Page 82 of Arise the Queen
Taryn hitched her chin toward the glade and said, “There.”
Bryn’s voice filled with misgiving. “Blood and bones! Art planning to do what I believe you are? You should not, Gwendolyn! The last thing we need is for Baugh or Caradoc—either—to abandon us before the fight.”
Ignoring Bryn, Gwendolyn nodded to Taryn, veering towards the glade, her stride purposeful. Those men needed a good lesson and though now was not the time to test the Sword ofLight—lest someone call her a cheater—it was as good a time as any to test herself and them as well.
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As Gwendolyn neared the glade, the clang of steel against steel grew louder, and a rumble of voices cheered and jeered in equal measure.
She drew her Kingslayer, at once empowered by the blade in her hand, swinging it a time or two to remember its weight and balance. It had been too long since she’d practiced herself, and longer yet since she’d wielded her weapon in battle.
At the sight of her, the men all parted, eyes wide with apprehension. Whispers erupted in her wake, and though Gwendolyn felt some trepidation over challenging Caradoc, she swallowed it down.
She could not afford to second-guess herself.
Not now.
Her grandfather and Caradoc were circling one another, each waiting for an opening to attack. Neither seemed aware of her approach until one spectator shouted out a warning for them to stop and the sparring came to an abrupt halt as both men turned to face Gwendolyn, blinking in surprise.
“Dótturbarn?” said Baugh, clearly confused, his hefty brows colliding, and for a moment, he looked so like a young boy,blinking innocently—caught amid some childish play. But Baugh was the elder of the two, and despite that, with his greater size, he would present a challenge. She turned from him to face Caradoc, who was only a tad smaller, but quicker and far more battle-worn.
Neither man would present an easy victory.
Caradoc met her gaze unflinchingly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Is our fair queen here to settle our score?”
A round of raucous laughter burst forth from those observing, but it was quickly replaced by a dumbfounded silence as they registered Gwendolyn’s intent to fight him. A slow grin unfurled. “I am,” she said.
Caradoc’s dark eyes glinted with interest. “Will you foreswear your Elf and wed with me if I win?”
“No,” said Gwendolyn evenly, without apology. “You would oblige me to cut off your pretty little cock, and then we would most certainly be at odds when I take away your favorite toy.”
“Little?” he said.
Gwendolyn shrugged.
“But you think it pretty?”
“According to your own high praise!”
Caradoc barked with laughter.
“Fight me,” she demanded, extending her sword and pointing it at Caradoc, all mirth vanished from her countenance. “Give no mercy, and I will offer none. Let us see which ofusis the better swordsman.”
“You are not a man,” he pointed out.
“And so you believe this means I cannot win?”
“I did not say that.”
Gwendolyn persisted. “Fight me now, Caradoc, or cease with the crowing.”
Caradoc’s grin widened as he took a step back, raising his weapon. “As you wish,my queen,” he said with a bow, and it wasaccompanied by the unmistakable glimmer of lust in his dark eyes—yet this was the last time he’d ever look at her that way, Gwendolyn vowed. She would not be some token queen, a leader of warriors only because she wore a golden crown or brandished a burning sword. With a bellow, she launched herself at Caradoc, their swords crashing.
The onlookers, now realizing this was a test of strength and skill, erupted into cheers, some shouting words of encouragement to Caradoc, while others stared, slack-jawed, at the scene unfolding before them. Gwendolyn did not take offense at their support of Caradoc. After all, she was a woman, and they expectedhimto win.
But he would not win.
She had a point to prove here, and she would make it clear.
