excellent idea,” drawled Ren. “But as enthralling as it would be to watch you get all hot and sweaty again, Velichkov, I fear it’s my turn to show off.” He locked eyes with Welzes. “You call me a bastard. I call you one in turn, although admittedly for different reasons. You call yourself king. So do I. Let’s settle this, shall we?”
“You would fightme?” Welzes asked incredulously, and more than one of the gathered courtiers and guards laughed at that. As well they might: Ren was hardly known for his skills on the battlefield. He may have had a reputation for his proficiency at court – and in the bedroom – but as a fighter?
“I would,” my lover agreed. “Isn’t that the proper way to determine a dispute about who is owed the crown?”
Murmurs of agreement broke out amongst the nobility. He was right. The death or concession of the ruling monarch was the only means of taking a throne on Riehse Eshan, and Welzes evidently wasn’t conceding shit.
I stared at him. What the fuck was he doing? There was no way Ren could take Welzes in a fight, no matter how many tricks he had up his sleeves. The Aratorre line was far from well-built, and Iván had only killed King Padilla by using the Voice.
Ren was just a skinny prince with a brilliant mind, and he wasnotgoing to fucking die at the end of Welzes’ sword.
Damn his stubbornness, and his love for a country that would see – had seen – him bleed for it.
Glancing around the throne room, Welzes sized up the mood of the crowd and quickly realised how eager they were for this. A showdown between the two men who would claim to be their ruler? The bastard son of a bastard king, or a foreigner: this was Dios’ chance to show who He favoured. A duel like this meant one would be dead on the floor by the end, leaving no question as to who was more worthy to be named the king of Quareh.
“Very well. This is going to be exceedingly embarrassing for you, Renato,” Welzes said, accepting a blade from one of his guards. My blood boiled when I recognised it as Valeri’s. “Although perhaps the pain of your inevitable death will quell the humiliation somewhat.”
He gestured for Ren to be released, and the guards formed a line behind him so he couldn’t flee from the fight. One of the men tossed his own sword to the floor at his feet, but my prince didn’t move to retrieve it.
“It is tradition,” Ren said slowly, “for the victor to grant the vanquished a boon. One last request, as it were.”
Welzes sneered. “You would beg for your life?”
“No,” answered Ren. His eyes found mine through the rows of men that separated us. “I would beg for his.”
“Fuck you,” I said.
My blood ran cold as I realised that was the entire point of this. The reason for fighting when he knew he couldn’t win, just so he could scrape a favour from the man who killed him.
He wasn’t doing this for Quareh. He was doing it forme.
The faces of those gathered in the hall, especially those like Lord de la Vega who supported Ren, showed enthusiasm. Excitement. Hope.
Because they all expected one final, glorious trick from him, the clever plans he was known for. They didn’t realise that thiswasthe plan. Why couldn’t he be the self-centred prick I’d thought him to be when I’d met him?
“Pick up the sword, Renato,” the false king said. “Pick up the sword, and I will allow you to plead for your northern pet’s life before I take yours.”
