Page 69 of War Hour

Bash dodges, tucking his wings in as he spins into a roll out of the way of the onslaught of arrows. They zing past him, pelting the metal cage separating the battlefield from the arena seats. The crowd rumbles in their seats, not in fear for their lives but cheering at the action unfolding before them.

Bash swoops toward Lord Rhen, barreling down at top speed before pulling up at the last second.

He pulls the same maneuver over again, and I can’t help but think he must not have a plan. Until Lord Rhen reaches for another arrow, fingers closing around air. He’s fired every last one, defending himself from Bash’s air dive attempts.

Leaning back, I bring a finger up to cover a small smile curving my lips.

Bash pulls his sword from its sheath, tosses it in his hand, and flips it, making the screaming crowd rise. Sending the crowd a winning smile, he dives once again. Grabbing Lord Rhen by the arms, Bash propels upward and drops him onto an archer’s peak.

Furious, Lord Rhen snaps his bow in half, holding its pieces in two, the metal wire still connecting them. Spinning on his heel, Lord Rhen watches as Bash swerves toward him before swinging the mangled bow out. Lord Rhen leaps, wrapping the metal bowstring around Bash’s neck.

The entire arena holds its breath as they both fall.

Bash’s wings beat furiously, straining to carry the weight of two. His hands scramble to pull at the wire wrapped around his neck, his face reddening as he strains to breathe.

Lord Rhen grabs onto one of Bash’s wings, trying to pull himself more firmly onto the flailing Heir. The wing snaps, bending out of its normal shape, and the two plummet to the sandy pit.

Lord Rhen crashes to the ground atop Bash.

I can’t stifle my gasp at Lord Rhen’s mangled leg, his foot turned in the opposite direction.

Despite how it turns my stomach, Lord Rhen stands as if nothing has happened.

Bash, whose face is contorted deeply in pain, flails against the bowstring still wrapped around his neck as he reaches for his broken wing.

It’s completely opposite ends of the spectrum—Bash in utter agony while Lord Rhen looks as if he feels no pain at all.

Lord Rhen leans forward, pulling tightly against the bowstring, shouting, “Yield?”

Bash nods furiously, face redder than before.

Lord Rhen releases the bowstring, and Bash scrambles to remove it from around his throat, who gasps deeply when his airway opens. Leaning forward on his hands and knees, Bash sits before offering a hand in Lord Rhen’s directions.

They shake hands, and it’s an odd sight. One with a mangled leg, the other a broken wing. The crowd’s cheers reach a deafening level.

As Lord Rhen turns, holding his hands up in victory for the arena to see, two people rush onto the field. A man and a woman, each with blonde hair.

They separate, each taking one opponent. Healers, I realize.

Bash’s wing snaps into place, and he stands, opening and closing them. He nods a thanks to the healer before waving to the crowd as he treks off the sand.

Lord Rhen appears to argue with the healer before reluctantly allowing them to step forward to work on him. His leg returning from where it had been twisted 180 degrees in the wrong direction.

Lord Rhen waves on the cheers before shouting, “I challenge Evander. Heir of the Court of Truth.”

My body stiffens entirely at the sound of Evander’s name, and I look quickly to Lord Gennady. His calm face and eased composure do nothing to console my pounding heart.

Evander is going against Lord Rhen? Who beat Bash in the most brutal way—completely unfazed by his own pain?

Anxiety whirls in my stomach.

At the sight of Evander’s golden-brown hair making his way out onto the field, I grip my hands in front of me as if praying the battle will be over quick.

The healers run off the field as Evander struts over to where Lord Rhen stands. His gaze searches the seats, immediately locking in on the viewing booth where Lord Gennady and I sit. His stare not even hesitating over his father, Evander finds me.

When our eyes meet, he grins, showing off his perfect white teeth gleaming at me from across the arena.

I can barely bring myself to give him a half smile, worry clouding my excitement.

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