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“Exiled? Viktir—”

“Silence from you, witch,” he shot at Naya. “It’s your fault he has disobedience in his blood.”

Naya flinched, her hands coming up to her heart, tears in her eyes.

Torin’s teeth almost shattered under the pressure of his jaw. “If you continue to address my mother by anything other than her name, I will end your miserable excuse for a life right here.” Torin stepped even further into his father, his commander. He would defend his mother even if it meant exile.

Fuck him, he would take the exile right now just to punch Viktir once.

“Do not get yourself hurt defending me, Torin.” His mother placed a hand on his arm, and it was the only thing stopping him from smashing his fist into Viktir’s face. “It is not worth the sore hand.”

He begged to differ.

It was Gideon who spoke next. “Commander, can we please talk about this treaty and my involvement? It is not right for me—”

Viktir flew across the room and pinned Gideon to the wall. “Are you going to defy me too, like your insolent brother? Are you going to defy my command?”

The fear on Gideon’s face snapped the last thread of tolerance Torin had. He dove through the space, grabbing his father by the neck and twisting him into a headlock.

He heard his mother and Emara shouting in the background, but the rage was too great to hear what they were saying as he punched his father in three, sharp uppercuts. Viktir tucked in and broke loose, swinging a punch that struck Torin’s ribs. It crunched. His father’s left hand came up and then connected with his cheek.

Fuck! Viktir could punch.

Torin blinked off the punch and swallowed the tang of blood in his mouth, regaining his balance. Moving his feet to the stance he always did, he swung, connecting his fist to Viktir’s chin. Viktir flew into the fireplace, candles toppling, a vase that held water and flowers smashing. He gripped the ridge of the wood before catapulting himself back up.

Torin felt something pulling at him, unaware of who or what it was. He swung again and landed another punch to his father’s jaw, and then he introduced a knee to his ribs.

There was enough time for Gideon to get between them, and then his mother had too.

“Torin, please.” Emara’s voice reached him over the buzzing of fury. “Please.”

She pulled him back, and he let her as he wiped his bloodied lip.

“If you do this,” he seethed towards his father, ignoring anyone holding him back, “it will be declaring a civil war amongst the Blacksteels. Me against you.” He snarled. “And I don’t fancy your odds in this war against me, Father.”

A commander against his second...

Viktir straightened, wiping blood from the corner of his own mouth. “You don’t decide the odds. I do.” A cold smirk twisted in his lips. “My second son will marry the Empress of Air.” He looked towards Emara, tears flooding her cheeks. “If you want an alliance in a time where your coven needs it most, you will marry Gideon and fulfil your duty as a woman.” Viktir’s cruel gaze finally landed on Torin again. “And that is my final command.”

Torin straightened, taking a deep breath. He felt that icy fire in his blood return, numbing him of everything he had ever felt.

“Then it is war.”