Page 254 of Kingdoms of Night

“That’s a prince,” said Wain.

Geraint shrugged one shoulder, trying to dislodge his brother knight. The masinko was slung over his shoulder. The blade hidden inside the musical instrument vibrated to get out. Geraint gave another tug, but Wain didn’t release him just yet.

“I’m not saying you can’t kick his ass,” Wain continued. “I am saying you cannot kill him.”

There was nothing Geraint hated more than an indulgent prince who thought he could take what he wanted from those he saw as beneath him. But he had his own vows to think about as well.

“Fine,” said Geraint. “I’ll fight him left-handed.”

Geraint was ambidextrous. But he favored his right hand in fighting. He found himself waiting for Loren to make aPrincess Bridecrack about a pirate and a Spaniard. But Loren wasn’t here. And Wain had refused to watch what he considered a children’s film. So the joke Geraint had perfectly set up landed without a punchline.

With the left-handed concession, Wain removed his hand from Geraint’s shoulder and waved it before him as though giving him permission to proceed. Geraint reached for his sword.

Vidar snorted when he caught sight of the musical instrument. He turned to look over his shoulders. His friends dutifully chuckled and scoffed along with him. The moment Vidar turned his back, his friend’s smiles dropped, thus giving further credence to Geraint’s pronouncement of the prince as a douchebag.

A flick of his wrist, and the masinko strings fell away. The scimitar of his ancestors hummed to life. The curved blade caught the fading sun’s light and gleamed. That dropped the smile from Vidar’s face.

“You know, it’s more like Bruce Lee versus Kareem Abdul Jabbar inGame of Death,”said Wain. “But in reverse. You’re Geraint Lee and he’s Vidar Abdul Jabbar.”

Geraint lowered his weapon and grinned at his friend. Though he would’ve preferred to be compared to the swashbuckling pirate inThe Princess Bride, it was high praise for Wain to label him after his favorite martial arts action hero.

Wain winced and looked skyward. “Don’t tell Loren I said that.”

Geraint and Gawain had been a duo for decades, often being partnered on quests. Loren had slipped into their partnership and clicked into place. It shouldn’t be much effort or time to move from a threesome back to a twosome. Geraint winced, knowing the inappropriate witch would’ve cackled at the naughty comparison.

“Oh, right,” said Wain. “You’re not talking to Loren.”

“She lied.”

“She’s Loren. She came forward when it mattered.”

“It matters at every step.” Geraint curled his fists, feeling overheated in the icy tundra.

Wain opened his hands as though to say,What did you expect?“Not everyone is Saint Geraint.”

“You’re taking her side?” Geraint took a step back from his friend. His eyelids shuttered open and closed in rapid succession, as though he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Right now, I’m on your side. Watch your back.”

“For the knife she jabbed into it? Too late.”

“G, big, icy pressing matter at two o’clock.”

Gawain ducked right. Geraint feinted left, just missing Vidar’s meaty fist. The massive boulder of the ice prince’s hand landed in the snow, cracking the ground like it was the Titanic crashing into an iceberg.

When Geraint looked up, his first thought was of Lady Enid. He saw the fae standing off to the side. There was trepidation on her face. Her gaze swung between him and the giant. Did she doubt him?

Geraint took a step toward her. The smell of her sweetness urged him forward. The sparkle in her bright eyes stole his breath.

No. That was the big block of ice crashing into his cheek.

Enid turned away then, her fists clenching at her sides. Her lips pursed together, but not before letting out a harsh breath that sounded very much like a curse.

“Come along, Enid. Our nuptials will begin soon. We can fool around a bit beforehand.”

“The lady isn’t going anywhere with you.” Using his thumb, Geraint brushed the small trickle of blood from the top of his lip.

“She’s my bride.”

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