Total pages in book: 169
Estimated words: 156210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156210 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 781(@200wpm)___ 625(@250wpm)___ 521(@300wpm)
But he has also seen Kyranis half-dressed many times. He’s surely now calculating not only when I took his place but also thinks about the same accusation as everyone else.
“Murderer! Twin killer!” Anatole yells, but his voice is soaked with triumph rather than rage. This is what he wanted. He goaded me into this duel for this exact reason, and I fell into his trap.
I try to pull my shirt together even though it can’t save me from all the fingers pointing my way, the enraged faces, the accusations already echoing in the ballroom. I have only been free for a month and found the truest of loves, but now the life I hoped for is ruined.
Blond hair flashes in the blur around me, and a figure hisses in Anatole’s voice, “Die, Sunspawn!”
He dashes at me with the sharp rapier pointed straight at the golden sun tattooed over my heart. Maybe I should just let him end me, because the happiness I’ve been basking in is now over.
I’m limp like a balloon losing air, but then Luke emerges out of nowhere with a terrified gasp, and it dawns on me that if I die, he will be left to the vultures ready to pick at his shadow. I can only protect him as long as I live. And that means I have to stay alive, no matter how much hate and shame I’ll need to endure.
But by the time I snap out of my self-pity, it’s too late to deflect the weapon coming my way. Anatole changed the angle to go for my throat and—
It happens so fast I witness the events backwards.
Blood falls to the floor.
Luke screams.
A thick black shadow pushes Anatole’s blade away.
Luke extends his hand.
He’s saved me—despite everything—and hurt himself in the process, because he barely knows how to use his shadow. The smell of Luke’s blood makes all my senses sharpen with one intention.
Kill. Kill. Kill.
No more trying to avoid cutting Anatole in a bid to strike his rose. I will rip the motherfucker to shreds, no matter who is here to witness it.
“You will pay for every drop of his blood!” I yell and make my offensive with fury pulsing in my veins.
I attack with the sole purpose of slicing open his stomach and making his insides spill out in a cascade of rot, so that everyone sees how vile Anatole Goldweed is inside.
This isn’t the kind of fight he’s used to, and I can already taste his sweet death on my tongue. He takes steps back so fast the crowd parts, screaming. Someone falls over, making room for him and to avoid my blade, but I’m in a trance, set on ending him. He isn’t able to make a single attack, reduced to deflecting my sword.
Anatole tries to trap me in the entryway to the dining hall, but I’m way ahead of him. I slash off his cloak so he can’t use it in the fight, and he stumbles back again. I sense shadow covering my eyes, the beast inside me desperate to come out.
The clang of metal sends the few stragglers in the dining room to their feet. Dishes clatter, someone yells, but I have tunnel vision. I’m in my element. This is what I was made for.
Anatole jumps on the table behind him, swift like a cat, but this is no playfight. I slam the pommel of my sword into his leg, excited to hear a crack of bone. Blood blooms on his pale stocking. I’m a wolf on the prowl, and his neck is next in line for breaking.
He loses balance, falls to the table, screaming, and lashes out with his rapier, well aware these are his last breaths. I grab the silver dome that’s resting over a platter of food and use it as a shield to deflect his blows. I smack his wrist in the process, and his rapier falls.
“I wanted to duel Prince Kyranis! Not this imposter! This duel is void! Help! This monster is out of control!” Anatole yells as he rolls off the other side of the table and to the floor with no grace left in him.
He lands with a dull thud, in a pile of fries, and I realize I don’t have to resort to just my sword anymore. Everything happened so fast I kept fighting according to previously established rules, but I can use my shadows in this unjust clash.
If he wants a monster, I can give him one. Everyone’s seen the golden tattoo anyway. I let the shadows envelop me with a yell of pure rage, power, and satisfaction. I let my claws grow. Anatole has no idea who he picked a fight with—
Someone jumps on my back, and a collar snaps shut around my neck.
I scream out as my shadows are forced back and disperse like smoke.