Page 48 of The Coven of Ruin
“That’s the only reprieve you’ll get,my prince.” Grae declared from the hall as if he had opened the door only to turn and face the prince. “You’re the one who said you could stay on your feet against one of us for at least two minutes. I live to serve, after all.”
Another curse echoed in the landing, and then Prince Nero called out through panting breaths, “That isn’tquitewhat I said.”
Trista stood up from her spot on the floor, stretching as she looked at the open door.
“You can’t take it back now,” Grae threw over his shoulder as he appeared in the doorway again. “The challenge has already been issued.”
When the god looked into the chamber, his grin widened when he saw her. “Trist, you’re about to get a quick demonstration of absolute domination. You can oversee and make sure we don’t break any princelings.”
Prince Nero groaned.
Having already been dismissed by the frustrating God of War, she piled her stuff neatly on the table. She left the room for the open space of the landing. Prince Nero dipped his chin at her in greeting, his hair and tunic slightly rumpled. “Healer Trista, good evening.”
“Good evening, Prince Nero,” she responded, realizing she had never spoken to the Iron Prince. The sudden urge to ask him whether he knew the true identities of his generals overcame her, but she kept her mouth shut.
“If you have to heal me, swear by the Mother that you’ll save my face. My looks are all I have,” he declared morosely, and she didn’t know him well enough to tell if he was joking.
Brune leaned against a door, his arms crossed over his chest. Trista stepped toward him, his darkened gaze leaving the others to look at her. “I figured out one of the missives,” she said happily to him. He had been witness to many of her frustrating rants on the matter. His chest rumbled with a noise of acknowledgment—the best response she had received from him yet.
As Ares appeared in the doorframe, rolling up the sleeves of his tunic, Prince Nero explained, “I swear I said nothing about beating you. I just said with having an older brother, I could hold my own in a brawl.
Ares arched a brow without looking up at him. “So you yield?”
“Just don’t break anything,” the prince sighed.
“No promises,” Grae grinned wickedly.
Prince Nero was leaner and shorter than any of the gods. Brothers or not, he was undoubtedly outmatched here.
Grae stepped on the other side of Trista, leaning on his arm. “I bet he doesn’t last thirty seconds after first contact,” he murmured.
She scoffed at the war god and the mischief etched into every line of his face. “You fight him then.”
“I prefer the show. I already roughed the prince up a bit on the way here. Besides, my brother here needs to release some tension if you haven’t noticed.” He gave her a pointed look that, for some reason, made her cheeks burn. “It really is beneficial all around, you see.”
Ares sunk into a loose fighter’s stance and beckoned the prince forward with a wave of his fingers.
“Rusted hells,” the prince cursed as he slowly approached the god.
“Your time doesn’t start until fists are involved,” Grae called out as Prince Nero skirted around Ares, who watched him carefully.
When Nero faltered, hesitating to get within Ares’ striking range, the god moved to him. It happened far too quickly for her to follow, but the next moment Prince Nero was flat on his back, coughing.
Grae snorted beside her. “What happened to two minutes, my prince?”
Offering his hand to the prince, Ares explained, “Either close the distance or don’t. If you fail to choose, your opponent will for you.”
“Understood,” Nero wheezed as he shakily stabilized himself.
“Again.”
The display dissolved into Ares allowing the prince three free moves before he reacted. Then into him taking on GraeandNero at the same time. Only for Grae and Ares to be left wrestling each other violently to the stone, their hits far harder than Ares’ were with the prince.
Prince Nero had backed away from them, his dark blond hair sticking up and his tunic sleeve hanging by threads. “They do this quite often if you can believe it.” He shuddered as he limped to rest heavily against the wall.
“I believe it,” she murmured. But she couldn’t take her eyes off the wrestling gods.
They were far more evenly matched, and it was apparent that they had spent years training together. There was a familiarity in their strikes and counterstrikes. They exchanged quips even as their hits landed with an impact that made Trista wince as the sounds echoed in the landing. The two gods’ sheer strength was impressive as they fought for dominance.
