Page 120 of Disillusioned (A Lay of Ruinous Reign #2)

“But you knew that. He’s an academic. Sorbonne, straight into the castle guard after years of travel? No training or experience? Come on, he’s too broad for his armor. He’s not even got the right scabbard on.”

“What are you on about?” Rupert growled, though he thumbed the strap at his chest.

“You were trying to lead Eleanor with your left hand on the dance floor. That’s why you looked like the blind leading the blind. Your left hand is dominant.”

Rupert snarled to hide a grimace. “Your point?”

“Your scabbard hangs on your left. You’ll have to switch hands or draw with your right, already a costly second in sword combat.

That blade there is at least two decades old, if not older than yourself, and hasn’t been sharpened in years.

” Garin passed a hand over his face; he might’ve actually felt bad for him, had he not played a willing part in Artus’s ploy against the queen.

“How trained were you in Renald’s guard? ”

“I received six months.”

“Of swordplay? Or a hay bale?”

Rupert didn’t answer. Evidently.

Garin stepped back from the threshold, licking his lips.

“And that, gentlemen, is what happens when a kingdom operates on the belief that its greatest opponent is a community of species they’ve worked relentlessly to oppress.

Now, you’ve got a new generation of men unprepared for battle against your own kin. ”

His comment seemed to strike a soft spot for Artus. “We are not underprepared for either,” he spat, as his crowd began to murmur. “Don’t listen to him!”

“Why train the towns’ militias when annexation under your neighboring crown would grant your and your daughter-in-law’s families a place in their court?

Especially when you had a hand in Eleanor’s downfall.

You, stripped of your duties in your time as duke.

The Ermengarde scandal and your son’s failed role as head of their army?

No one noticed all the while, because your family succeeded in turning everyone’s attention toward the forests.

The Daemons were to blame for their fears and strife.

Then, your spineless grandson grew of age. And you knew you had one last chance.”

The scum didn’t even bother denying it. Garin’s accusation didn’t seem to rile or shock anyone in the crowd, either. Bog and Rupert remained dead silent.

“ You are unprepared for France because you were born a traitor, weren’t you?

And so with Armand and Sinclair. And now that the queen has decided to—” Garin broke off with a shuddering inhale, for the very thought of her at the altar still stole the breath from his lungs.

“She has decided to marry Maximilian. What will you do? With knowledge of this potential new alliance, do you think France will bother sparing you? Or your little inn? Or your family’s estate? ”

Finally, moisture began to well behind Artus’s eyes. But it was not enough.

“You’re grasping at straws. Did you plan to win the king’s approval by the prize of your hunt? He’s your only hope, because half the town and forest know by now that your queen has been safe, and shall remain safe in my arms. In my bed.”

“You are nothing but her pawn.” Artus lurched forward and spat a glob at Garin’s feet. “You are nothing. You think she’ll make you an equal?”

“I don’t want a crown, Artus. I want her.

” Garin looked pointedly at Rupert, ignoring Artus’s murderous glare.

He felt almost sorry for Emma’s son, for what a spineless father he had—not the fact his dick had been in Lilac’s mouth.

“That sword and scabbard they gave you would not only hinder your ability in battle.” Rupert’s trousers were expensive, well-made, and lacked pockets.

No other weapon sat on his baldric. “They haven’t armed you with one bit of hawthorn, have they? ”

Rupert shook his head slowly, helpless as realization sank in .

“You’re their sacrifice, Rupert.”

Fear flashed across the bastard’s face.

Garin exhaled, letting his tensed shoulders droop and his gaze to sharpen. He felt the ancient, Sanguine Magic buried beneath his skin begin to work its way to the surface. “You don’t want this. You don’t want this life, Rupert. Come to me.”

“No!” cried Bog, sobering, watching his son’s eyes glaze over.

“I’ll have him drag you out, too,” Garin snarled at Bog under his breath. He locked eyes with Rupert once more and smiled disarmingly. “Come, friend,” Garin commanded, “and use your mighty blade on anyone else who stands in your way.”

Lip trembling, Bog jumped at Rupert. His hand went straight for the hilt of Rupert’s sword, but Rupert was faster; his son whipped the blade out and slashed at him.

Garin marveled at the clean gash, that stunning shade of ruby dripping from Bog’s fingers, leaking onto the floor. Rupert had done so with precise skill under his entrancement, lurching back with a perfect arch of the sword. With his right hand, even.

Bog sank against the wall; his wrist and several fingers cut open. As he screamed and the blood spilled, the burn at the back of Garin’s throat and the twist at his core increased. Bog was lucky, so lucky he was on the other side of that barrier.

“Mathias! Lorenzo!” Artus shrieked, shrinking back as Rupert stalked past.

His long legs brought him forward, through the door and into the night. Garin met no resistance when he plucked the blade from his hands, nor when he gripped Rupert by the back of his shirt, spinning him. He was trembling.

