Crush the King (Crown of Shards #3)(117)

Maeven picked up her skirt and stepped into the black ring. She glanced at me a moment, then moved over to stand in front of her brother. I kept my sword up, ready for her to whirl around, blast me with her lightning, and try to kill me the way she had so many times before.

But she didn’t.

Instead, Maeven crossed her arms over her chest and studied her brother, her cold gaze flicking up and down his body and taking in his disheveled blond hair, his tattered fighting leathers, and the bloody cuts that crisscrossed his skin. Her lips puckered, but I couldn’t tell if her sour expression was due to her brother’s appearance or the fact that he hadn’t killed me yet.

“Look at you,” Maeven said, her voice dripping with disgust. “The mighty king of Morta crying like a petulant child at the loss of his precious magic.”

Maximus’s eyes narrowed. “How dare you speak to me like that. I’ll—”

“You’ll do what?” Maeven sneered, cutting him off again. “Have me put in chains? Beaten? Tortured? You’ve already done all that and far worse.”

“What does it matter?” he said. “Turn around and blast that Blair bitch with your magic. Kill her where she stands. That’s your duty. So fucking do it.”

Maeven tilted her head to the side, making the amethysts around her neck sparkle and flash in the sunlight. “I’ve been thinking a lot about duty lately, especially when it comes to my many years of service in the Bastard Brigade. Service that you’ve never rewarded me for.”

“Why would I reward you for anything?” Maximus hissed. “You’re just a bastard, just a tool for me to use however I like, just as all the other kings have done before me.”

Maeven’s lips curved up into a grim smile. “I know that I’m a bastard,” she replied. “You never let me forget it. Not for one bloody second. Even though I was smarter than you as a child, and stronger, and had more natural magic, you always thought you were so much better than me. And now look at you. Without your precious tearstone drug and stolen magic, you’re nothing but a whiny little brat.” She shook her head. “You are so weak.”

Maximus’s hands clenched into fists, and he moved forward, that arrogant sneer still on his face as he peered down his nose at her. “Weak? I’m not weak. You’re the one who’s weak. Always trying to help the other members of your precious Bastard Brigade. Always coddling that younger son of yours. Always trying to protect and shield him from me. Well, this is the last time you insult me or disobey one of my orders, sister dear. I’m going to have that boy flayed alive right in front of you. Maybe then you’ll finally remember your place.”

Instead of being frightened by his threats, Maeven laughed in his face. Maximus blinked and reared back, as if he were utterly shocked that she would do such a thing, especially here, now, in front of thousands of people.

Finally, her chuckles faded away. “Face it, brother dear. You’re not going to be doing very much of anything without your magic. Especially not torturing me and my son.”

Maximus kept glaring down his nose at her. “I’ll get more magic. You know I will. I always do.”

Maeven shook her head, as if deeply disappointed that he hadn’t listened to a single word she’d said, much less understood what they really meant. I did, though, and I knew exactly why she was here.

“I told you before,” she said. “No, you won’t.”

Maximus sucked in a breath, probably to insult her again, but he never got the chance.

Maeven plucked a dagger out of her long sleeve and buried it in her brother’s heart.

Maximus screamed and tried to jerk away, but Maeven grabbed his shoulder and held him in place, slowly, brutally, methodically twisting the dagger in deeper and deeper. Maximus’s eyes bulged in pain, and his panicked screams quickly died down to raspy, choking gurgles.

“Goodbye, brother,” she said in a calm, cold voice. “My only regret is that I couldn’t make your death last for days, weeks, months, years even. But we don’t always get what we want, do we?”

Maeven stared her brother in the eyes a moment longer, then ripped the dagger out of his chest and sliced it across his throat. Blood sprayed all over the front of her dress, but Maeven didn’t seem to mind, given her wide, satisfied smile.

Maximus let out a final, strangled gurgle. Then his eyes rolled up in the back of his head, and he crumpled to the arena floor.

The king of Morta was dead.

*

A tense, heavy silence dropped over the arena. No one could believe what had just happened. That I had defeated Maximus, and that Maeven, his own sister, had so coldly executed him.

Maeven faced me, and I tightened my grip on my sword, expecting her to attack me next.

“You were wrong, Everleigh,” she said, a satisfied sneer twisting her face. “I didn’t have to run away from my brother, and I don’t have to give up trying to kill you—”

“You bitch!” a voice roared out. “You traitorous bitch!”

Maeven and I both looked up. The screams were coming from the royal terrace. Mercer was on his feet, his face red with mottled rage, and purple lightning crackling around his clenched fists.

He stabbed a finger at Maeven. “You won’t get away with this! I’ll come down there and kill you myself, you murderous, treacherous bitch—”