Growling low in his throat, Joachim kicked up. His foot slammed into Valerian’s wrist and Valerian, too, lost his spear. Both men sprang apart, unsheathing the swords centered in their shields.
As blood continued to drip down his face, Joachim launched forward, wildly swinging. Air whistled, zinged, just like it had before the battle began. Movements slower than normal, Valerian didn’t duck in time. The blade sliced his forearm. He felt the sting of it, the burn of torn flesh.
He didn’t give a reaction, didn’t allow it to slow him further.
He stabbed low, then up, twisting before Joachim could counter. The tip of his sword whizzed by his cousin’s face, and the man paled. He raised his shield and slammed it into Valerian’s other arm, the sharp wings cutting skin. Valerian used the momentum to spin and slice into Joachim’s thigh.
His cousin shouted, and his knees buckled into the sand.
“Get up,” Valerian snarled. “We finish this.”
Gritting his teeth, Joachim lumbered to his feet. He still clutched his weapon and shield. His eyes were dark with rage, his irises bright with his thirst for power; he dropped his shield and slid a second dagger from his side.
Valerian hurled his shield aside, as well. He held out his free hand, and Broderick tossed him a second dagger. He easily caught the hilt. Two blades against two blades.
Instantly he and Joachim leaped for each other. One blade clashed, then the other, a lethal dance of dodge and slash. Valerian spun as he worked his blades, lunged and stabbed.
“I should have killed your father. I should have been king,” Joachim panted as he ducked.
“But you didn’t. You aren’t.” Stab. Turn. Stab.
“I was created to rule.”
“How can you rule an army when you cannot rule your own emotions?” The first blade finally slammed home, sinking into Joachim’s side.
His cousin screamed and dropped to his knees. Valerian’s momentum kept him from drawing back his other weapon. He wasn’t sure he would have, though, even if he could. But he did angle his arm, his second blade embedding in Joachim’s shoulder, close to his heart without damaging the organ. The silver glided smoothly through the links of armor. Joachim gasped for air as a trickle of blood ran from his mouth.
Total silence filled the arena.
Valerian straightened, panting.
Blood gurgled from Joachim’s mouth. “Should have...killed...me.”
“You will live, and you will regret,” Valerian said, unemotional and loud enough that everyone could hear. “If you ever again challenge my leadership, I will kill you. Without a thought, hesitation, or mercy. No matter that we are family. No matter that we were once friends.”
Joachim’s chin fell to his chest as his eyes closed. Dark shadows spread over his blood-coated face just before he tumbled into the dirt, unconscious. Grains of sand sprayed onto Valerian’s boots.
He slammed the tip of his dagger beside his cousin’s body and eyed the crowd of warriors who watched him in openmouthed shock. Perhaps they had expected him to kill his cousin. Perhaps they had expected him to deflect the final blow completely.
His gaze connected with Shaye’s. Mine, his mind shouted. Mine now. No one could say otherwise.
Like his men, her face projected her shock. And horror? He knew he must look a sight, blood and sand covering him from head to toe, strands of sweat-soaked hair clinging to his temples.
He couldn’t regret what had been done. She belonged to him, would live here with him now and always, so it was best for her to learn his way of life.
Tearing his gaze from her, he looked at each of his men. “Is there anyone else who wishes to challenge my authority?”
The echo of his voice settled. Silence reigned.
He paced through the arena. “Now is the time to issue such a challenge. You won’t be given another chance.”
No one came forward.
He stilled, hands clenched at his sides. “Then I hereby claim Shaye Octavia Holling as my mate. Your queen. Any protests will be met by my sword.”
“Now hold on just a moment,” Shaye called. “We haven’t agreed—”
“Except hers,” he interjected. Her protests would never be met by his sword.
“Valerian,” she said.
He ignored her and moved in front of Broderick.
Broderick kneeled, bowed his head. “What should we do about Joachim, my king? Say our goodbyes?”
Valerian still didn’t want Joachim to die, and banishment would get him killed in a hurry.
He searched for the females among the crowd. “Is there a healer among you?”
After a pause, Shivawn’s silent, black-haired wench stepped forward. Tears glistened in her eyes as she raised a tentative hand.
Excellent. “Take Joachim and the healer to the sick room,” he told Broderick. “She’s to bandage him up and nothing more. Make sure she doesn’t touch him sexually.” If she did, Joachim would heal speedily, his injuries forgotten far too soon.
Broderick nodded and stood.
Now. Time to see to his woman.
Without another word, Valerian clasped her hand and tugged her from the arena.
They were meant to be together—and now he would prove it.
POSEIDON WAS BORED.
He was god of the sea, ruler of fish, merpeople and ocean waves, and nothing excited him anymore. Not even the storms and destruction he’d recently caused. People had screamed, people had died, yada yada yada.
Perched on a boulder beneath a cliff, he traced his fingers through the dappled liquid surrounding him. There had to be something to combat this constant sense of ennui.
Create another hurricane or tsunami? No. The last few had been yawners.
Start a war? No. Too much effort for too little reward.
Abandon the water and enter Olympus? No again. The other gods were selfish and greedy, and he had no desire to deal with them, his temper too sharp.
What could he do, what could he do? Once he would have visited Atlantis—
Atlantis, he thought, straightening. Oh, oh, oh. Was that...yes, yes, it was. For the first time in an eternity, he experienced a flash of excitement.
He hadn’t considered Atlantis and its people—his subjects—in years. Many had called for him, but he’d ignored their pleas for help. The last time he’d offered aid, he’d received no thanks, only complaints.
Perhaps the people—or rather, the abominations, as his brothers often called them—had learned to be appreciative.
There was only one way to find out.
Poseidon grinned.
* * *
SHAYE’S ATTENTION REMAINED on Valerian’s back as he led her through the palace, following the same path they’d taken earlier. She offered no protests. Muscles strained and bunched in his bare shoulders. Blood blended with sand, both splattered all over him, forming lines and circles on his skin.
He’d very nearly killed a man without hesitation or remorse. His own cousin, no less.