Crown of Feathers (Book 2 of the Crown Trilogy)

Twenty

Leif paces around the trunk of the massive oak tree resting on the sideline of the sparring ring, his heavy steps wearing a circle in the grass. He tugs on his sandy hair and exhales with such force I swear the earth rumbles beneath me. "This ingenious plan of yours has a high probability of backfiring. One side will feel like they are fighting for the stronger ruler and the other will question their loyalty to the weaker."

I remove my jacket, hand it to Wel, and roll up the sleeves of my tunic. "Kyron will figure out how to deal with his loss and regain the respect of his warriors."

Ulric snickers, and Leif rolls his eyes, saying, "Are you sure you can beat him? Not that long ago you stood in this same position, and he walked away with the win."

Gone is Leif's charming dimples or the playful spark always glinting in his eyes. My best friend is worried. It's not my safety he frets about, but my ability to pull this off and the pushback I will receive if I lose. He has spent months fearing I was battling a crumbling state of mind, and the idea that I will have to fight to redeem myself as a worthy leader doesn't sit well with him. He fears the stress following the sparring match will be more than I can handle.

"I was simply full of ambition back then. Now, I'm a trained killer." I bump into Leif with my hip. "Stop worrying, you're going to wrinkle your handsome face."

He runs his palm over his forehead, smoothing his skin.

"If anyone can kick Kyron's ass, it's Elle. Tell me you don't want to see her wipe the smug look off his face, Captain Stone," Greer says, her face alight with the possibility of seeing the man who was once her best friend at my mercy.

Leif's lips quirk up, and his hazel gaze meets mine. "I know she can, and it would give me satisfaction to see him squirming. But I don't trust the asshole."

"Elle, are you ready to start?" Terro calls from the center of the ring.

I give Leif two solid claps on the shoulder, and Ulric hands me a wooden sword fashioned like the one I carry from my father.

"I'm confident you know what to do, nanny goat."

"Kick his ass," I say, shoving my real sword and scabbard against his chest.

"That would be it," he says, with a bright smile shining through his red beard.

I cross the field, pretending I don't notice the troves of onlookers. They hold coins above their heads, summoning those who are collecting the bets. Lucent and Stigian alike banter back and forth, laughing at the ridiculous claims of the other side. If my plan goes awry, I can rest assured the spirit of gambling has brought the conflicting sides together.

Kyron and I stand on either side of Terro. The prince lowers his chin and gives me a crooked smile. I respond by squaring my shoulders and holding his gaze. He won't charm or intimidate me. I've prepared for this moment.

"You know the rules," Terro says, holding open the burlap sack of red dust for us to dip our sparring swords in.

"That there are no rules?" I say, coating the blade and taking a step back.

Terro's eyes grow big, and he shakes his head. "There is a rule. The first one to strike a vital organ wins."

Kyron and I nod, and Terro walks off the field.

"Are you sure your guard is all right with you doing this?" Kyron asks.

I turn and scan the sidelines where Leif, Greer, and the others stand. Zek stands front and center with his arms crossed over his broad chest and his blue eyes trying to burn a hole through the Stigian prince. I can't help but wonder if I complicated matters with my carelessness last night, or if he is just watching out for me.