Page 12 of Courting War
Prince of Theoden
RYFEL PALACE, THEODEN
Kellyn’s foot jolted back as the weight of his words crashed down, burning, and suffocating him. It felt like Fire’s ember whip was a noose circling Kellyn’s neck. His throat stung so bad it clenched and spasmed from the strain.
Panic burst around him, many voices mingling together.
“What in all monsters was that?”
“That wasn’t the name.”
“He switched it.”
“The idiot.”
“Why?”
“That can’t be undone. Once announced, it’s final. The name is placed on the Scrolls of the Gods.”
“Is he truly that arrogant to think he could win?”
“I’ve always said he’s a big dumb brute.”
Kellyn’s mother shrieked, his father bellowed curses, the counselors debated roughly, and his best friends stared at him in shock.
The heir was never supposed to be chosen. It just didn’t happen—not as an heir of Azraelle.
Kellyn stood tall, not letting any of his internal turmoil spill out. But the wind sprites, dancing cursed circles around Kellyn’s head, gave it away. Or would have if anyone paid close enough attention, because he had no energy to wave them off.
Ravens croaked overhead, a song of battle clawing from their beaks.
A song of foreboding.
Did they know this would happen? Ravens were War’s birds, and they predicted the future. If a raven touched a man’s shoulder before a battle, he would die by the end of the day. They took no prisoners and showed no mercy—like the goddess herself.
Today, they were foretelling Kellyn’s inevitable death.
A thick haze settled over him like the black veil obscuring a widow’s tears. But instead of tears, it obscured his thoughts. Kellyn’s heart thudded, and his fingers trembled, the speech lingering in his hand. He’d ruined his life—ended it.
It had been 500 years since a Theoden champion survived. The tournament was designed to kill humans. That was its purpose, and the Theoden champion had always been a true sacrifice—sent to the games to die and feed the gods’ powers.
There was no hope of living through it.
Because Theodra never showed up, and no human could beat the Sacrifice without a god’s help.
It just wasn’t done.
A cacophony of noise bombarded Kellyn’s senses and ripped him from his thoughts of death.
He needed to get away from everything. He couldn’t gather himself with all the noise and pale faces, all the devastation, confusion, and anger coating the air. But Kellyn couldn’t move or focus. His father shook his shoulders and spoke words he couldn’t understand. It was most likely Theodic, but it didn’t matter; Kellyn understood it about as much as he would’ve understood the language of the gods—not at all.
But none of that mattered. Only his reputation as an arrogant prince did. He cleared his throat and told everyone present, “I amthe commander of the Raven Battalion. I am one of the best warriors in Theoden history, I do not trust anyone else to win.”
Without listening to any response, Kellyn rolled his shoulders back and placed a mask of disinterest on his face. He pivoted on his heels and strode away with a falsely-calm bearing—making it look like he cared very little about the concerns of others. Fast footfalls rang behind him, and Kellyn didn’t even need to turn around to recognize the gaits of his best friends. After seven years of school, he could recognize them blindfolded. They had distinctive movements.
“Let me see that.” Emmett ripped the paper from Kellyn’s hands, his eyes scanning the letter, his face paling as he dropped it to the floor.
Cecile bent down and scooped up the letter before flatting it with her skirt to get the crinkles out. Her shadow cat weaved around her feet as she began reading it. “Oh.” Cecile gulped, turning her sapphire eyes on the gentleman. “This isn’t good.”
