Kaleo’s swords slammed down onto his own, sending the audience into madness.
“The Artist defends his competition!” Wembleton said.
Tobias staggered to his feet, lunging for Kaleo again and again, trying to make contact with his unscathed body. Still Kaleo deflected each attempt, his movements effortless in a way that chilled Tobias to the bone—almost as much as his smile, which was laced with something new. Something angry.
“All right, Artist,” Kaleo spat. “I’ve enjoyed our little back-and-forth, but I’ve got coin to collect, and your heroics are starting to bore me. It’s time for you die, wouldn’t you agree?”
Jab after jab came Tobias’s way, each one carrying more strength. The next swing nearly knocked the sword from his hands, and the one after sent him stumbling through the sand. Don’t falter. But Kaleo was crushing him, and Tobias felt himself slipping, more worn with each assault. Remember your purpose.
A slash tore through his ribs, and all his thoughts turned red.
Tobias grabbed at the deep gash. Hot blood crept down his fingers, validating his fears—that despite his efforts, he was failing.
“Do you see that?” Kaleo said. “Your body betrays you. You’re losing steam.”
Tobias dove toward him, but Kaleo swatted his weapon away, laughing. “Your effort is noble, but you’re simply biding your time, and wasting mine.”
The next crack was ear-piercing, and Tobias gritted his teeth, holding firm. Kaleo leaned in closer. “And please forgive my poor manners, but I must insist that you hurry the fuck up and die. For God’s sake, I haven’t got all day.”
Tobias growled, “I will kill you.”
“No. You won’t.”
He swiped Tobias in the ribs yet again. The marks were piling up, and Kaleo reveled in it.
“You die here. On this day, by my hand.” His eyes shrank into slits. “And once I’m through with you and that tart of a Prince, I will make my way back to Leila’s chamber, and I will fuck her, and I will kill her. And there won’t be anyone standing in my way.”
Kaleo’s elbow hurtled toward Tobias’s nose, and a throbbing pain burst through his skull, collapsing him.
The arena swirled around him. Digging his fingers into the sand, he tried to prop himself up, to think. My sword—he had dropped it. He opened his eyes, his vision a blur of stone walls, charging feet, and Kaleo’s swords ready to tear him in two.
Then Flynn slid in front of him, his sword in hand.
The clank of steel awoke Tobias, forcing him to his feet. Flynn and Kaleo battled across the arena, but it wasn’t long before the Lord began to buckle.
“Flynn!” Tobias darted behind Kaleo. “The sword!”
Flynn tossed the sword his way. Kaleo spun around, amused, and Tobias brandished his weapon, deflecting blow after blow.
“The Prince and the Artist fight as one!” Wembleton announced.
The roar of the crowd surged through Tobias, fueling him. He and Flynn passed the sword between each other, taking turns against their shared rival—the man who had tried to claim both their lives. The moment was a dance, each step and swing purposeful, and though Kaleo evaded every jab, the delight faded from his eyes. He was worried.
Flynn tossed Tobias their sword once more, and for the first time he felt it belonged in his hand. Kaleo lunged forward, but Tobias wove around him, slicing him swiftly across his scarred arm.
“The Shepherd is marked!”
The audience waved their banners wildly, but Tobias paid them no mind, consumed by the slow burn in his chest. His arm swung unconsciously, swiping Kaleo across the chest, his thoughts swimming with the Beast’s words. I will fuck her, and I will kill her. His rage erupted, and he ducked beneath Kaleo’s assault, ramming his pommel into his nose.
Kaleo stumbled backward, blood spouting from his nostrils, and he dropped his second sword. Sliding through the sand, Tobias snatched up the weapon.
“The Artist gains advantage!”
His fingers curled around his two swords. Flynn faded into the background, as did the audience, the pain. All he saw was Kaleo.
Kill him.
The fight commenced, both men wielding a strength that nearly shook the arena. Death became Tobias’s focus, the thought of chaos a pleasure when it had once been a torment. Tobias maneuvered both swords, filling the space between them with sharpened steel, and his insides surged with victory as soon as he felt impact; the tip of his sword stuck into Kaleo’s gut, wedged if only partially in his flesh.
Kaleo wrapped his fingers around Tobias’s blade, the edge digging into his hand as he