Page 119 of The Shrouded Queen
“Well, I’m First,” Keir countered, “and I’d rather not.”
“Back-to-back,” Sillia ordered.
Keir approached so that we were mere inches apart. I had to tilt my head all the way back to meet his sparkling gaze. In a voice so low, I almost missed it, he said, “Your heart’s going like a rabbit’s again, Majesty. Tell me why, and this stops.”
I ground my teeth hard enough to shatter them but said nothing. The truth would kill me as much as my silence. I had no choice. I had to do this.
He shrugged. “Suit yourself.” And he turned.
So did I, and when I pressed my back to his, my head cradled within his shoulder blades, my knees nearly gave out at the strength I felt there. Keir could snap me like a twig. It wouldn’t take any effort at all.
But I was trapped. Put here by my own stupidity.
We walked ten paces away from each other. Heart in my throat, I faced him again. The runes skirting down his jaw and throat made him look like he was salivating.
Sillia barked, “Begin.”
Keir pounced.
I’d always been fast. I was small and nimble, and when the adrenaline shot through my body, masking the pain in my leg and arms, that swiftness was the only explanation for why my head was still attached to my body.
Keir swung his axe at my torso, but I darted away, quick as the rabbit he often called me, and spun back around to see him coming at me a second time.
Again, I dodged him, swallowing a curse when my boots slipped on the icy ground and a dart of pain went through my leg.
Keir snarled in frustration. When I tried to jump away once more, he was ready. He swept his leg low, and I went sprawling face-first, my axe flying out of my hand and pain ricocheting through my body.
I turned onto my back just as he brought his blade down. With a yelp, I rolled out of the way. The large blade lodged into the ground exactly where my head had been.
Holy gods. He was trying to kill me.
“Keir, enough,” Velka called.
“Don’t interfere,” he snapped, and her mouth clamped shut. A primal obedience.
Keir stalked toward me, and I scuttled away on my hands until my back hit a tree. “Tell me why you won’t fight,” he said, and kicked my axe back to me. “Tell me and I’ll stop.”
I clutched the axe’s hilt and glanced from the tree to Keir, an idea flaring to life. I used the tree to heave myself up to my feet, pressing my back against it as I caught my breath.
“Have it your way,” Keir growled, and swung his blade right at my head.
I ducked.
The axe stuck in the bark.
Keir grunted as he struggled to pull it out.
I bolted out from under him and spun to smack the flat of my axe against his back—
His arm shot out, axe free, and slammed against mine.
The weapon flew from my hand, and I didn’t even have time to gasp before he poised his blade at my neck.
A tickle of pain and then a small bit of blood trailed down my throat. Just a scratch.
I didn’t move.
Keir bore down on me, yellow eyes wild and hungry, just like they’d been that night in the palace, just like the Lunar Feast. He was breathing hard—whether with exertion or restraint, I wasn’t sure. With a small flick of his wrist, he could slit my throat.
