Villainous [Wattys 2021 Shortlist]

8: Inner Demons

The sun beamed down, bright and blinding. The amphitheatre was packed with bodies – everyone had turned up to see the royals fight. News had spread like wildfire. Delilah had turned her challenge into a performance the night before: getting up out of her seat, throwing her goblet of wine across the long table, and interrupting the important, large dinner by announcing she wanted to kill her brother. She'd thought she was so clever.

Now she was sweating bullets, the sword slippery in her hands as the townspeople roared for her blood. She seethed silently. Of course they were taking Marko's side.

Marko had shaved the sides of his head for the duel, tying his hair back in the traditional warrior's way. Delilah had trained with the sword, but Marko had actually seen battle.

She lunged, feet kicking up sand as she made a clumsy stab. Marko sidestepped her and blocked.

"Please, Lila," he whispered, his amber eyes round with fear. "I don't want to hurt you."

"Liar," she spat, and lunged again. He dodged, dancing around her, playing with her like a cat playing with its food. She stumbled and felt her face burn hot as the crowd jeered. She was making a fool of herself.

One quick stab, that's all she needed. She could do this. He didn't even want to attack her – she could get away with a scratch and nothing more.

Gaol watched impassively from the royal box. Beside him, Delilah's uncle was looking thunderous – probably because, for the first time, his puppet had done something without consulting him first.

You don't own me, Uncle.

Delilah bared her teeth and swung with both hands gripping the hilt. She felt the tip nick Marko's chest as he dodged too late – she saw blood. It looked too bright, almost artificial.

She'd done it – she'd drawn blood. Now to finish the job.

"Don't just stand there, fight me!" she roared as she charged at him. She had been born for today. Her entire life had led up to this moment. She hoped they'd announce her as the new heir as soon as Marko died.

Marko's sword swung up to deflect hers – his mouth was open, face creased with pain.

Delilah stumbled. He'd knocked her sword out of the way easily. The blade sank into her flesh.

Her entire life had fragmented before she'd even hit the floor. She was screaming, screaming, and the rules stated Marko had to slit her neck and finish her off there and then – his sword was blindingly bright as he lifted it –

It plunged into the sand beside her head.

"Delilah – sister," Marko gasped, dropping to his knees. She barely saw him. Her vision swam; her blood was turning the sand dark red.

She couldn't speak, the pain was so bad.

Dying. I'm dying.

"Don't kill her!" Gaol shouted from somewhere out of sight.

"The rules – the Ancient Rules – they cannot be broken!" someone replied.

There was an uproar around her. Feet trampled the sand. The crowd seemed to be joining the arena, surging at her – she caught a hazy glimpse of them with murder and bloodlust in their eyes.

Then soldiers. Many, many soldiers.

Delilah passed out.

*