One Heart

3. Mark of the heir

Kensie

The room was too small for this kind of fight. Too much could go wrong with Sorah sitting only a few paces away, protected only by some wood and plasterboard.

Alyssa circled Kensie, her predatory glare hidden beneath her lowered brow. "It seems even time hasn't worn down your typical Ducall arrogance. You really do think highly of yourself, don't you?"

"Shouldn't I?" Kensie waited with a patience she'd honed since she was a child. Let the enemy make the first move, give them time to doubt themselves. Alyssa's heartbeat fluttered while her own remained still. She could smell the fear. The rage.

The next move was predictable. Alyssa launched herself at Kensie. Her first mistake was leading with her arms—as if to strangle—which were knocked to the side with ease. The second, was in underestimating her opponent. An error almost all Kensie's enemies made.

"Sorah is mine," Alyssa growled. "You're not even here for her, are you? You're here for her mother."

"It doesn't matter, I'm sworn to protect any in my queen's line, whether it be her daughter or granddaughter. I can't let you take her."

"Your dead queen, you mean." Alyssa scoffed. "I think you're free of your oath, somehow, don't you?"

The taunt jabbed at Kensie but she reigned in her emotions, drawing in a deep breath to centre herself. Control. It's what she did best. "I will protect all and any of Isha's descendants as long as my heart still beats."

"Then let's put a stop to that," Alyssa said, throwing herself forward. Kensie anticipated the move, rolling them back so that they landed on the floor, her on top, where she threw two blows to the face with her right hand.

Three more punches flew from Kensie's fists out of pure rage. In all her years she'd never let go, never been anything but controlled. But now, something in her broke. She couldn't let Alyssa get her hands on Sorah, and the fear drove her to heights of uncharacteristic fury.

All in the Kahahn line were the enemy. Though Alyssa had been only a child when her father had killed Isha, she still represented the name. Still followed their ideology. Was still a threat to the crown and to humanity. Always would be.

Another punch, and blood spattered up onto Kensie's face and clothes. She could go for days—Alyssa would live as long as her head remained attached to her body, and continue to heal as long as her spinal column remained intact.

Alyssa flew a punch, striking Kensie in the jaw with a right hook before showing her aside. "I didn't expect that at all," she said, spitting blood onto the floor. "I guess you're not as much of an ice-queen as I'd thought. Who'd have thought Kensie Ducall had a temper... or even emotions for that matter." She tore her gaze away, inspecting the window to her left. The two-storey jump wouldn't be a challenge.

Kensie couldn't do a thing but watch as Alyssa got away.

***

The sounds of battle ceased and all Sorah could hear was the sound of her own breathing. She stopped her count and waited. Eighty. She had counted to Eighty, and now she wondered who could be on the other side of the door. Enemy, or friend?

A ray of light peeked through the crack in the door prompting Sorah to jerk her knees to her chest in fear.

"It's me," Kensie said.

The room was flooded with light now as Sorah peered through the long coats to see Kensie on one knee at the entrance to the wardrobe. She was covered in blood. "You're hurt."