Page 34 of Emylia

“What is with him? Doesn’t he know he’s about to be slaughtered?”

Sebastian leaned forward in anticipation. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.”

My eyes shot to his in disbelief. “What do you mean? You can’t honestly believe he’s going to beat Uncle Thrainn.”

“I’m confident enough to put a wager on it.”

“Are you crazy? Uncle Thrainn is a beast, no one can beat him.”

A low rumble rose from deep in Sebastian’s chest as he weighed my words. “Normally, I’d say yes, but not today. There’s something about this kid, something I can’t quite put my finger on. Whatever it is, I know there’s no way this guy is going to lose.”

“What makes you such an expert?” I scoffed dramatically, annoyed at his confidence.

“I had him beaten–for a moment. But he didn’t back down. Every move I made, he matched. Countered like he’d studied me. It wasn’t just skill–it was precision. Controlled. Calculated. Like fighting my damn reflection–if my reflection was taller, moodier, and had a death wish. He wasn’t just fighting to win, he wanted to make sure I knew it. Like he was trying to prove something. Like he knew you’d be watching. And the outcome of our fight would decide unspoken terms between us.”

I blinked, incredulous. “As in… one of you would win me?” My voice was sharp, outraged. Murderous.

Sebastian didn’t flinch. “No, notwinyou.”

“Then what?” I demanded

He exhaled, jaw tight. “Like the other would walk away. Without a fight.”

I shook my head incredulously. “You’re out of your Gods-damned mind, you are reading way too much into this. I already told you, there is nothing between Maalikai and I.”

Sebastian turned to me with an all-too-familiar smile, one that left a sickening swirl in the base of my stomach. He was about to do something diabolical, we both knew it.

“Really? Care to make a wager?”

“All good with me.” This was going to be the easiest bet I’d ever won. “I’ll be more than happy to take your money.”

“Since you’re so damn confident, why don’t we make it interesting.”

A laugh bubbled through me; I was more than ecstatic to win a bet against him. I’d finally earn some bragging rights of my own.

“Name your price. Uncle Thrainn is a far superior swordsman than you.”

He shot me a look sharp enough to cut steel, but didn’t rise to the bait. Just ground his jaw and glared like he knew exactly what game I was playing–and wasn’t about to give me the satisfaction. “If Maalikai loses, I’ll finally convince Thrainn to let you come hunting with us.”

No friggin’ way, he had to be kidding. “Bullshit.”

“No bullshit.”

It felt like a lifetime ago since I’d last held a bow.

When I found out my father was sick, I took it hard. In a moment of desperation, I turned to the only thing that had ever quieted the chaos inside me—the stillness I found with a bow in hand. The steady breath, the silence before the release. But grief made me reckless.

One stupid slip-up.

I spotted a buck in the brush but was so lost in the darkness of my own mind, I didn’t realize I hadn’t nocked a fresh arrow. I dry-fired. The string snapped, and the bow cracked straight down the middle, splitting apart in my hands.

My father had already been too ill to make me another. And I never learned how.

A part of my soul still craved the weight of it—the comfort, the control. What Sebastian was offering now meant everything. And he knew it.

“You promise?”

“Absolutely.”

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