Page 33 of Kingdom of Lies
The weight of his words hits me like a freight train, causing my heart to race and my palms to sweat. But I stand firm in my decision, knowing that it is the only way to bring justice and peace to our troubled kingdom.
My hand tightens around his shoulder, the fabric of his cloak bunching in my grasp. "There is no other honorable path." My voice betrays my determination to protect Kathleen's dignity and secure our future.
He studies me intently, gray eyes scanning my face for any sign of hesitation or doubt. Finding none, he nods grimly, understanding the gravity of the situation. With his support, I know my course is set - there is no turning back now. I will defeat this threat or die trying. Kathleen's honor is worth any risk.
I take a deep breath and grip my sword tightly, the weight of it a comfort in my hand.
It is time to fight for our fate, to defend what is rightfully ours.
19
KATHLEEN
Pandemonium explodes in the chapel as Draknir, his eyes blazing with fury, challenges Morta to a duel. The soldiers, who moments ago were quietly standing guard, now leap into action with weapons drawn and faces contorted in rage.
The air crackles with the sound of angry shouts and threats of violence.
Draknir's voice cuts through the chaos like a blade. "Enough! This matter will be settled honorably in single combat outside."
The crowd roars with excitement, eager for bloodshed to ensue. I am caught up in the frenzy, my emotions swirling as I struggle to process how this sacred wedding has devolved into such chaos at lightning speed.
Before I can orient myself, we are gathered in the courtyard. Draknir stands tall and focused, sword glinting, as Morta snarls curses across from him. This deadly contest will dictate everything – our future balances on a knife's edge.
My palms sweat and my heart hammers madly. Yet strangely, I feel sure Draknir will prevail. He must, or all is lost. As the duel begins in earnest, the crowd's roar fades to a murmur. Time seems to slow, all my senses focused only on the fierce dance unfolding before me.
As Draknir strides confidently into the garden arena, his jaw set with determination, I feel a knot tighten in my stomach. "Please, don't do this," I cry out, my voice barely above a whisper. My heart races as I frantically try to come up with a way to save him from the impending danger.
"I-I will acquiesce to their demands, if it spares you." I plead, tears streaming down my cheeks. The thought of giving in fills me with shame and despair, but I cannot bear the thought of losing Draknir.
His expression softens at my words, but he shakes his head resolutely. "No, my love. I cannot let you sacrifice your dignity for my sake." He gazes at me with a mix of love and concern. "What kind of mate would I be if I didn't protect you?" His words pierce my heart, reminding me once again why I fell in love with him in the first place.
Across his blooming garden, Morta's sneer turns to a scoff. "The lady has some sense at least! Yield, and this beastly affair can end."
But Draknir remains steadfast and unyielding before him. His broad shoulders square off against Morta's smaller frame as he declares firmly, "I will never yield when her honor is at stake." The tension in the air is thick and palpable as the two men stand locked in a battle of wills, each one fighting for what they believe is right.
Their duel begins before I can protest further. All I can do is watch helplessly, praying with every fiber of my being for Draknir's victory. Swords clash and feet move in a fluid, almost hypnotic rhythm. My voice catches in my throat, unable to protest or intervene as I watch helplessly. Every fiber of my being is consumed with the desperate prayer for Draknir's victory. He must prevail, for the consequences of defeat are too dire to even imagine.
My fingers clench tightly around the soft, silk fabric of my wedding dress, the tension radiating through my body like electricity.
The clash of steel rings out violently as the duel commences, the harsh sound piercing the hushed crowd like a blade slicing through flesh. Draknir and Morta circle each other like two predators, their eyes unblinking, muscles coiled in anticipation of the first move. The air is heavy with the smell of sweat and adrenaline as the two warriors prepare for what could be their last fight.
With a guttural cry, Morta charges, his sword slashing ruthlessly. Draknir parries the savage blows, skirting away. They trade thrusts and feints, sinewy bodies twisting and lunging with brutal speed.
Sweat flies off Draknir's straining arms as he wields his blade desperately to counter Morta's frenzied attack. His face twists into a ferocious snarl, all concentration bent on surviving the next lethal strike.
Morta fights like a beast, never relenting. He seeks to overwhelm Draknir through sheer merciless aggression. My heart lurches as inch by inch, he forces Draknir back, teeth bared in anticipation of the killing stroke.
With a well-timed feint, Morta breaks through Draknir's defense, landing a vicious cut to his shoulder. Draknir staggers, blood spraying, barely keeping his grip on the sword. The crowd gasps. Morta swoops in for the finish.
"No!" The anguished cry is torn from my throat. This cannot be the end!
Morta laughs, toying with him, stepping forward with his guard down and opening a deep gash across Draknir’s thigh. He sinks to his knees with a grunt, momentarily stunned to see his own blood pooling beneath him.
For an instant, his eyes seem to gaze far beyond the garden feasting on his blood, glimpsing the clearing beyond the path all warriors must walk sooner or later. I can almost make out the darkness hovering at the edge of his vision, beckoning him toward oblivion.
No! It cannot end like this.
But Morta, smelling triumph, circles closer for the killing strike.