But now she realized the depth of Stellan’s “predicament,” as he had called it. Her falling in love with the heir to the throne of the Western Wastes spun dizzying ramifications, none of them good. In fact, they were downright awful. Regardless of Stellan’s origins, her love remained true–even if he despised her. However, there was still the daunting issue of her father.
“You,” her father spat out, “you are the spawn of the maniacal demon of the Wastes.”
“Yes,” Stellan replied calmly. “I am the son of the Black Mage and a descendent of the people your kind pushed out into the wastes to die a dog’s death all those years ago. I am also the only hope you have of survival if we act together.”
The King gripped his armrests. “Why would you do this?” he said. “Why break with your brother warlocks?”
“Because, Your Majesty, contrary to what you and your people may believe, we are not all alike. I have no intention to stand idly by while thousands of your people are slaughtered, even if that is what you believe of me.”
Silence fell over the room as the King stared at him intently. A number of his advisors dove forward, clamoring for his ear. Hushed whispering echoed throughout the court. Clarysa strained her ears but couldn’t hear anything.
The King waved them away. “So what, exactly, do you propose?”
“An alliance.”
Again came the excited gasps as everyone began talking earnestly among themselves. Clarysa bit back a squeal of excitement. Had her brief friendship with Stellan truly helped make a difference?
The King held up a hand for silence, but before he could speak, Edward leaped down from the dais.
“An alliance for what, pray tell? So you can spy for the Black Mage and the rest of those necromancers?” Edward squared off, facing him. “I find it highly curious you always seem to make an appearance whenever there’s an attack.” He turned and smiled coldly at the King. “A mere coincidence?”
Clarysa groaned. You idiot! That’s not true and you know it!
Edward spun around pointed a finger at Stellan. “Why not answer, warlock? After all, it was you who chased those monstrosities here. You planted them so you could turn around and play the hero.” Edward’s voice turned menacingly low. “I know what you’ve really come for, pauper, and you shan’t have her.”
“Edward!” her father bellowed. Next to him, her mother frowned.
But he ignored them. “We don’t require your tedious superstitions or childish parlor tricks. Leave here at once!”
Stellan stayed rooted to the spot, looking sardonically amused. “I came to offer the King my aid, and the King has yet to answer. Do you seek to supplant his rule so soon?”
Edward bared his teeth at the cutting remark, one that perhaps hit entirely too close to home. “You dare defy me in my father’s court?”
“Yes, I do, for the sake of those who aren’t such fools.”
In a flash, Edward drew his sword. Stellan did the same. A face-off erupted between the two. The crowd turned restless.
The pair began encircling each other, mongoose and cobra. Guards looked urgently to the King for instruction, waiting for his command to intervene, but he merely watched the men with a torn expression.
Edward thrust forward, a move Stellan airily deflected. Faster and faster their swords clashed, a blur of clinking metal and arcing limbs. Each a master of swordplay, each intent on defeating his opponent. Other audience members rushed forward, forming a circle about the two. Soon, the number of onlookers swelled to fill the room.
Oh, no! Clarysa ran from her post. Once on the first floor, she bounded into the court from a side entrance. Pushing aside bodies, she shouted at the top of her lungs. “Stop it, Edward. Don’t!” But they seemed not to hear her. She had to find a way to stop them before either was seriously injured. But how?
A sword? No. A shield? Clarysa quickly dismissed the idea, for she had never been allowed to train and would be hopeless at wielding one. But there must be something I can do! Fear seized her heart as Edward became more and more vicious in his attacks, his features twisted into pure bloodlust. If Stellan’s blood were spilled…
Clarysa couldn’t bear to finish the thought. She headed for the fray. A guard grabbed her arm, but she shook him off and charged ahead. She dove between the dueling pair as Edward angled forward with another thrust.
Cursing, he compensated with a side step, but his sword tip tore her right sleeve in two. Clarysa grunted as the resulting injury burned a streak of painful fire up her arm.
Edward glared. “Get out of the way, you fool!”
Clarysa raised a fist. “Not until I’ve knocked some sense into your head!”
Her brother hesitated but briefly. “Very well. Side with the devil warlock then!” Edward drew back his sword for an imminent death stroke.
“That is enough!” The King’s voice boomed. “Edward, Clarysa, you will stand down at once!”
A contingent of guards flew between them. Edward backed off but not without hurling a scowl toward Stellan. Clarysa glared at her brother, arm still raised, her chest heaving. “You may be firstborn, but you had no right to threaten him. I am so sick of your judgmental, arrogant–”
Something tightened about her wrist. Ironclad. It was a hand. Stellan’s hand. His intense green eyes poured into hers, and her anger melted away. Clarysa opened her clenched fist slowly and lowered her arm.
She stared at him, oblivious to the guards surging around them like a restless tide. “Prince Stellan, on behalf of the Aldebaran royal court, I apologize deeply for the threat to your life. Are you all right?”
Stellan nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. Then he gasped, and seized her right arm. “You’re hurt!”
Clarysa glanced down. A trickle of blood seeped from