his shoulder and spun him. “What of her impact on our father? His mind has fled, Jarrod!”
He fixated on a crack in the stone wall, trying to fight the passion rising. “I suggest you release me.”
“Will you strike me?” Shock drove the question.
“No, but I would rather not have the effects of your magic drive me towards you.”
Darius’ hand snapped back. “Ah. You should not have caught it.”
“You should not have thrown it.” The smell of his brother’s sweat attracted him, and on that disturbing thought, he bounded down the stairs. “She is not the cause, and you know it. It was Mazin’s influence along with that demon. The forbidden art you use will bring about your demise; mark my words, brother.”
“Perhaps.” He caught pace. “Your face is flushed. That strong, eh?”
He sneered, still refusing to look at him. “You smell good. Does that answer your question?”
“Ah.”
“Break it.”
“That will cause a mighty large headache for me.”
“And bedding with your brother will not?”
“Calm your precious self. Bedding with anyone will squelch it. I will lock you in your chambers and return with a damsel or two.” He moved ahead, chuckling. “This could prove entertaining. I finally will be able to see you bed with a woman.”
“I am so happy for you.” Focusing on his breathing, he attempted reason again. “Please, Darius. Stop before it is too late. You grow more violent as each day passes. I—nothing good can come of energy derived from blood.”
“Such as your precious monster?”
The truth behind those words bit. “Such as our father’s insanity. I fear he is lost, and I do not want to lose you as well.”
“I appreciate the concern, but it is unfounded.”
The hall beside the tower entrance was quiet, typical with the restrictions in place. Light painted the floor in even increments, reflecting the windows. “What of Altan Regis?”
“He is busy building a kingdom. He claimed Mazin’s land, and the people love him.” He walked beside him, careful not to touch. “Our assistance allowed him that throne.”
“He strives to purge the world of the forbidden art.”
“That is a farce. In order to kill Mazin, I utilized my strength before Altan.”
Even with the spell holding him, a chill coursed Jarrod’s spine. “Please tell me you jest.”
“He thanked me, Jarrod. I am not a monster despite your beliefs, and I am no fool; have faith in me. Altan and I have an arrangement.” He paused. “We shall continue this conversation later; too many curious ears ahead.”
He inhaled and released in a puff. “Agreed.”
They emerged into the busy halls. At Darius’s command, everyone parted from their path. Jarrod held his head high, but refused to regard anyone. Despite his persistence, the magic holding him made it impossible for him to focus on anything save for the scent of every woman he passed. His desire rising to unmanageable levels, he burst past his brother and ran to his room, swerving through startled nobles with Darius’s laughter trailing.
6
Jarrod sat on his chestnut steed, his armor glimmering silver in the morning sun. He stared at the moving dust in the distance produced by the mobile army of Altan Regis; the first of three armies marching to overtake his father’s kingdom. A knight sat in full armor beside him, his horse garnished in the kingdom’s crimson flag, and the army awaited command behind him. The prince remained quiet, not believing that the day had finally come when all of his fears came to be.
“I will speak with him.” The decision came with reluctance. Altan Regis would question him on the barbaric practices of his father, and he would have no response to give. Darius destroyed entire towns by their father’s command, and now the kingdom would pay the price for their tyranny.
And Jarrod feared them too much to rebel, thus he would fall with them.
“May I speak freely, your highness?”
Jarrod cast a glance at the ranks. They were far enough behind not to overhear. “Of course, Gregory. You know I value your opinion.”
“I fear for you. Say the word, and I shall follow you regardless of your direction—forward or back. Most of these knights will do the same.”
“A tactful way of suggesting I rebel.” He bowed his head. “Speak your mind, friend; you need not worry over punishment from a dead kingdom.”
“Altan Regis is a just ruler. Should you join him, proving you fight against the forbidden arts, he will—”
“Take my head regardless. I will not rise against my family. I will never dabble in the arts, but my heart belongs to one that does, and my blood shall spill protecting her.” Jarrod watched as two figures broke from the opposing army. “So, you see, I am just as lost as they.”
