Page 90 of Between Fear and Favor

I watched as Elora darted forward, properly finished listening to my whinging, as she slashed her sword at the servant boy. A child of the caretakers of this estate, with horrifically poor vision, he had quite a bit to learn as well. It only mildly irritated me that he was more skilled than I was.

Thyra glanced over her shoulder to follow my gaze. “Do you not seek to protect the princess if it comes to that?” she asked, only loud enough for me to hear. “You may not always have your divinity to protect you.”

“Elora doesn’t need me to protect her.” No matter how appealing the idea might have been.

“You protected her before; she told me about it.”

“Did she?” My eye twitched at my hopeful tone. Pitiful.

“You used your shadows to shield you both—during the attack.”

“That was more for me than it was for her.” I didn’t know if I spoke true or not. I’d panicked, throwing my shadows around her and my sister. It was pointless with Ismene, but Elora and I remained unharmed because of my actions. Still, though. I wasn’t as selfless as Thyra clearly thought.

“Regardless, kinglet. You may need to protect her again—before the Supreme is defeated.”

“The Supreme has already claimed Folterra. Perhaps he will just keep my land and be done with it.”

Thyra darted forward with her sword, and I was forced to block the strike. Her long braid swung with the motion, blonde brows furrowing.

“You would just let him have it?”

Her posture slackened, and I knew I should use that opportunity to knock her backward. Instead, I lowered my weapon.

“What is the point? I am a king without a crown, without a people. I have gained no loyalty or admiration. Do kings often seek refuge in the homes of their rivals? Secondary homes? Tertiary? I don’t know. How many estates does the crown have? Folterra has six—no, seven?—”

“Firstly, the king is not your rival,” Thyra said, knocking my sword out of my grip. “Secondly, it is only too late to gain loyalty if you give up. There were plenty of rebels who?—”

“And my brother killed them all,” I said. Despite being within the courtyard, the four interior walls of the estate offering some protection against the elements, a cool breeze sent a shudder through me. I studied my fingers, picking at a hangnail, instead of looking at the woman whose disappointment wafted from her like a noxious scent.

“I am sure some survived.”

“Ah yes, the women and children. Fearsome allies, indeed.” I scowled. Thyra had dampened my already sour mood. The plan to ascend the Folterran throne and promptly pass the responsibility off to Declan’s daughter grew more enticing by the minute.

Elora cried in victory, and I watched her over Thyra’s shoulder. She disarmed the boy, and I smirked. If I couldn’t best him with a blade, at least she could. She spun on her heel, flouncing back toward where Thyra and I were supposed to be sparring.

With a suspicious look at my sword on the ground and a withering glare in my direction, Elora sighed. Thyra shook her head, sheathing her weapon and taking the path through the courtyard back inside.

“Do you even care?” Elora asked, putting her free hand on her hip. Her heart-shaped face, with plush lips and an upturned nose, was painfully perfect, even with the scowl scrunching up her features.

“He’s worried he might get a callus,” the boy quipped from behind her. Shorter than Elora, who wasn’t grand in height to begin with, the little rat seemed to have quite the confidence when no one else was around.

“Look at these hands,” I said, baring my teeth as I grinned at him. “They are much better served stuffing shadows down little boys’ throats.”

When I summoned my divinity into my palm, he turned and ran. My laughter followed after his footsteps, and when it was just me and Elora left in the courtyard, I realized she hadn’t joined in. In fact, she only continued to glare.

“What?” I asked, all traces of humor gone.

“Whatdoyou care about?”

Despite the urge to tell her she was the only thing I cared about, I held my tongue. “I quite like that strawberry pastry?—”

“I’m serious, Cy,” Elora snapped. “You don’t care about revenge. You don’t care about your kingdom. You don’t care about sword fighting. Is there anything youdocare about?”

You.

“What else is there?” I asked. “I’m sure if you list enough things to care about, one will pique my interest.”

Elora sheathed her sword with a powerful thrust as she glanced down the path after Thyra. Since we sparred today, she hadn’t worn a dress. Instead, she wore tan breeches just a bit too long for her and a dark grey embroidered tunic. There was a stain near the top, as if she’d dripped something on it whilst eating. Her beautiful curls were tied into two braids, and the childish part of me wanted to tug on one to get her to leave me alone.

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