Page 26 of What Fury Brings (Wrath and Fury #1)

He regretted the words as soon as he said them. He didn’t know why Athon was egging him on so.

“Exactly. Thirty out of hundreds of thousands of men. Glenaerys honors us.”

“Fine.”

Sanos sped up a little, hoping Athon would take the hint.

The bigger man matched his speed.

“I want a rematch,” Athon said. “I will prove myself to Glen. Next time, I can beat you.”

There was a nasty taste in the prince’s mouth. “Is your entire existence centered on that woman? Didn’t you only start courting a couple of weeks ago?”

“I was nobody. Now I’m everything. Quit changing the subject.”

Sanos started to get pissed. This man was utterly stupid. Sanos had been doing his utmost to help him, but he didn’t see it that way. Athon genuinely liked where he was. He only didn’t like that he’d lost.

“We’re done,” Sanos said with finality.

“I say we’re not.” And Athon shoved him.

He hadn’t been expecting it, and Sanos quickly lost his footing. He landed with skinned knees and smarting palms. Before he could get up, Athon threw a kick under his stomach, sending the breath out of him.

But Sanos had been made to fight his whole life while injured. It didn’t matter that his lungs couldn’t draw in air. He spun and flung a fist at Athon. The bigger man hadn’t been expecting him to recover so quickly. His face flew to the side and blood dripped from his mouth.

Then they threw themselves at each other.

Sanos maintained that he was defending himself. But this was so much more than that. He was being attacked by someone with whom he could finally fight back. Athon was no king. No woman. He was a soldier. He was a bed slave. He was a pain in the ass.

So Sanos took blows and landed blows. Though certain he’d win, it didn’t go on for too long before someone tried to break up the fight. A strong hand landed on Sanos’s bicep to pull him back. He shoved at the figure so he could continue laying into the man in front of him.

But the gym went silent. Even Athon froze, and Sanos wasn’t about to fight a man who wouldn’t fight him back.

So Sanos turned to see what everyone was looking at.

On the floor was none other than Glenaerys. She’d been the one who’d tried to pull Sanos off her man. He’d shoved her. She’d landed on the track, scraping her elbow on the floor.

And it was bleeding.

The guards were on him faster than he could blink. Two held each of his arms in check. Another wrapped an elbow around his neck from behind.

Glenaerys rose and surveyed the entire gymnasium, which had witnessed the encounter. She looked at Sanos with a sneer.

She said, “I want his head.”

They dragged him from the room.

Sanos fought. He tried his hardest to break the holds on him, but the women were too strong. He knew with certainty that he was about to be put to death. He had committed one of the gravest of crimes in Amarra.

They’d nearly gotten him to the exit when he managed a last look back. He saw Glen cupping the face of Athon, whispering something in his ear. He looked smugly back at Sanos.

He had fallen right into Glen’s trap.

Sanos thought he might be taken to a dungeon to await a trial, but that didn’t happen at all. No, he was dragged through the palace to a chamber he’d never visited. They put chains around his neck, wrists, and ankles. Weighted balls kept him from moving. He was a prisoner in a crowded room.

The faces all blurred together. Some might have been in the gymnasium earlier, but he wasn’t certain.

The room heated quickly from all the bodies, and Sanos sweated through his clothing.

Movement up ahead caught his eye, and he watched Glen seat herself on a cushioned chair, Athon at her side. Courtiers surrounded her.

Sanos could barely breathe, and it had nothing to do with the fight from earlier. His chest heaved; he couldn’t think with all the noise in the room. Noblewomen shouted obscenities at him. Men in the room gave testimony. All those who had witnessed the altercation.

It was happening too fast.

He could do nothing to stop it. Couldn’t move more than a few feet in either direction with the heavy weights.

And then a device was rolled into the room.

It was much like the one at the pit, but larger. This guillotine was designed for a head, not a cock.

He was going to die. Without a chance to explain himself.

