The Golden Dynasty (Fantasyland #2)(101)

Yep. One could say it was official. I wasn’t going to lose a lot of sleep when Lahn took his head.

At this, Lahn moved and what he moved to do made me suck in breath and hold it.

He removed his belt, turned to me and handed me his knives. My eyes darting up to him, my hands automatically lifted to accept them. Then he unbuckled the strap on his chest and slipped off his sword. After he had done this, he laid it across my throne so it was resting on the arms.

Then, still bent so his face was level to mine, his painted eyes came to me and I saw it… I saw it… his golden, bright, brutal spirit was shining close to the surface and let’s just say it… was… pissed.

Uh-oh. Dortak was in trouble.

The breath flooded my lungs, the tension evaporated from my body and I grinned at him.

“Give him hell, tiger,” I whispered.

He held my eyes a second before he blinked and his spirit was hidden, his fury gone.

Then, swear to God, he winked at me.

No joke! Winked!

I stifled a giggle.

Then my husband turned and moved off the platform.

Dortak guffawed as he lifted his arm and unsheathed his blade.

Then his eyes narrowed and he spat at the advancing Lahn, “Fool.”

“I take your head with your own steel,” Lahn told him casually.

“Ha!” Dortak cried. “I’ve never been disarmed.”

“Then today will be your first and your last,” Lahn returned, still moving to him, closer and closer, his arms relaxed and dangling at his sides, his stride steady and Dortak finally got smart (ish) and realized that even unarmed, a threat was closing in.

And that was when he took his stance and without hesitation and with a mighty roar he charged Lahn.

And Dortak didn’t wait to be just what Dortak was.

An ass**le, a jerk, the king of all dicks and, lastly, a f**king, dirty, little cheat.

For during his charge, his left hand came up and swung out, leaving a trail of yellow dust. He whirled himself to avoid it getting in his face, advancing through it with his back and my guess was that whatever it was would blind his opponent.

A hush of shock settled instantly over the already quiet crowd.

I held my breath again but as Lahn promised, I needn’t have worried. He was prepared. I knew this when he instantly dropped, tucking in his body, he landed on a shoulder, rolling, legs over head, he then twisted and rolled again sideways several times, landing on his back well clear of the dust. Then, without delay, he did one of those awesome knee lifts where he kicked out and, using the power of his legs and strength of his abs, he regained his feet without using his hands.

Oh yeah, my husband was a badass.

It was then I held my breath yet again but not from fear.

From awe.

I had heard a lot about what a fierce warrior my king was, how strong, how swift, how smart. I knew his strength personally.

But I had no idea.

No freaking clue.

Dortak charged again in full on attack. And then again. And again. And repeat. And each time he did, Lahn’s body moved or swayed gracefully, every swing or thrust Dortak threw, Lahn avoided it and not just by a whisper but by a mile. It was like Lahn was in his mind and knew exactly what move he would make. He did ducking twirls, the plait I’d braided in his hair flying as Dortak’s blade whistled through the air six inches above him. He jerked his torso back and Dortak’s steel whizzed by him. Dortak would thrust and Lahn would turn full circle and Dortak wouldn’t catch nothing but air.

After this went on a long time, suddenly, Lahn closed in on him, avoided his sword, took his arm and with apparent ease, he flipped warrior and sword, Dortak landing on his back on stone. Without hesitation, Lahn kicked him in the mouth and blood spewed as his head jerked fully around.

Lahn took a step back, declaring, “First blood.”

This must have meant something for the crowd, watching in silence until that moment, went berserk as a cheer rent the air.

And they continued to cheer as Dortak jumped to his feet and, infuriated, yet again attacked, his swings and thrusts no longer calculated in any way but clearly, even to someone like me who knew nothing of this kind of stuff, no longer strategic but angry.

Lahn, too, changed his tactic. He no longer swayed, turned and ducked. With every swing or thrust he avoided, he finished his movement by landing blow after blow on Dortak, a powerful jab to the ribs that made Dortak grunt; a strike to the jaw that made more blood spew from his mouth; a heel to the back of his knee that made Dortak fall hard to that knee and so on.

Again, this went on a long time, so long, Lahn had opened an oozing cut on Dortak’s cheekbone, blood was pouring from his mouth from lost teeth and two cuts on his lips, there were fierce, angry red welts all over Dortak’s torso and back where Lahn’s fists had connected and Lahn reopened the wound Mahyah had delivered to his shoulder. Blood was leaking and Dortak’s anger had turned to wrath, his grunts of pain and effort filled the air, his sweat mingled with his blood and his movements became jerky and uncoordinated with the beating he was taking, the effort he was expending and the emotion he should have kept in check.

Then, so fast it was hard to believe I’d seen it, Lahn’s hand snaked out, he stole Dortak’s knife at his belt and planted it in his shoulder. Then without hesitation as Dortak shouted with surprise, pain and frustration, Lahn’s hand darted in again, stole Dortak’s other blade and planted it in the old, now bleeding again wound Mahyah had given him.