pay for that.” His cousin jumped to his feet and ran straight at him, continuously stabbing forward.
Valerian circled on swift feet, his shield blocking. His muscles began to burn, and sweat began to run down his face and chest in rivulets. Already his breath emerged in shallow pants. At this rate, his strength would be rapidly depleted. Lack of sex did that to a nymph.
Looking tired himself, Joachim arched high, intending to puncture his shoulder on the downward swing, but Valerian hit Joachim’s wrist and his cousin dropped the spear. At a disadvantage, Joachim dived, rolled and reached for it. His fingers closed around the middle. Maintaining a fluid pace, he spun back to his feet. But Valerian was already there, stomping on the lance and snapping it in two.
Growling low in his throat, Joachim kicked up. His foot slammed into Valerian’s wrist and Valerian, too, lost his spear. Both men sprang apart, unsheathing the swords centered in their shields.
As blood continued to drip down his face, Joachim launched forward, wildly swinging. Air whistled, zinged, just like it had before the battle began. Movements slower than normal, Valerian didn’t duck in time. The blade sliced his forearm. He felt the sting of it, the burn of torn flesh.
He didn’t give a reaction, didn’t allow it to slow him further.
He stabbed low, then up, twisting before Joachim could counter. The tip of his sword whizzed by his cousin’s face, and the man paled. He raised his shield and slammed it into Valerian’s other arm, the sharp wings cutting skin. Valerian used the momentum to spin and slice into Joachim’s thigh.
His cousin shouted, and his knees buckled into the sand.
“Get up,” Valerian snarled. “We finish this.”
Gritting his teeth, Joachim lumbered to his feet. He still clutched his weapon and shield. His eyes were dark with rage, his irises bright with his thirst for power; he dropped his shield and slid a second dagger from his side.
Valerian hurled his shield aside, as well. He held out his free hand, and Broderick tossed him a second dagger. He easily caught the hilt. Two blades against two blades.
Instantly he and Joachim leaped for each other. One blade clashed, then the other, a lethal dance of dodge and slash. Valerian spun as he worked his blades, lunged and stabbed.
“I should have killed your father. I should have been king,” Joachim panted as he ducked.
“But you didn’t. You aren’t.” Stab. Turn. Stab.
“I was created to rule.”
“How can you rule an army when you cannot rule your own emotions?” The first blade finally slammed home, sinking into Joachim’s side.
His cousin screamed and dropped to his knees. Valerian’s momentum kept him from drawing back his other weapon. He wasn’t sure he would have, though, even if he could. But he did angle his arm, his second blade embedding in Joachim’s shoulder, close to his heart without damaging the organ. The silver glided smoothly through the links of armor. Joachim gasped for air as a trickle of blood ran from his mouth.
Total silence filled the arena.
Valerian straightened, panting.
Blood gurgled from Joachim’s mouth. “Should have...killed...me.”
“You will live, and you will regret,” Valerian said, unemotional and loud enough that everyone could hear. “If you ever again challenge my leadership, I will kill you. Without a thought, hesitation, or mercy. No matter that we are family. No matter that we were once friends.”
Joachim’s chin fell to his chest as his eyes closed. Dark shadows spread over his blood-coated face just before he tumbled into the dirt, unconscious. Grains of sand sprayed onto Valerian’s boots.
He slammed the tip of his dagger beside his cousin’s body and eyed the crowd of warriors who watched him in openmouthed shock. Perhaps they had expected him to kill his cousin. Perhaps they had expected him to deflect the final blow completely.
His gaze connected with Shaye’s. Mine, his mind shouted. Mine now. No one could say otherwise.
Like his men, her face projected her shock. And horror? He knew he must look a sight, blood and sand covering him from head to toe, strands of sweat-soaked hair clinging to his temples.
He couldn’t regret what had been done. She belonged to him, would live here with him now and always, so it was best for her to learn his way of life.
Tearing his gaze from her, he looked at each of his men. “Is there anyone else who wishes to challenge my authority?”
The echo of his voice settled. Silence reigned.
He paced through the arena. “Now is the time to issue such a challenge. You won’t be given another chance.”
No one came forward.
He stilled, hands clenched at his sides. “Then I hereby claim Shaye Octavia Holling as my mate. Your queen. Any protests will be met by my sword.”
“Now hold on just a moment,” Shaye called. “We haven’t agreed—”
“Except hers,” he interjected. Her protests would never be met by his sword.
“Valerian,” she said.
He ignored her and moved in front of Broderick.
Broderick kneeled, bowed his head. “What should we do about Joachim, my king? Say our goodbyes?”
Valerian still didn’t want Joachim to die, and banishment would get him killed in a hurry.
He searched for the females among the crowd. “Is there a healer among you?”
After a pause, Shivawn’s silent, black-haired wench stepped forward. Tears glistened in her eyes as she raised a tentative hand.
Excellent. “Take Joachim and the healer to the sick room,” he told Broderick. “She’s to bandage him up and nothing more. Make sure she doesn’t touch him sexually.” If she did, Joachim would heal speedily, his injuries forgotten far too soon.
Broderick nodded and stood.
Now. Time to see to his woman.
Without another word, Valerian clasped her hand and tugged her from the arena.
They were meant to be together—and now he would prove it.
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