Saving the Immortal

Chapter Forty-Five: Second Queen

I could not sleep, my mind turning over every consequence of the coming contest, the particular horror of imagining Ruselon exhausting himself against three brothers who had spent their entire lives preparing for exactly this moment while he had spent his trying only to avoid it.

I could not simply allow him to fight alone, to wear himself thin against odds so plainly stacked against fairness. I needed to understand what preparations his brothers had truly made, what weaknesses might exist that could be turned to his advantage, and I decided, foolishly perhaps, that seeking Delia out under cover of darkness might yield some useful intelligence.

I did not find Delia.

I found Fennick instead, alone in the corridor near his own chambers, and something in his expression the moment he saw me told me immediately this encounter would offer nothing useful at all.

"Princess," he said, his voice carrying the particular oily confidence of a man who believed his coming victory already assured. "Wandering the corridors so late. Should I be concerned for your virtue, given how thoroughly my brother's temper has been tested of late?"

"I have no interest in speaking with you," I said, turning to leave.

He caught my arm.

"You should be considerably more careful how you address me," he said, his grip tightening, "given what is coming. Ruselon will not survive this contest, Princess. He has never possessed the stomach for true ruthlessness, whatever power his blood grants him. When I claim that throne, you would do well to remember precisely who holds authority over your fate."

"I would rather die," I said, my fury overtaking whatever caution remained, "than acknowledge any authority you hold over me."

Something ugly crossed his features.

"Watch your actions," he said, his voice dropping lower now, "so that I might spare your life. Perhaps, if you prove properly obedient, I might even make you my second queen once Ruselon has been dealt with."

I slapped him.

The sound of it cracked sharply through the empty corridor, and I watched his expression shift from smug confidence into genuine fury.

"Even if you were the last man upon this earth," I said, spitting the words at him with every ounce of contempt I possessed, "I would rather die than be with you."

His grip on my wrist tightened suddenly, cruelly, twisting until pain shot up my arm and I gasped despite every effort to maintain my composure.

"You will regret that," he said, his voice low and dangerous now, all pretense of civility gone entirely.

Ruselon appeared like the wind itself.

One moment Fennick's grip was tightening cruelly around my wrist, and the next Ruselon had crossed that corridor with a speed that defied any explanation, slamming Fennick against the stone wall with a single, aggressive punch that cracked the plaster behind his brother's skull.

"Touch her again," Ruselon said, his voice carrying a fury I had rarely heard even from him, "and I will not simply wait for the contest to decide your fate. I will end it myself, right here, without any regard for custom or ceremony whatsoever."

Fennick stared at him, blood already trickling from his lip, genuine fear finally breaking through his earlier confidence.

"You were asleep," he managed. "How did you—"

"I felt her fear," Ruselon said simply. "Across every corridor of this palace. Did you truly believe I would not know the moment you laid hands upon my wife?"

He released Fennick, letting his brother slide down the wall, and turned to me immediately, his hands gentle now despite the violence he had just displayed, checking my wrist with careful concern.

"Are you harmed," he said quietly.

"I am well enough," I said, though the bruise already forming told a slightly different story.

"You should not have come here alone," he said, though his voice carried worry rather than anger toward me. "Ivy, whatever you sought to accomplish—"

"I could not simply do nothing," I said, tears finally breaking free now that the danger had passed. "I could not lie awake thinking of you fighting three brothers who have spent their entire lives preparing for this, while offering nothing myself but helpless waiting."

He pulled me against him, holding me carefully, his eyes still cutting warily toward Fennick where his brother remained slumped against the wall.

"You do enough simply by surviving each day," he said quietly. "By being here, by believing in me the way no one else in this family ever has. I do not require you to fight my battles, Ivy. I require only that you stay safe until I have finished them."

"I cannot promise to simply wait quietly," I admitted.

"I know," he said, something almost fond entering his voice despite everything. "It is, I think, one of the many reasons I have come to love you so completely."

Behind us, Fennick finally stirred, spitting blood onto the stone floor, his earlier confidence entirely shattered.

"This is not finished," he said, though his voice carried considerably less certainty now.

"No," Ruselon agreed, guiding me away from his brother with a protective arm still wrapped firmly about me. "It is not. But it will be finished on my terms, Fennick, not yours. Remember that, whatever else you believe about the coming days."

We walked back toward our chambers together, my wrist aching, my heart still racing, and I understood, more clearly than ever, precisely how dangerous the days ahead would truly prove to be for us both.