Page 29 of The Call of Crimson (The Crimson & Shadows #2)

“Don’t you dare try to pull rank on me,” Darian growls, voice deadly. He rakes a hand through his chestnut hair, then points a finger at Ayden. “Not with this.”

Ayden deflates slightly, shame flashing across his face. “You’re right. I’m sorry, Darian. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Look,” I interject. “I don’t want to spar with him. Darian probably isn’t even capable of keeping up with me.”

Darian scoffs. “I’m not dignifying that with a response.”

“You technically just did,” I smirk. “Regardless, I’ll spar with literally anyone else.”

Across the grounds, Aurelius’s voice cuts through the noise. “Then spar with me, little demon.”

Before I can respond, Ayden snarls, “Not fucking happening. You and I have things to work through, brother.”

“Still mad you don’t know how to handle your sword?” Aurelius smirks lazily.

“I can handle my sword just fine when I’m the one controlling it,” Ayden growls, grabbing Aurelius by the arm and dragging him toward an empty ring.

“Ayden, I’m still not doing this!” Darian calls after him.

“You know she’s too skilled for the others,” Ayden throws over his shoulder.. “Just do it, and I’ll make it up to you later.”

Darian folds his arms. “How, exactly, are you planning to make it up to me?”

“What if I make it up to you?” Rowina asks, a sweet smile curling her lips.

Darian lifts a skeptical brow. “Are you finally going to get in this ring and let me train you?”

“Mmm, no. But what if I let you take me home for family dinner?”

“Fine,” he finally relents, “but I’m not pulling my punches for her.”

“Wouldn’t expect you to,” Ayden replies as he strips off his shirt, heading for Aurelius across the ring. Beside him, Aurelius pulls his own shirt free, leaving both males bare-chested under the late morning sun.

What a glorious sight that is , I think to myself, momentarily distracted.

Ayden may not be what my soul craves, but his body does something to me. He and Aurelius are the same height, but Ayden carries at least thirty more pounds of pure, defined muscle. I thoroughly enjoy every inch of Aurelius’ lean, honed form, but Ayden?

Ayden is like reading the same book in a different, equally sinful language.

“You done ogling them, General? ” Darian sneers.

I snap my attention back to him, only to find him shitless as well.

Fuck me, I think grimly. Why did the asshole have to look so good without a shirt?

Darian, like Ayden, is all carved muscle and brutal strength. But where Ayden and Aurelius’s skin is kissed by the sun, Darian is fair like mepale and dusted with chestnut hair that trails down the hard vee of his hips. He’s taller too, by at least half a foot, and solid as a wall.

Gods, what was wrong with me? Did I really find this male attractive?

Yeah, babe. Assholes are kind of your type, my inner voice supplies helpfully.

The inner voice had started sounding suspiciously like Elijah lately.

Not that asshole , I grumble inwardly.

“You done flirting with the princess?” I snap out loud, ignoring my traitorous brain.

“Are you going to fight me or just drool all day, General?” Every time Darian says my title, it holds more disdain than the last. It was really starting to piss me off.

“Let’s go, General, ” I retort with equal disdain.

“There are a couple of ground rules,” he says as he paces into the ring. “One—you fight without your Gifts. You’re only good as your powerless self.”

“I can respect that,” I say with a curt nod.

“Two—first to tap out, pass out, or exit the ring loses.”

“Fair enough.”

“Three—nothing else is off limits. Your enemy won’t fight fair, so I don’t train fair. There is no honor in dying because you played nice.”

“I’m feeling an odd sense of respect for you and your rules. I don’t like it.”

“I swear to the gods, though—” His eyes narrow. “If you go for my cock, I’ll make you fucking regret it. That’s kind of an unspoken exception to the third rule.”

“Males and their damn cocks.” I roll my eyes. “You have nothing to worry about. I want to stay as far away as possible from your tiny appendage.”

“Didn’t feel that way when you rubbed your ass against it and moaned for me in the library.”

“First off, I did not rub any?—”

Punch.

His fist crashes into my gut before I can finish the sentence.

“Fuck,” I wheeze, staggering.

I right myself just in time to dodge his second punch, snapping a kick into his chest. It doesn’t land clean, sending a sharp spike of pain up my calf.

Darian stumbles but keeps his footing.

I rush him, throwing a right hook toward his nose.

He deflects it easily, countering with a brutal punch to my jaw. Pain explodes across my face, rattling my teeth.

Spitting blood onto the dirt, I glare murder at him.

“Come on, General,” he taunts. “You fight like the spoiled brat you are.”

With a growl, I launch myself at him, feinting high before slamming my body into his torso. He buckles under the momentum, and we crash to the ground hard, me landing on top.

Before he can react, I pull back my arm and drive my fist into his nose.

The victory is short-lived, though. Using his greater size, he bucks his hips and throws me off, rolling me beneath him. He pins my shoulders, pressing a forearm against my throat.

“Submit,” he growls.

“Fuck you,” I rasp, my vision darkening at the edges.

I need oxygen as badly as I need to win this match.

“No thanks,” he smirks.

“Wasn’t really an offer,” I choke out.

With a sharp jab, I jam my fingers into the pressure point at his neck.

He jerks back with a grunt, loosening his hold just enough for me to shove him off.

Rolling free, I gasp for air, blood slicking my jaw, my chest heaving. I flip to my feet, dropping into a crouch.

Darian rises too, blood running freely down his face from his broken nose.

“What now?” he pants.

I grin, sharp and feral, beckoning him forward with a cocky two-finger wave. “Come on, General. Thought you said you weren’t done yet.”

“You haven’t had enough?” he growls, circling me.

I mirror his steps, keeping him in front of me at all times. “I’ll have had enough when you’re flat on your back submitting to me.”

