Chapter 9 - Blood and Silver
Chaos erupted inside the rotting hunting lodge in a fraction of a second.
Lord Vane’s mercenaries lunged forward with drawn blades, their eyes gleaming with murderous intent. But they had severely underestimated their targets.
King Rowan moved with terrifying, blinding speed. His heavy broadsword cleaved through the air with a deafening crash of steel against steel, parrying the first mercenary’s strike and sending him crashing backward through a wooden partition.
Another mercenary lunged from the side, aiming a vicious slash toward Rowan’s flank.
Before Rowan could pivot, a flash of silver movement darted past him. Quinn—acting on an instinct she didn't know she possessed—ducked under the attacker’s swing, swept her foot out with astonishing precision, and sent the mercenary crashing hard against the stone hearth.
Rowan caught her eye for a split second, a mixture of utter shock and profound pride flashing across his striking features. "I told you to stay back!" he shouted over the clash of steel.
"I'm not standing back while someone tries to kill us!" Quinn retorted, dodging a clumsy swing from a third attacker and driving the butt of a heavy wooden torch squarely into his chest.
Lord Vane, realizing his men were being overwhelmed by the king's unmatched combat prowess and Quinn’s unexpected agility, snarled with fury. He drew a heavy, jagged dagger from his belt and lunged directly toward Quinn, bypassing Rowan entirely in a desperate bid to eliminate the sword's chosen wielder.
"Look out!" Rowan roared, pivoting instantly.
But Quinn didn't panic. As Vane closed in with the jagged blade raised high, she dropped low, rolled across the ash-covered floorboards, and kicked upward with all her might, striking Vane’s knee.
The mercenary lord cried out in pain, stumbling off balance.
Before he could recover, Rowan closed the distance like an apex predator. With a single, devastating sweep of his heavy gauntlet, Rowan struck Vane across the jaw, sending the traitor crashing unconscious onto the floor beside the scattered maps.
Within moments, the dust settled. The mercenaries were either unconscious or disarmed, groaning in pain against the wooden walls.
Marisel Vance stood frozen near the stone hearth, her face entirely drained of color, her aristocratic composure completely shattered. She stared at Quinn, who stood tall amidst the smoke and ash, breathing heavily, her gray dress stained with soot, but her posture unyielding and fierce.
"C-conspiracy..." Marisel stammered, backing away until her spine hit the stone chimney. "You have no proof that—"
Rowan stepped forward, his broadsword resting casually over his shoulder, his alpha scent radiating an oppressive, inescapable aura of authority.
"We heard every word, Marisel," Rowan said, his voice dangerously quiet. "And the stolen archivist journals recovered from Vane's saddlebags outside will make very interesting reading for the high council tomorrow morning."
Marisel’s knees buckled. She sank slowly to the floor, realizing her ambitions, her family name, and her freedom had all gone up in smoke.
Rowan turned his attention to Quinn. He sheathed his sword, stepping over the debris to stand before her. His gaze was soft, filled with an intense, raw admiration that stripped away every layer of royal protocol.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, his hand gently reaching out to brush a smudge of soot from her cheek.
May you like
Quinn looked up into his pale, striking eyes, feeling her heart race not from fear, but from something entirely different. She leaned slightly into his touch, shaking her head. "No. I'm okay."
Rowan let out a long breath, pulling her gently against his chest in a protective, grounding embrace. For the first time since she had walked into the Hall of the First King carrying a bucket of water, Quinn felt completely, truly safe.
