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King Averett crossed his arms. “What does that mean, exactly? We already knew the alliance would end if he wins.”

Rharreth shook his head. “Drurvas challenged the alliance, and, for the purposes of the duel, the fighters have to legally represent their kingdoms. They must be members of the royal families of Tarenhiel, Escarland, and Kostaria. You can’t send in a champion to fight for you any more than I can or Drurvas can, though Drurvas will be able to choose his best warriors for his other two combatants.”

A tense silence fell over them. Rharreth could not bear to look at any of them. Not at Melantha, with the pain in her eyes. Not at her brother King Weylind with his hardening jaw and rising anger. Nor at the Escarlish king and his stricken, open-mouthed horror.

But especially not at Laesornysh, the enemy that Rharreth had captured, treated dishonorably, and stood by while he was tortured. Who was Rharreth, of all people, to ask this elf to fight at his side after what Rharreth had done to him?

“I know I cannot demand this of you. This is far more support than your kingdoms ever agreed to provide in the alliance. But if you do not agree to this, I will fight alone against three, and all of Kostaria will see it as proof of the weakness of alliances in general and of Tarenhiel and Escarland specifically.” Rharreth grimaced and let go of Melantha’s hand so that he could wrap an arm around her waist, tucking her closer. “Drurvas will use it as an excuse to resume the war as soon as I am dead.”

Digging her fingers into his shirt, Melantha buried her face against his shoulder, murmuring low enough that only he could hear, “If you let Drurvas kill you in this duel, I will never forgive you.”

He pressed his face into her hair, holding her close and not caring if her family was there to witness such an embrace. If they refused to fight at his side, then this was one of the last moments he would have with Melantha. He wished to savor every heartbeat he had left.

FARRENDEL WAS COLD. So very cold. Not because of the snow crunching beneath his boots or the crisp air fogging his breath.

But he was cold from the ice in his veins and the stone in his heart.

He would have to fight. Either he fought now in this duel or he fought later in the war. He would shed blood either way.

When he glanced at Essie, she was gazing up at him, her eyes wide. Almost as if she wanted to plead with him to refuse but knew there was no other way forward than this. Through the elishina, he could sense the ache in her heart.

But there was nothing he could do to reassure her. Not at the moment.

Farrendel stepped forward, though he did not let go of Essie’s hand. “I will fight for Tarenhiel at your side, King Rharreth.”

“Farrendel...” Weylind reached for him, as if to hold him back.

Farrendel glanced over his shoulder, meeting Weylind’s pained gaze. “I will bear the burden of battle regardless of whether I fight now or later.”

Weylind sighed and let his hand drop to his side, his shoulders slumping a fraction. “Yes, of course.”

“I will fight for Escarland.” Julien pushed forward, a hand on the sword he had taken to wearing at his side since he and Farrendel had begun their early morning practices.

Some of the tension eased in Farrendel’s chest, even as he felt Essie’s fear spike. Julien was good. Perhaps, on his own, he could not stand up to a troll or elf warrior one-on-one, but together he and Farrendel routinely defeated Iyrinder, Captain Merrick, and several other human guards.

“No, I will.” Edmund grasped Julien’s arm. “Of the three of us, I’m the most expendable.”