“That will never happen,” he promises.

We’ll see.

He makes the first move, charging me.

I wait until he’s almost on top of me, then pivot in a tight twirl. At the last second, I crouch low and sweep my leg in front of his feet.

Darian stumbles, arms flying out to balance himself, and I don’t waste a breath.

I leap onto his back, my arm snapping around his throat. He thrashes violently, but I tighten my grip, locking my arm until it aches.

“Submit,” I whisper in his ear.

He doesn't.

Of course he doesn't.

I hold tighter, feeling the muscles in his body tense, then slowly, alarmingly, go slack.

“Oh fuck,” I breathe, realization dawning too late.

Gravity pulls us down hard, and this time it's my body that slams into the ground first. Pain sears through my spine, my grip loosening out of sheer instinct.

But before either of us can move?—

Crack.

The sharp, sickening sound of breaking bone cuts through the courtyard, followed by Ayden’s furious wail.

Our sparring forgotten, I scramble upright, just in time to see a castle guard hit the ground, lifeless, eyes staring blankly at the sky.

I bolt toward the commotion, finding Aurelius standing rigid as more guards rush to surround him.

“What did you do?” I whisper.

Aurelius meets my gaze with a terrifying calm. “What was necessary,” he says, utterly emotionless.

I search his face, trying to discern what might be running through that mind of his.

Aurelius didn't kill without cause. But gods, what possible cause justified this?

“Why the fuck was this necessary?” Ayden roars.

“Yes,” Darian growls. “Explain to me why murdering one of my guards was necessary.”

Aurelius turns to Ayden and spits, “Would you have preferred a dead fiancée instead?”

Ayden’s face darkens. “Guards, restrain Prince Aurelius and escort him to his chambers. He’s confined there until further notice.”

Guards immediately restrain Aurelius, but he doesn’t fight them. He complies, letting them escort him inside the castle.

I crouch by the body at my feet. There’s nothing remarkable about the fallen guard, but he was a person. Someone who lived and breathed. Someone who just died.

Gently, I close his vacant eyes.

Something glints at his belt. A knife, sleek and unfamiliar, unlike anything issued to Prudia’s soldiers.

I slip it free, raising it to my nose. The horribly familiar metallic scent hits me like a blow.

“Ayden,” I croak. “This is poisoned.”

“Seven hells,” he curses, moving to my side

“It’s the same poison,” I whisper numbly. “The one that killed Nameah, Layne, and my mother.”

Memories crash over me?—

Nameah’s body limp in my arms.

Layne’s blood staining my dress.

My mother’s final breath.

My hand trembles violently. The knife slips from my fingers, clattering against the stones.

“Stay with me, love,” Ayden murmurs, crouching in front of me, anchoring me with his steady hands.

“I-I’m sorry,” I stammer, trying to shake myself out of the memories.

“It’s okay, Breyla.” His voice is low, firm. “I’m going to take you to your room now.”

The walk back is a blur. I barely register the castle walls, the guards stationed outside my door, the heavy click of the lock behind me.

None of it matters.

Moving on instinct alone, I shove the dresser in front of the door. Only then do I exhale, sinking to the floor.

I don't bother undressing. Forming my shadows into jagged edges, I slice the cursed dress from my body, the fabric falling away in ribbons, blood welling where my shadows bite too deep.

I welcome the sting, letting it distract me from the emotional turmoil happening inside my own head.

Crawling into bed naked, I wrap the thick duvet around my trembling body.

And I cry.

Three shades of blue eyes stare back at me every time I shut my eyes. The glacial hue of my mother’s, Layne’s deep navy, and finally, Nameah’s piercing blue irises.

Eyes that will never see again because of me.

Sobs rack my body as I let it all go. I hadn’t thought of or cried for them in weeks. That guilt makes me cry harder.

Eventually, the grief drags me into a fitful, broken sleep.

When I awake, it’s dark outside. I must have fallen asleep sometime around lunch, and now it looks to be well past dinner.

Ayden sits on the end of my bed, a plate of food in hand. “How are you?”

“What time is it?” I rasp, ignoring the question.

“Just past eight.”

I nod numbly and reach for the plate.

He hands it over, watching silently as I devour the roast lamb, vegetables, and crusty bread.

“Aurelius?” I ask when I can finally speak.

“He’s free,” Ayden says. “I cleared him of any suspicion or wrongdoing.”

I pause, fork halfway to my mouth. “What happened?”

Ayden sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair. “His Gift picked up on something off about that guard. Apparently, the guard intended to attack you with that poisoned blade you found. Aurelius acted before he had the chance.”

I lower the plate to my lap, swallowing hard.

“We’re still investigating,” Ayden continues. “Looking into his family and belongings. We’ll find whoever sent him.”

“Good.”

Silence stretches between us, heavy and brittle.

“Tell me what you’re thinking, sweetheart,” Ayden nearly begs.

“How did you get in here?” I ask instead, eyeing the dresser I shoved in front of the door.

“Darian assisted once I discovered your barricade.”

“Of course he did,” I mutter, dragging a hand through my tangled hair.

“What do you need?”

“Sleep,” I say simply.

“Of course.” Ayden rises, gathering the plate. He hesitates at the door.

“Ayden?” I call softly.

He turns. “Yes, Princess?”

“Can you… make the dreams stop?”

A soft smile curves his lips. “As you wish.”

He leans down, brushing a kiss to my forehead. His fingers weave through my hair, and magic—warm and sure—settles deep into my bones, lulling me toward peace.

He moves the dresser against the wall and shuts the door quietly behind him.

I flick my wrist, sliding the lock back into place.

And finally, finally, I slip into a deep, dreamless sleep.