The Rebel Prince (The Season Series #3)

Chapter 23 - Part 2

He was cut off as she slid the blade across his throat as well.

"Stop!" I shouted, swinging down from my saddle to run after her across the swaying grasses. When I touched her shoulder in an attempt to stop her, she whirled on me, throwing my arm away and slamming me square in the chest with the hilt of her sword, hard enough that I stumbled backwards into the blood-slicked grasses.

"Stay out of this," she snarled, blood speckling the scars on her face. Something ferocious and feral lurked in her eyes, before she turned on her heel and ended the life of another dying soldier.

"Is this what you do? You kill your fellow countrymen even when they're begging for mercy?" I demanded, struggling to my feet.

"If you have a problem with my orders," she said, wiping her blade on her trousers as she scanned the field for more survivors, "Take it up with Frederico."

"This is madness. Madness and murder," I snapped, shaking my head. She scoffed.

"What a lovely life you must lead, idiota, to never have been forced to fight like this before," she all but spat, coupled with a glare that mother would've been proud of. Her predatory gaze darted to the side as one of the dying soldiers let out a cough. Setting her jaw, she strode towards him, but I drew my sword, stepping into her path.

"They deserve mercy. They were simply following orders. Bad ones, but orders nonetheless. They might be swayed your way if you spare their lives, so why are you so insistent upon killing them?" I demanded. "At the very least, capture and question them, find out why-"

"Get out of my way," she interrupted, looking from my sword to me, utterly unamused. "I will not ask you again."

"No," I said, the soldier behind me sputtering another cough as he crawled up the hillside. Beatriz loosed an irritated sigh.

"You are going to regret this," she said, lifting her own blade to tap at mine as if it were a child's toy. I held it steady, taking a step sideways as she moved to skirt me. Irritation flashed across her face and I moved to intercept her next strike, our blades clanging as they connected with more force than I'd anticipated. She was still bleeding from the crossbow wound to her arm, but it didn't seem to be hindering her in the least.

I had the uphill advantage, but as she parried with me, swatting my strikes away with ease, I wondered if I had the nerve to press such an advantage. I could lash out at her, kick her or send her sprawling backwards. But this was madness. We were on the same side, she and I, though she was the one not respecting the battlefield etiquette that demanded mercy be granted to those who surrender.

"Enough," she said in Ardal, as much to herself as to me.

She slammed my sword away, lunging forward to tackle me to the ground. My hand opened as I hit the hillside, the blade sliding out of reach and the breath knocked from me. She pinned me with her knee, unwittingly summoning a memory of knees on my chest and a vile liquid being poured down my throat.

Then she drew a knife.

"Beatriz," I said, stunned into paralysis as I watched the knife rise. Words wouldn't come, a flood of thoughts drowning my mind. Was she about to kill me? Was this how far she'd go to follow Frederico's orders? How could I stop her? She hadn't listened when I'd tried to spare the soldiers, so what could I possibly say now to convince her not to-

"Beatriz," I managed again, her name a plea as she seized a handful of my cloak. She held my gaze, her face eerily similar to the stony neutrality of her brother's as she drove the knife down.

I lay there in shock, awaiting the pain that was sure to follow, while she pushed off from my chest, dashing after the soldier I'd tried and failed to defend.