The Great Hall had become a war zone.
Steel clashed.
Shields splintered.
The cries of wounded soldiers echoed beneath the towering vaulted ceiling.
Nobles fled toward the exits, tripping over overturned benches and abandoned banners.
The coronation had become a m******e.
⸻
Julian wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth.
“So…”
He smiled darkly.
“The cripple learned how to fight.”
Alistair lowered his sword.
“You should know.”
“You created me.”
Their blades collided once again.
Julian attacked wildly.
Alistair answered with calm precision.
Every strike forced Julian farther across the dais.
For the first time in years…
The younger prince realized he could lose.
⸻
Across the hall, Sir Roland barked orders.
“Protect the Chancellor!”
“Don’t let the royal seal fall!”
