Page 84 of Reign

The sword-fighting men had dissipated faster than morning mist, and the worm coiled round, licking the air in search of the easiest target.

As I clambered to my feet, kicking salty particles into the sea breeze, I made my presence blindingly obvious.

The worm slithered across the sands like an eel of the land—a slight hiss reverberating in the back of its throat as it came for me.

I screamed, hitting a pitch higher than I ever had before. I knew that if I survived this, I’d face endless teasing about that noise in the smithy.

Without a weapon, I clenched my hands into tight fists. Then cowered behind my open palms. I’d never beat this beast. I prayed for a swift and painless death.

A yell, deeper and fiercer than the shrill I’d let out, echoed across the beach. I peered between my splayed fingers, glimpsing a silhouette—backlit by the skyglow reflecting off the silvery swells.

The figure charged my way, sword gleaming above his head.

Fitzroy slammed the pointy end toward the worm—it scarcely squirmed aside—the tip chipping into the dark and dense sands. Quickly, Fitzroy adjusted his grip, changing his tactic and striking the face of the beast. Sparks flew as his sharp sword clanged against the worm’s serrated teeth—a sound like scraping flint traveling across the beach and hitting my ears.

With one mighty lunge, the worm collided fiercely with the weapon, thwacking it out of Fitzroy’s grip and sending it hurtling into the air. It crashed against the ground in the near distance—my heartbeat faltered, fearing for Fitzroy’s life.

Without hesitation, Fitzroy darted after his weapon, with the worm clinging to his heel—slithering fast as its giant mouth snapped rabidly.

With ease, Fitzroy swooped his hand downward, snatching the hilt and reclaiming his sword.

My pulse thrummed—one moment from fear, the next in amazement—as he spun the blade with such speed it dazzled like a pinwheel.

Then, Fitzroy slashed forward, cleaving a chunk from the creature’s rubbery flesh.

The worm whimpered, blood staining the last flecks of gold sand as it curled in agony and fear.

In a merciless second strike, Fitzroy pierced straight through its veined head—and it cried no more.

He’d successfully vanquished the worm.

Fitzroy withdrew his blade, blood dripping from the tip. Without cleaning it, he slipped the sword back into its sheath, swaggering toward me with an air of nonchalance. Bravado oozed from his every pore, arrogance etched into his handsome face—proud that he’d successfully put his training into practice.

I almost wished the worm had ended my life and saved me from enduring his insufferable hubris.

The men, brave now the worm lay dead, closed in on their liege with cheers and hollers of admiration.

“I thought you were worm food, Smith,” Fitzroy teased, fists planted firmly on his hips—chest puffed out like a bird during mating season.

His men laughed, and Fitzroy fed off their adoration.

Luckily for the prince, one couldn’t get fat from a well-fed ego—because if he could, he’d be the largest man in the kingdom.

Before I could think of a witty rebuttal, two hands seized my shoulders and spun me around.

“Nia—”

“Brother!” I interrupted, throwing myself into Finn’s arms. “Are you all right?”

Finn pulled back, his eyes darting over my face to confirm it was truly me.

“I’m fine—I thought you were dead,” he said, brows furrowed in confusion. “What happened to your hair?” he asked, pinching the short lengths between his fingers.

My mind went blank, unsure of what to say, as I caught the sight of white locks bounding toward us.

“You took a tumble and a half!” Fletcher remarked, cackling at my misfortune.

Bash chuckled. “You’re not hurt, are you?” he asked, a flicker of concern in his eyes as he gripped my shoulder.