Page 114 of Blood Beneath the Snow

An image flashed through my mind of Björn wearing Father’scrown and seated on the throne, ordering us to conquer more countries until we dominated the world. Why wouldn’t a war-hungry nation want that?

But I didn’t. I wanted a choice. I wanted to see what it was like to live a different life than the one my father had organized so precisely for me and for this country.

I stepped toward the edge of the boulder, looked down at Björn’s smug face, and imagined life as Queen of Bhorglid. Not married to Volkan. Not subjected to my father’s prejudice. Not a slave to the priests’ broken ideals.

Björn grinned, his armor flashing as he took his stance. “I won’t lie to you, sister,” he called out. “I truly am looking forward to this.” His smile was blackened where the flame swallowing Erik whole had scorched it. I swallowed, pushing away the image of my oldest brother defenseless against Björn’s fire.

“And yet, you aren’t willing to fight me without your magic,” I said. With a shake of my head and a click of my tongue, I radiated my disapproval. “That only confirms I’m the better fighter.”

His eyes narrowed. “You want to duel without magic? Fine.” He extended his arms wide. “Be my guest. No godtouch from me.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You’re lying.”

He laughed. “What reason would I have to lie? I have every confidence I can beat you, and so does Father. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be dead already, like our poor brothers.” He gestured toward Erik’s remains.

I clenched my teeth and slid carefully down to ground level. Then I got in position, sword at the ready. Maybe I would die.

But at least I would die fighting.

Björn drew his sword. People screamed their excitement. Couldn’t wait to see me butchered, then fried, I supposed.

My eyes were on Björn, watching him carefully as he adjustedhis hold and took a few steps toward me, raising his sword to slice through my throat.

Easy enough.

Blood pounding through my veins, I threw my sword up to meet his blade, parrying the way the Hellbringer had taught me.

The connection of our blades jarred me more than I expected—Björn was strong and it showed. When our swords collided, my very bones vibrated. My gritted teeth clattered and sent pain running through my jaw. There was no glimmer of sympathy in my brother’s eyes as they bored into mine.

It sparked fresh anger in me. I escaped the hold and began to swing carefully, gaining a couple feet of ground.

Björn showed no sign of surprise. Did he know I would be such an equal match? His parries were swift and precise. No more movement than was absolutely necessary.

He watched carefully, deflecting every stroke before finally pushing back. Within a matter of seconds, I had given up twenty feet. The roar of the crowd’s approval whipped around me as a breeze caught my hair.

I swore internally, arms burning from the force necessary to keep Björn from slicing my head off. Even if I could push back, his arms were far longer than mine and he had been practicing the art of fighting for years.

Panic filled my lungs and I struggled to breathe as we exchanged blows back and forth, over and over. I used my speed, size, and dancer’s footwork to my advantage, jumping to dodge his blows where possible, moving quickly enough that he was forced to follow me.

I cannot die today.

The thought was desperate and nauseating. I forced myself to remain present, and the realization hit me:

I was going to lose. The competition and my life.

I could imagine Björn’s wicked grin as he took his time slicing me open, carefully lighting me on fire. Watching me burn to death. He would take pleasure in my screams; I knew that much.

Forcing myself back to the present, I moved in time to block an attempt to stab me in the abdomen. Fear laced my every movement. I was growing tired. It was only a matter of time now before Björn overpowered me.

Then, before I could move to block the arc of his sword, a searing pain echoed in a flash across my upper arm. A small cry escaped me, and I resisted the urge to cover the wound with my other hand. His sword had sliced my bicep. How had he broken through my defenses?

Warm blood trickled down my arm as I hefted Aloisa again, our blades clashing together. “Why don’t we turn up the heat?” Björn asked, his face wicked.

Flames erupted along his blade, reflecting in his dark eyes. I stumbled backward, losing my footing, hating myself for being Nilurae.

“You said no magic,” I snapped through gritted teeth.

He smirked. “You should have known better. I’ve never kept my promises.”

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