Page 10 of Kingdom of Darkness and Dragons (Empire of Vengeance #4)

Cassius called the start, and we began with the standard sequences—attack, parry, riposte.

But there was nothing standard about the way Valeria moved.

She'd improved dramatically since I'd last fought her, her technique clean and precise, her timing deadly accurate.

Gone was the spoiled noble daughter who'd struggled with basic sword forms. In her place stood a predator.

"You seem distracted," she said as we circled each other, her blade weaving hypnotic patterns in the air. "Rough night?"

I didn't take the bait, focusing instead on her footwork, watching for the tells that would give away her next attack. She lunged forward with a thrust toward my ribs that I barely managed to deflect, the force of it sending vibrations up my arm.

"I suppose watching the man you thought you had run to someone better can be quite... educational," she continued conversationally, as if we were discussing the weather instead of trying to draw blood.

This time I couldn't hide my reaction. My grip tightened on my sword, and I saw her notice it with satisfaction.

"Oh yes, I can see it was." Her blade whistled past my ear as I ducked under a high cut. "Tell me, did you really think someone like Jalend would settle for used goods when he could have something pure?"

She pressed forward with a series of rapid attacks that forced me to give ground, her bladework aggressive and increasingly personal. I managed to turn her final thrust aside and counter with a cut toward her shoulder that she barely avoided.

"Something pure?" I laughed, the sound harsh and bitter. "Is that what you call a woman who spreads her legs for political advantage?"

"Better than a whore who can't keep count of how many men she's servicing," Valeria snarled, her mask of civility finally cracking. "At least I have standards."

"Standards?" I deflected another vicious thrust, this one aimed at my throat. "Your standards seem to involve targeting other women's lovers the moment their backs are turned."

"Other women's lovers?" Her smile turned razor-sharp. "Oh, my dear, sweet, naive little slave girl. Jalend was never yours. You were just... convenient. A warm body to pass the time while he waited for someone worthy of his attention."

The words hit like physical blows, each one carefully chosen to inflict maximum damage. Around us, the other sparring matches had slowed, students and instructors alike beginning to take notice of our increasingly heated exchange.

"He told me all about you, you know," she continued, pressing her attack with renewed vigour. "About how desperate you were. How you threw yourself at him like a bitch in heat. How pathetic it was to watch you convince yourself he actually cared."

I felt heat rise in my cheeks, but I forced myself to stay focused on the fight. Losing my temper was exactly what she wanted.

"And what did you offer him in return?" I asked through gritted teeth, turning aside a cut that would have opened my arm to the bone. "Your father's support? A profitable marriage alliance? Or just the novelty of fucking someone who’s fucked half the Academy?"

"Careful," she hissed, her blade work becoming more aggressive with each word. "You're starting to sound bitter."

"And you're starting to sound like exactly what you are—a spoiled little girl who's never had to work for anything in her life.

" I pressed forward with my own attack, driving her back several steps.

"Tell me, does daddy know his precious daughter is rutting with soldiers?

Or does he think you're still the innocent little virgin he's planning to sell to the highest bidder? "

Her face flushed with rage, and for a moment her perfect technique faltered. I pressed the advantage, raining down a series of strikes that forced her to give ground.

"At least my lovers chose me," I continued, my voice deadly quiet. "Not because I was convenient, or because I was their only option in a sea of unavailable women. They wanted me. All of me. Even the broken parts."

"Your lovers?" She recovered her composure, her voice dripping with contempt. "You mean your slaves. The men you owned, who had no choice but to service you or face punishment. That's not love, darling. That's rape."

The accusation hit like a lightning bolt, so vicious and unexpected that I actually stumbled backward. She saw the impact and smiled with vicious satisfaction.

"Yes, that's what it was, wasn't it? You kept them as your personal pleasure slaves, forcing them to perform for your entertainment. How very... Imperial of you."

"You don't know what you're talking about," I snarled. It had never occurred to me that it would look that way. Is that how it had seemed to Jalend? That I was against slavery but was happy to keep men in my quarters for my pleasure whenever I felt like it? I couldn’t even defend myself without revealing that there was something going on.

"Don't I? A noble lady keeping exotic slaves for her sexual pleasure? Don’t get me wrong, it's practically a tradition among our class. At least you’re doing something right." Her blade found my wrist, opening a shallow cut that made me hiss in pain. She grinned.

The rage building in my chest finally broke free. I attacked with a fury that caught her completely off guard, my blade work becoming deadly serious as I pressed forward. She gave ground, her eyes widening with surprise and what might have been fear.

"You want to talk about beasts?" I hissed, driving her back with a series of cuts that came dangerously close to connecting. "Let's talk about the beast that raised you. The monster who taught you that cruelty was a virtue and other people's pain was entertainment."

