Page 158 of Crown Prince's Mate

Doman roars, and the three press forward at once, blades swinging, but Obsidian parries blow after blow. I push myself unsteadily out of the cockpit, running to the bay doors that are open to the arena. The heat of the planet, the huge, ancient sun that has never witnessed such a battle bathes me.

I have to see them with my own eyes, not through the reinforced glass of the Reaver.

I have to be in the ring with them.

The stands are eerie, like thousands of statues packed in and watching. Not a word, not a gasp, not a cheer as their leader fights in the sands below. Obsidian is untouched, but sweat is dripping down his back. He ducks, and Doman’s blade sweeps above him, grazing the top of his head as both Titus and Gallien strike in unison. Obsidian parries Titus’ blow and twists, trying to dodge Gallien, but his seeking blade strikes the War-God inhis calf. The smell of burnt flesh assaults my nostrils as the demon is touched.

Black blood seeps from the wound, gleaming against the sands.

Hope. Hope seeps up in me in a golden wave as Obsidian is scathed.

He is no God. He cannot see the future.

He can die, like any other man.

Obsidian steps back, stumbling on his injured leg, and my men rush forward, smelling blood, their eagerness flowing through the Bond.

It’s a feint. Instead of retreating, Obsidian jolts forward like electricity and grabs Gallien by the throat. He charges forward, pushing past Doman and Titus as he lifts Gallien. His back exposed, and Doman drives his blade into him.

Obsidian is nearly skewered, but his momentum stops him from being fully impaled. Black blood drips down his back, from his calf, but he is relentless, driving himself forward as he heaves Gallien into the air.

With a sickening crunch, he crushes Gallien’s throat.

I shriek, my scream piercing the silence as Obsidian turns, dropping Gallien like a pile of meat. He thuds dully to the ground and blinks out of my mind.

This can’t be happening.

I’d felt the triad’s certainty. They knew they would come out victorious, standing over the corpse of the War-God, and I tried to believe them. I was scared they would die, but I didn’t even let my mind wrap around that possibility.

My fear was that they would be twisted into something I couldn’t love. That they’d become like Obsidian, leading his troops and rising to Gods.

Now Gallien lays dead on the black sands. My mind feels so empty without him, and the waves of grief and agony pulsesthrough the auras of Doman and Titus before they’re shut down, before Doman’s turns back to glacial coldness, and Titus to a volcano of rage. Their auras don’t grow in my mind to fill the space where Gallien lived in my consciousness.

There’s just a hole.

I’m grabbing onto the side of the ship for support as Titus roars, breaking formation, charging forward. His blade swings, wide and with his full strength, and Obsidian parries it, driving his blade through Titus chest and cutting him nearly in half.

The barbarian who seemed so invincible crumples to the ground. His mind rages, incomprehensible anger and disbelief. I can feel him desperately clinging to consciousness, desperately probing my mind, trying to feel my aura for just a second longer... then it fades out of existence.

One moment I was overwhelmed by his rage, the next, there’s nothing.

The guilt mixes with grief. I could have stopped them. I could have found a way.

Obsidian steps forward over the corpse of the man I loved, and Doman, my invulnerable titan, my rock, steps back.

Obsidian swings, and Doman barely parries his blow. The blade drives down the shaft and takes two of Doman’s fingers. He switches his blade to his left hand, stepping back once more.

“Yield!” Obsidian’s voice booms out.

Doman has no answer. I want to flood his mind with pleas to give in, but I know it won’t do a thing.

He will never back down.

He retreats under Obsidian’s onslaught, blade ringing out against blade, until he’s only twenty feet from me. I could run forward and touch him.

Doman’s mind loses all its grief, all its rage.

He is fresh snow. A glacial stream.

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