Page 44 of The Crown of the Dark Prince
Rankor was demonstrating sword techniques to two young boys as I approached him. His thick coat was hardly battle-ready, but he moved with the easy confidence of someone who had wielded a sword in far worse conditions. When he caught sight of me and grinned, his breath fogging in the crisp air.
“Thea!” he called, sheathing his sword with an exaggerated flourish. “Perfect timing! These boys could use a lesson from someone withrealskill.”
“Sure,” I muttered, my voice low and cold.
Without hesitation, I planted my feet, balled my fist, and twisted from the hips just as he’d taught me—then I punched him square in the jaw.
Rankor stumbled back with a strangled noise, clutching his face. “Ow!Ow! What in all of creation wasthatfor?” He pulled his hand away to inspect the thin trickle of blood on his lip and gawked at me like I’d just set him on fire. “Youpunchedme? In front of the children?”
I glanced at the two boys, who stood frozen, their wooden practice swords dangling from their hands. “Leave.”
They bolted, their weapons clattering to the ground. Rankor gaped after them. “Cowards,” he criticized before turning back to me. “You know, most people start a conversation withwords.”
“Pick up a sword,” I ordered.
“What?” His brows furrowed. “I’m not fighting you, Thea.”
“Pick up the sword,” I snapped, magic flaring beneath my skin.
Rankor let out a long, suffering sigh. “Thea, I’m aBrawn. You can’t outmatch my strength, and we both know it.”
The sword at his feet jerked into the air, hovering ominously before whipping toward him. Rankor let out a strangled yelp and dodged just in time.
“Youmightbe stronger,” I said, my voice like ice, “but I’m more powerful.”
Rankor muttered something under his breath that sounded like a prayer before bending to retrieve his own blade. “Fine, but make a note that I think there are several other ways we could entertain ourselves that do not risk bodily harm.”
I didn’t answer. Instead, I yanked the floating sword back into my grip and swung at him with a heavy downward stroke. Rankor parried, but his stan
ce was cautious, his movements slow.
“You knew,” I hissed.
His brow furrowed. “Knewwhat? That you’ve finally snapped? Because that’s becoming quite clear.”
I struck again, forcing him back. The realization dawned in his eyes, followed by regret.
“So" he drawled, "I take it you met Elaina?”
“All this time, I couldn’t figure out why you and Clay were fighting so much. How long have you all been keeping this from me?”
Rankor raised his blade defensively. “Clay wanted to tell you himself. He thought it would be better coming from him.”
The pity in his tone made my rage flare. I swung harder. He deflected the blow but staggered back, his boots skidding in the snow.
“Clay didn’t tell me,” I spat. “Elaina did. When she opened his door half-dressed.”
Rankor groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Gods above, man,” he hissed, as though Clay could hear him across the palace. He barely dodged my next strike, his movements growing more frantic.
“Thea, why don’t you put the sword down and we cantalkabout this?”
“Fight me!” I shouted, aiming a kick at his ribs.
The impact sent him stumbling, and he let out a wheezy laugh. “Are yousureyou don’t want to sit down and breathe deeply first? Maybe count to ten.”
I advanced again, blade at the ready.
Rankor held up a single finger, backing away. “I’m beginning to think—hear me out—that maybe, justmaybe, you should do someinner workon how to process difficult feelings.”
