Orrian and Prince Arron continue to struggle behind King Breyden as he approaches me. His mighty sword swings out towards my neck in one great arc. I recognise that I would never be able to block a strike that powerful and I crouch as the blade passes clean through the bedpost above me. I roll towards the door as the fabrics forming the roof of the bed frame collapse inwards.
I land on my feet as the king advances again. Meanwhile, Prince Arron has managed to force Orrian back into a corner and is attacking him relentlessly. As Orrian intercepts a strike from the colony’s heir, he powers his free fist into the man’s exposed cheek. The prince stumbles and now it is back to Orrian to lead the offense.
King Breyden swipes for my legs, I pull them out from beneath me and dive beneath his exposed side. He howls as I drive the tip of my blade deep into his armpit.
SMACK!
The colours in the room fade as the king backhands me with his sword arm. I throw myself against the door as sparks fly across my vision and the bedchamber tilts around me. Blood rushes in my ears and is accompanied by a high ringing. I can barely hear the rest of the room over the noise. My heart thumps aggressively against my chest.
King Breyden stands in the middle of the room, one hand holding onto his lowered sword whilst the other presses against his wound. Blood oozes between the metal fingers and trickles down his chainmail.
There’s a cry off to my right, Prince Arron is brought to the ground as Orrian’s sword pierces the back of his knee.
I use my sword to rise back to my feet, blinking rapidly as I try to clear the imaginary lights dancing around the room. King Breyden has placed his other hand back on the hilt, sweating profusely and already beginning to lose colour. He swings desperately, every move he makes is sluggish and off balance. I duck and roll between his attempts. I still don’t want to risk meeting the force of his blade and so I divert it off just enough to one side to miss.
Prince Arron shudders on the floor. Finally defeated.
King Breyden is slowing but still very much fighting. Orrian flies across the room and tackles him from behind, King Breyden manages to twist to one side and Orrian’s momentum carries him crashing into the bed. The young king’s head snaps back as he collides with the wooden frame.
The older king has a predatory look on his face as he prepares to put an end to his younger counterpart, releasing me from his attention as he turns to the greater threat. Orrian’s weapon has slid out of sight. He struggles to pull himself up with the quilts on the bed but no longer has the strength in his arms. He slumps back to the floor and faces his adversary.
King Breyden positions his hands over his shoulder as he aims the point downwards at Orrian. Orrian does not close his eyes or look away, he will look death in the face as he is taken.
I swing with one final effort.
The sword falls from King Breyden’s hands.
A crowned head leaves its golden body.
I hurtle into the wall opposite, unable to stop myself. The royals scream from their corner and Orrian kicks a body off him.
I did it. It’s over.
I stare into nothingness uncomprehending. Unable to accept what has finally happened. My vision finally clears and the roaring in my ears subsides. I am aware of my breathing, it’s fast, but I’m breathing. The deep gash in my side throbs more violently with each passing second, but I allow the pain to course through me. I am alive, King Breyden is dead, and I am alive.
Orrian is on his feet above. He extends his hand towards me and I let him pull me to my feet. He pulls me close and we lean into each other for support. The forest king’s head shifts by my ear and breathlessly whispers a single word.
“Akanian,” he says.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
Orrian eventually leaves me and bends down the other side of the bed. None of the royals dare challenge him, none of them will ever challenge us again. When he straightens, a jewel-encrusted crown hangs off his fingers.
“Damion,” I realise, he never entered after us.
Orrian follows as I stagger out of the large doors. The wreckage of the king’s guards bloodies the hallway before us. Six armour-clad bodies sprawl across the floor, their king will follow them into the next life.
A much smaller body lies among them, I kick a fallen soldier aside as I kneel by Damion. I pull him onto my lap as his eyelids flicker feebly, he hasn’t got long. One of the soldiers managed to cut him deep, his blood mixes with the soldiers’ to flood the floor beneath our feet.
His lips move slightly, I have to dip my head lower to make out the words.
“Did you do it?” he asks.
I can only nod as my tears mix with the crimson below. Once the first droplet falls, I know that I’ll be unable to contain the rest. I cry not only for Damion, but for everyone. The war is finally over, we can finally mourn.
“It’s ok, we can get you help,” I say, but we both know that my words are empty.
“Promise me. Look after my dad. Promise me,” the dying boy’s eyes well up.
“I promise Damion, always,” I say.
Damion closes his eyes.
They find us some time later.
Footsteps and shouts coming
