The Prince's Bargain - K.M. Shea Page 0,90

chill climbed up her back. “What do we do?”

“We try to hold out until help comes.” Arvel offered Myth a dagger, but he didn’t take his eyes off the men, who started circling them.

Myth glanced from the brigands to the balcony of the second floor, and was relieved to see no one lurked there.

He’s right. We can survive this. Myth wasn’t actually certain if it was true, but she was going to make it be so.

Something big slammed into the Celebration Hall doors, and the entire doorway buckled.

The men closest to the entrance jumped and gazed at it as the doors rattled with impact, their panels creaking ominously.

“Don’t just stand there—reinforce it!”

The swordsmen Arvel had evaded rushed to reinforce the door, pushing heavy furniture in front of it.

It was then that Myth spotted a man standing with his back to the windows of the Celebration Hall, his features cast in shadows.

Arvel’s expression was unreadable, but his voice was hard when he spoke. “Haven’t you had enough punishment yet?”

Lord Julyan laughed as he took his time approaching them, stopping at the ring his men created around them. “I’m hurt, Arvel. You won’t even call me uncle anymore?” He fixed his grip on the hilt of his bared sword, which seemed to glow in the dull afternoon light, and smiled brightly.

Arvel narrowed his eyes. “Not when you’re contemplating my murder.”

“Ahh, yes. Well, you have forced my hand. But it doesn’t have to end in blood, as long as you revoke the punishment you’ve inflicted on our family.”

Myth gripped the borrowed dagger and watched the men slowly closing ranks around her and Arvel.

Like the assailants in the gardens, they were masked—except for Lord Julyan—and they were armed with short swords, although a third of them had spears.

Spears, a weapon made so the fighter can keep their distance. They planned for Arvel’s skill with the dagger.

“The Fultons deserved the sentence. If I had my way, I’d strip you of your title,” Arvel bluntly said.

Lord Julyan shrugged. “I don’t deny we deserve it, but I still take offense to it. You’ve cut off our only livelihood.”

“You’re still free to trade locally.”

“Locally? There’s no money in that,” Lord Julyan sneered. “And it’s a pitiful market—nothing can come of it. There’s no way to use it.”

“And that’s the crux, is it?” Arvel tilted his head, listening as the doors bulged from the Honor Guards’ onslaught. “You want power, but you’ve proven yourself unworthy. I’m determined that you won’t have it.”

“You can be as determined as you like,” Lord Julyan said. “But you’ll also be dead.”

Arvel raised an eyebrow. “At least I’d take you and the festering family down with me.”

Myth wanted to elbow Arvel for the gruesome thought, but she didn’t want to risk distracting him, and the air was so tense she wasn’t sure she could have moved if she wanted to.

“True,” Lord Julyan blithely agreed. “And she’ll fall with you.” He raised his sword, using it to point at Myth.

Ah. He is using the High Elf sword that was on display in his house, Myth noticed with a fuzzy sort of detachment as she studied the sword pointed at her.

The wing-like adornments forged around the hilt were very distinctive, and though she wasn’t close enough to read the inscription on the blade, she recognized the Elvish script and the symbols High Elves used in their magic.

Arvel stiffened. When he moved closer to her, briefly brushing against her, she could feel the tensed bunch of his muscles. “She’s a translator and an elf,” he said. “She’s innocent in this.”

Lord Julyan smirked. “Hardly. I know it was she who fetched my private ledgers.”

He peered in her direction, seeming to expect a reply.

Thankfully, while Myth’s knees were starting to shake, she was able to speak with a shocking amount of calmness. “You were the one foolish enough to leave records of your illegal activities out in the open.”

Lord Julyan peeled his lips back in an angry sneer.

“She has a point,” Arvel added.

“You…” Lord Julyan growled.

He was interrupted when one of the men reinforcing the door yelped in surprise as a battle ax bit through the wood.

Thad and his men had managed to crack the door with whatever they were using as a battering ram. Now they were making short work of the door, ripping it apart with a surprising amount of speed.

“We can’t hold them back—” The man standing closest to the door cut off with a squeak when an Honor Guard reached through, grabbed him by the