Trehan swung; Viktor blocked. Their swords connected, quaking in their hands.
"You're strong tonight," Viktor observed with approval. He venerated strength and relished violence.
Viktor was perpetually disappointed that their hidden kingdom afforded no chance for open conflict. As he'd once said while in his cups, "I'm the general of the world's proudest and most perfect army-one that will never go to battle."
Strike; swift parry. Slash; deflect.
"What is this I hear?" Viktor suddenly exclaimed. "Ah, Trehan, your heart beats! That's where this new strength hails from."
A vampire derived strength from age, Dacian blood, drinking straight from the flesh-and his blooding. "So it does." He didn't know if Viktor was blooded. His cousin utilized an old witch's spell to camouflage whether he had a heartbeat or not.
Trehan had a theory about that. . . .
"Where is your new Bride?" Viktor risked a glance past Trehan. "Why were you reading when I stole upon you?" A look of confusion followed. "Why are you not rutting her even now? Perhaps I'll find her sprawled across your bed with a soothing pack of ice between her legs?"
"You're crass." Another flash of his sword. "That's my Bride you speak of!"
Another parry. "Then where is she?"
"There were challenges inherent with her." He traced away from Viktor's charge, appearing feet away; the blade sliced the air where Trehan had just been.
"Tell all, Cousin!"
"It doesn't matter. She wouldn't be suitable for me." Bettina had her own realm to rule. She could scarcely be expected to live in this underworld with him.
She's in love with another.
"Did you claim her?" Viktor asked.
A sharp shake of his head. "And it's just as well. Once I take the throne-"
Chapter 9
"So certain you'll be king?" Slash.
Dodge. "Unfortunately, yes. You know I'm the logical choice."
He was the most qualified to rule, but in fairness, each of the contenders had strengths. Trehan had cultivated an order of trained assassins. Viktor controlled the military. Their cousin Stelian governed who entered or exited Dacia. The youngest male cousin, Mirceo, was the most beloved by the people and had a loyal ally in his little sister, Kosmina.
However, Trehan was the most "Dacian" of the royals, believing in this kingdom, like a religion.
"Ah, that vaunted Dacian logic," Viktor sneered, feinting a trace to the right, then striking to the left. With a well-timed block, Trehan deflected, but Viktor's leg shot up, booting Trehan in the stomach.
If Viktor wanted to fight dirty . . .
Between breaths, Trehan grated, "Perhaps you wouldn't resent that trait in others . . . if you weren't the most illogical of the family?" Like a blur, he swept down, kicking Viktor's legs out from under him.
Just before Viktor's back met the floor, he traced to his feet. "King Trehan? Never while I live."
They faced off once more. "You're too hostile and rash," Trehan said. "Mirceo's too self-absorbed and hedonistic, not to mention young. And Stelian is nearly too drunken to handle his responsibilities as gatekeeper."
"And you are too emotionless."
I haven't been tonight. Gazing down at Bettina's eyes, watching them glitter with need, Trehan had been filled with emotion. He hadn't been emotionless when he'd come in his Bride's soft hand. . . .
Distracted once more, he barely dodged Viktor's next strike.
"The people would wither under your stifling rule, Trehan. You are the sword of the kingdom, a cold, unfeeling blade."