“Please do not forsake us, your highness. If, after this meeting, it is obvious that he will not relent, then I beseech you to run; take your chosen princess if need be.” The knight moved his horse before Jarrod’s. “You are the king we were meant to have, your highness. We will follow you to our deaths.”
He stared at his back. “I would rather see you leave me and join Altan.”
“Never.”
Jarrod waited until Altan drew closer and prepared his voice to yell. “I will have word with you, Altan Regis. Will you hold to peace?”
“I shall on my blood.” The expected reply rolled over the distance between them.
“Fabulous.” A wave of Jarrod’s hand beckoned for Gregory to set his horse to gallop. Jarrod followed a pace behind him.
Altan Regis had a commanding appearance backed with a frigid blue gaze. His long black hair was tied to fall over the back of his full suit of gold-washed armor. The broad face lacked emotion, and that condition spread to the man who reined in before him. This man wore a helm with cheek guards covering his slender face. His irises held a turquoise hue, swirling within a ring of silver—the mark of a paladin known as a Cineihga.
Jarrod resigned himself to death in that moment.
Altan nodded in his direction. “Prince Jarrod, I must admit that I am displeased that our first meeting is set to such a morbid tune. The people of your kingdom sing your praise.”
“And yours of you.” He tried gathering his wits, but the previous conversation rang in his ears. “Why do you come bearing arms to my father’s kingdom? Is this how you repay my family’s assistance on gaining your throne?”
“I come to put an end to your father’s bloodthirsty reign as requested by your brother.” The man shook his head, true pity showing. “There is not a soul on this continent that is not aware of your sire’s lack of sanity, and your brother admitted to me that he can no longer control him and will not stand against him. Regardless, Kinian has practiced enough atrocities to gain my attention.”
Jarrod held his composure with effort. It sounded as if Darius planned the siege, but he had difficulty believing this. “Such as?”
“The summoning of a monster he continues to hold captive.” The man’s visage darkened. “I beseech you to move aside; my grievances lay not with you.”
Jarrod’s attention fell to the back of Gregory’s helmet. “Are you certain of this?” He lacked the ability to stand against his family, but the true strife between them rested in the western tower.
“You do not practice the forbidden arts. Do not prove the fool; permit me passage and your kingdom shall be returned to you.”
“I cannot permit you to harm her.” The words moved as breaths of air.
Altan blinked. “Pardon?”
“The beautiful soul you call a monster; I shall not permit harm to befall her. I shall protect my family despite their conditions, and I consider her one of us. So, you see, your grievances do indeed ride with me.” He straightened. “Altan Regis, leave this land at once or face the consequences.”
The king’s gaze bore into him. “Then our conversation has concluded. I will see you return to your men.”
Jarrod started to turn his horse, but stopped. “Should I fall by your blade, should our kingdom lay in ruins—I request two things.”
“And those are?”
“Allow any men who yield to see freedom.”
“Easily done. The other?”
Myraza’s smile formed before his eyes, her violet gaze setting his emotions ablaze. “Salvage all innocence.”
“I never kill the innocent.”
“I hold you to that.”
7
Jarrod watched the skirmish, lost to a cold, detached state. Altan’s army pressed forward while his merely defended, abiding time before the next maneuver. His men fought with bravery, as if believing they could prove victorious in salvaging a kingdom predestined to perish. They clung to false hope whereas their prince accepted his fate, just…not yet.
The first line of defenders were forced back, several knights falling. Jarrod’s vision grazed the field before focusing on Gregory, the knight settled on his horse at his side. “Order a withdrawal.” He turned his steed and bade it to walk.
The order rang loud over the clashing steel, yet Jarrod heard unintelligible baying. Knights followed, their noise naught but the clicking of hens to his disheveled mind. He glanced behind them, taking in the sight of armored men and equines fleeing. A snap of the reins sent his horse into a full gallop.
He drove over the road and into the forest, his men at his back. Once surrounded by trees, he halted and held his fist to the air. Clatter resonated as they followed his silent direction. He spun about and kicked the horse to run through the ranks.
Altan’s army waited just outside the tree line,