"How dare you—" she gasped, struggling to keep up with my assault.

"How dare I what? Tell the truth?" My blade caught hers and twisted, nearly disarming her.

"A man who would sell his own daughter for the right price.

A man who taught you that your only value lies between your legs.

How proud he must be. And you? You're his perfect little creation—beautiful on the outside, rotten to the core. "

She stumbled backward, her perfect technique beginning to crumble under the relentless pressure of my assault. I could see panic creeping into her eyes now, the realization that she'd pushed too far, provoked something she couldn't control.

My blade found her thigh, opening a cut that made her cry out and nearly drop her weapon. The sound of her pain should have brought me back to myself, should have reminded me that this was supposed to be practice.

Instead, it only made me hungrier for more.

"Tell me," I continued, my voice deadly calm now, "when Jalend was fucking you last night, did you think about me? Did you imagine it was my face he was seeing when he closed his eyes?"

"You're insane," she gasped, but I could see the truth in her eyes. She had thought about it. The knowledge was written across her face in fear and fury.

"Maybe," I admitted, pressing forward again. "But at least I'm honest about what I am. You're still pretending to be something pure and noble while you crawl into other women's beds the moment they turn away. You’re worthless and pathetic."

"You take that back," Valeria shrieked, her voice thin with fury. She abandoned all pretence of technique, lunging at me in a wild, clumsy attack.

The civilized mask I wore for the Academy fell away, and the gladiator took its place.

I saw red. The world narrowed to the space between my blade and her body.

I was no longer scoring points; I was aiming to kill.

I feinted high, and when her sword came up to block, I dropped low, sweeping my blade in a vicious arc aimed at the back of her knee.

It was a disabling blow, a fighter’s move, not a duellist’s.

A scream of pain and "Here's the truth, Valeria," I whispered, close enough that only she could hear.

"I loved them. All of them. Completely, desperately, without reservation.

And they loved me back. Not because they had to, not because I owned them, but because they chose to.

Can you say the same about anyone in your perfect, poisonous life? "

I drew back for what would have been a killing blow, my gladius aimed at the soft hollow of her throat.

In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to silence her forever, to stop her venom from ever touching anything I cared about again.

Pure terror ripped from Valeria’s throat as she leaped back, stumbling over her own feet.

She landed hard on the packed earth, her sword flying from her grasp.

She scrambled backward on her hands and heels, her face a mask of shock, the perfect noble lady reduced to a panicked animal.

“Enough, Cantius.” Cassius voice carried across the training ground as he hurried towards us.

I should have stopped then. Should have stepped back, declared victory, walked away.

The fight should have been over. By the rules of the Academy, it was.

But I wasn't fighting by the rules anymore.

I was fighting by the laws of the arena, where a disarmed opponent was an opportunity, not a victory.

I was too far gone in the rage of the arena, driven by the need to survive and the desire for blood.

I swiped my sword at her. Had it been a training sword, the force I used would have probably broken her arm, but we were months if not weeks away from battle, and now we used steel.

Valeria shrieked and rolled, my blade missing her body by an inch. I drove a kick into her stomach, doubling her over with a choked gasp.

The world was a red haze, the roaring in my ears drowning out everything but the frantic beat of my own heart. This was the arena. This was the final moment. Kill or be killed.

A hand shot out, clamping around my wrist like a manacle of ice. The grip was brutal, stopping my arm dead. The shock of it tore through the rage, a sliver of cold reality. I looked up.

Cassius stood beside me, his face a granite mask of fury.

“I said, enough,” he growled, his voice a low thunder that vibrated through me. With a violent twist, he wrenched the sword from my grasp and flung it away.

The sound of the steel clattering on the earth was like a slap. The rage receded, leaving a cold, sickening void in its wake. Around us, every sparring match had stopped, instructors and students alike staring at the tableau we'd created.

Valeria was on the ground, blood streaming from multiple cuts, her expensive training leathers torn and muddy. She looked up at me with naked hatred, her chest heaving with pain and humiliation.

"You mad bitch," she gasped. "You tried to kill me."

I looked down at her, taking in her bloodied face and torn clothes, and felt nothing but cold satisfaction. "Maybe I should have finished the job."

Then my eyes found Jalend. He was pale, his own practice sword hanging forgotten in his hand.

But it wasn’t disgust on his face. It was horror, and something else—a dawning, terrible understanding.

He was finally seeing me. Not the woman he’d shared wine with, but the killer forged in the arena. The monster.

“Get out,” Cassius ordered, his voice dangerously quiet. “Get out of my yard before I have you thrown in the brig.”

I went.