Mathis and Lorenzo had emerged, watching from the hallway, but they’d seemed sobered enough to notice the grim realization of being under a vampire’s will.

“Well?” shouted Artus as Bog sniveled beside him. “Don’t just stand there!”

“What do you want us to do,” shot Mathias, “wrestle him from the brute?”

“I’m not going out there.” Lorenzo rubbed his still-bandaged shoulder.

It seemed Brient and Hamon had taken their places following the aftermath of the troupe happening upon the ogre camp west of The Fenfoss Inn, but even the faithful butcher and blacksmith couldn’t be found when Garin surveyed the crowd.

He whipped out his rapier and pressed it against Rupert’s throat. “Give the deed to me, Artus.”

He waited expectantly for Bog to shuffle over and wrestle it from him, but the tavern owner remained against the wall.

“Artus,” Bog stammered. “My boy.”

Artus’s eyes burned with an inhuman hatred. “Do it!”

Garin readied the blade, adjusting the hilt in his palm. He should. The bastard was going to be a waste of a life on their Daemon hunt, and he was now.

He’d make a far better dinner. Garin tossed the rapier aside, peeled his collar down, and?—

He heard it before he felt it: the whizz through the air, then the searing pain shooting down his arm. Garin staggered as the arrow landed in the dirt behind them. It only had grazed his bicep, yet the violent jolt of pain mere inches from his bullet wound rocked his entire body.

An archer stood in the hall sandwiched between Artus’s bodyguards, clinging to her longbow. Garin immediately recognized her as the elderly woman who’d sat across from him and Lilac at The Jaunty Hog.

“Put it down,” Garin demanded from over Rupert’s quaking shoulder.

“Do as he says, you old hag,” Rupert sobbed.

She ignored their pleas, her weathered fingers fumbling over another hawthorn arrow. “I know you,” she said, sneering at Garin. “You killed my neighbor during the Raids. I saw you run out of this house, you coward! My best friend and her family,” she cried. “You killed the Fangs.”

There was no sense in denying it. Garin swallowed and nodded, guilt still proving secondary to his own fear. “If it’s any consolation, one of their daughters is still well and alive!”

The old woman let out a hideous snarl and raised her readied arrow at them.

Garin cursed his burning arm. “ Forgive me, Laurent .” He brought own hand to his mouth, shredded the inside of his wrist, and muttered, “Sorry, mate. ”

Then, he slammed his bleeding arm to Rupert’s blabbering mouth. The bastard kicked and bucked; the arrow whistled through the air, and Garin’s injured leg shook against the force that hit Rupert square in the stomach. Through Rupert’s rattled wailing, Garin couldn’t tell if he’d ingested any of it.

Just as he was about to drop him, a second arrow hit them in rapid succession; Rupert’s groaning cut off abruptly as he went limp. Garin lost his footing, and they both tumbled down the porch steps.

He heaved Rupert’s body to the side, where he rolled into the dirt, eyes glassy and open, mouth twisted in pain.

It was Garin’s second time seeing a dead vampire.

Those who died by the stake instead of sunlight looked no different from other bodies, he’d learned from Laurent, who rested in the crypt at the Mine.

Their fangs remained protruded, their bodies perfectly preserved forever to rest in peace—or, for a most unlucky grave robber to discover.

But Rupert hadn’t had the time to wake up and complete the change by drinking from a human, even if he had swallowed some of Garin’s blood. Rupert would not rise again with the second hawthorn arrow that protruded from the middle of chest.

Garin shifted to his knees—and gazed up the length of the next arrow, aimed this time by Bog.

The tavern owner’s hands shook, looking too small for the longbow; there was no way Bog was a better shot than that impressive old hag—she must’ve had decades of experience fending off her crops and livestock, probably joining in on Daemon hunts from time to time.

But with the alarming pain spreading throughout his body, he felt too winded to run.

There was something very wrong. The wrist he’d bitten into moments ago had already healed, but his arm and leg were struggling to expel the bullets like they should have. He’d expected it would take some time, but instead of slowly healing, he was growing weak.

“He’s injured,” Artus was murmuring. “Do it, Bog. What are you waiting for?”

Garin looked up at the deepening sky and thought of Lilac. Her warmth that he wanted to wrap himself in, her soft hair and skin. Her angelic face and those taunting dimples he yearned to kiss .

Her uneasy, lumbering cadence of footfall and sharp voice, clear as night.

“ Get away from him !”

There was another whiz over Garin’s head, and the sound of a bow and arrow clattering onto the porch. Bog flew back into the crowd, one arrow sticking out of his face, and the other out of his shoulder.

Screams erupted from the house. There were hands yanking Garin before he knew what was happening, and Myrddin mumbling behind him.

On either side of them, Yanna and Lilac held longbows at the ready, their next arrows already nocked.