Page 146 of A Court of Wings and Shadows

His blade sliced the air with deadly precision, aimed straight for Remy’s chest—but Remy twisted at the last second, spinning just enough to let the steel skim past him, the edge slicing into the leather of his tunic, not flesh.

No hesitation. No wasted movement.

Lomard didn’t even stumble.

He pivoted with shocking grace for a man his size, sweeping low with his leg and nearly catching Remy in the knees. Remy vaulted back, his boot scraping against the ale-slicked floor,and drew a hidden dagger from behind his belt in one smooth motion.

This wasn’t just a tavern brawl.

This was two trained killers, assassins, meeting in a room too small for their shadows.

Lomard grinned like a wolf, his eyes gleaming with anticipation. “You’re quick. I didn’t expect the prince’s pet to keep his edge.”

Remy said nothing. He just moved.

They collided again, steel to steel this time, their blades ringing in the dim tavern light. Remy was fast, gods, he was, but Lomard had power behind every strike. He fought like a man who’d survived every dirty fight the world could offer and wasn’t afraid to add another scar to his collection.

Remy ducked under a swing meant to take his head clean off, slammed the hilt of his dagger into Lomard’s ribs, and rolled clear before the counterstrike could find him.

Lomard hissed, but laughed through it. “You hit like a noble.”

“Funny,” Remy said coolly, “you bleed like a coward.”

They circled again, boots scraping, breath sharp. Lomard feinted left, then launched himself forward, blade flashing toward Remy’s thigh. Remy caught the strike with the flat of his dagger, twisted, and elbowed Lomard across the jaw.

The taller man stumbled, only for a heartbeat.

Then he roared and came back with a brutal series of strikes, overhead, angled, sweeping, forcing Remy into a defensive retreat. It was clear now—Lomard didn’t care about finesse. He was testing Remy, pushing him, wearing him down.

And Remy?

Remy was just getting started.

He parried the last strike, ducked under a wild swing, and swept Lomard’s legs out from under him with a clean, brutal kick.

Lomard hit the floor hard, rolling away just as Remy’s dagger embedded itself in the wood where his throat had been.

The room was dead silent.

Every patron pressed to the walls, eyes wide, breaths held.

Lomard growled from the floor, blood trickling from his mouth as he grinned up at Remy.

“I should’ve killed you in the castle.”

Remy took a slow step forward, his voice like ice.

“If you had the chance, you should have taken it.”

Lomard surged up from the floor with a snarl, his blade flashing like silver lightning.

Remy stepped back to dodge the thrust, but Lomard was fast—faster than I gave him credit for. With a sharp twist of his wrist, he slashed upward and caught Remy just beneath the collarbone.

The blade bit deep.

Remy hissed through his teeth, blood already soaking into the front of his tunic. But he didn’t fall.

With the strength of someone trained to kill through pain, Remy shoved forward, his own dagger gripped tight, and buried it in Lomard’s chest, just left of the sternum. The assassin’s eyes widened as he choked, the wind punched from his lungs.