Your turn.”
Without a word, Garrick flung his blade at Flynn’s face.
Flynn lurched to the side, dodging the blade as it whizzed past and stuck into a tree. He spun toward Garrick. “You bloody cock, did you really just try to kill me?” He glanced at Tobias and Raphael. “Did you see that? He tried to kill me!”
Garrick ignored Flynn, shouldering past him and heading onto the field.
“You dirty shit.” Flynn hurried after him. “I’m talking to you, you know!”
“God, here we go,” Raphael muttered.
Tobias followed the pair onto the field. The stations appeared in the distance, the Proctor and Pippa waiting between them, but they vanished behind thrashing limbs as Flynn pounced onto Garrick’s back, toppling him to the ground.
“Give me that rose!” he barked.
“Get off me, you lousy cunt!”
The two rolled through the field, swinging their fists. Tobias winced as Garrick pummeled Flynn’s nose, then again as Flynn kneed him in the groin; so much theater, and for what? “You guys—”
“Give me the fucking rose!”
“Oh, I’ll give you something, but it won’t be the rose!”
Others emerged from the forest, laughing at the commotion. “You’re making fools of yourselves,” Tobias said.
“Unhand me!”
“Shut up!”
Before Tobias could curse their idiocy, that speck of pink stole his attention—the rose, bent and discarded on the field, an afterthought as the two men clobbered one another. It was the perfect opportunity—the rose was right there, free to steal—yet it was one he didn’t want. Someone take it. Someone notice it and take it.
As if summoned by his thoughts, Bjorne came bumbling from the woods. Casually plucking a few leaves from his wiry chest hair, he watched the two brawling men like everyone else—until his eyes fell on the mangled rose.
Thank God.
Bjorne waddled past the brawl and scooped up the rose, heading for their station before Flynn and Garrick realized what had happened. Raphael rushed to Tobias’s side, watching as their final teammate scuttled off to their pedestal, and a shared relief washed over them.
“Keep going, Bjorne!” Tobias called out.
“Run!” Raphael said.
The two cheered him on as he broke into an unwieldy trot. Some of the opposing team had taken notice; Orion laughed at the edge of the woods, while Flynn chased after Bjorne, jumping onto his back only to tumble to the ground. Kaleo flung his blade at the man, sending it sticking into his shoulder, but still Bjorne scampered along, unfazed. The end was nearly in sight—and then Drake emerged from the woods, his blade curled in his fist.
Tobias’s chest tightened. “Bjorne! Behind you!”
Bjorne stopped in his tracks and looked over his shoulder, staring back at Tobias in confusion.
“Behind you!”
A half second later, Drake threw his arm around Bjorne’s gut, digging his blade deep into his belly and slicing it straight across.
Gravity took over, and Bjorne fell face-first to the ground. Drake snatched the rose from the grass and meandered away, while Tobias and the rest of his team darted across the field, staggering to a halt beside their fallen member.
“Bjorne?” Tobias shook his shoulder.
“Is he dead?” Raphael asked.
“Oh please, he’s not dead, the man can’t die,” Garrick said.
A grunt sounded from beneath Bjorne’s massive body. Eagerly, the three grabbed his arms, trying to hoist him upright, though he remained flat. They pulled again, digging their heels into the dirt, but still he didn’t budge. Orion and Flynn joined the group, and the five men heaved with all of their strength until Bjorne finally rose to his feet.
His entrails tumbled out of his opened gut, splattering onto the grass.
“Uh-oh,” he said.
He fell flat on his face, this time atop his innards, while the men around him stood slack-jawed and stupefied.
“Bjorne?” Flynn croaked.
But there was nothing. Just silence.
“Good God…” Garrick mumbled.
The challenge. Drake still strutted across the field, the rose in hand. Upon reaching his station, he glared at the opposing team, dropping the tattered rose into the black vase.
“Shirts win the challenge with the Dragon as victor,” the Proctor announced. “Your reward awaits you in the following days.”
Drake ignored the Proctor, his glare set on the slew of skins.
“The challenge is over,” the Proctor said. “Back to the palace.”
Tobias hesitated, eyes locked on the body at his feet. Another man dead. It chilled him, how accustomed he’d become to the bloodshed, and even worse was the steely gaze Drake was throwing his way. He headed for the palace, tearing his shirt from the Proctor’s grasp as he passed, but Drake’s stare followed him like a shadow.
Except Drake wasn’t staring at him at all; he