To say it had been Glen’s plan all along.

She wanted revenge for what he’d said in front of those older noblewomen at breakfast. She wanted to weaken Olerra.

He’d been tricked. It was all a setup. He tried to talk over the voices around him, but no one would hear any of it.

The guillotine came closer and closer. They pushed him to his knees and locked a slab of wood around his neck. His hands were useless at his sides. His nails chipped as he tried to claw at the contraption. When the blade at the top began to wobble from his efforts, he went still.

The room quieted.

“What is going on?”

Glenaerys turned toward the voice, one Sanos never thought he’d be glad to hear. “Ah, Olerra, you’re just in time. Andrastus has struck me. I’ve demanded his head.”

The general stepped in front of Sanos. Her back was to him as she faced down her cousin.

“That is my man, and you may do no such thing without speaking to me first. Else I have the right to make you bleed.”

Glen didn’t seem the least bit worried. “What is there to tell you? You cannot waive his punishment. As the afflicted party, it is my right to demand it.”

“And as the woman this man belongs to, it is my right to demand substitution.”

The room went silent .

So silent one would have thought it had suddenly emptied.

“Substitution?” Glen said, outraged. “No one has asked for such a thing in—”

“A hundred years,” another voice said, and suddenly everyone in the room went down on their knees.

The queen has arrived.

Olerra and Glen rose after a brief bow.

“I will take the punishment,” Olerra said.

“Female royalty cannot be killed!” Glenaerys shot back.

She turned to the queen. “Olerra knows this. She’s trying to take advantage of a loophole in the law.

Your Majesty, you cannot allow this crime to go unpunished.

I was harmed by that man”—she pointed to Sanos—“while trying to stop him from hurting Athon. He’s a violent Brute and should live on our soil no longer! ”

Queen Lemya was taller than Sanos had first thought, having only seen her seated at her breakfast table. She walked around where Sanos was strapped to the guillotine, her long legs taking their time as she made slow circles. He kept his head bowed, trying to look contrite.

“Glenaerys, do not presume to tell me what to do,” the queen said. “Do you not think I know how to dole out justice, even where my own family is concerned?”

Glen trembled with anger. “Forgive me, My Queen.” The words sounded sincere enough, but she looked far from sorry.

The queen stopped right in front of Sanos, and he dared to look up.

Eyes on him, she said, “The law is the law. Olerra has the right to demand substitution, but she cannot be killed. Therefore, Olerra can either live out her life in exile or take a beating so that her betrothed might live.” The queen turned to Olerra.

“Is that a choice you really want to make, niece?”

Olerra turned around, and Sanos saw her face for the first time that day.

She might as well have worn a mask over her features for all the emotion she showed.

Was she feeling sympathetic? Was she furious with him?

Was she ready to let him die for this? He didn’t know what she was doing or why.

But she must have seen his terror. Bewilderment. And now a spark of hope.

Olerra nodded once. “I will take the beating. Release him.”

Sanos was let out of the stocks, but they kept him bound in the chains.

“As the afflicted party,” Glenaerys said, recovering quickly from the disruption, “I demand to choose the one who will dole out the punishment.”

The queen said, “Very well, Glenaerys, but it must be a willing person you select and not a man, for obvious reasons.”

“Oh, I assure you I’m willing. Now, restrain her.”

At first, no one moved. The queen’s guard didn’t take orders from Glenaerys, and it seemed that any common soldiers from the gymnasium were loyal to Olerra. It was only as Glen cast angry glances to her personal guard that the order was finally followed.

They tied Olerra’s hands together so she could not fight back. Sanos felt sick. He felt grateful. He was confused. Why would she do this? How could the queen let this happen?

Hadn’t Olerra said that Glen wasn’t a trained fighter? Surely this couldn’t be too bad.

It was, in fact, worse than he could have imagined.

Olerra couldn’t remember the last time she’d been so afraid.

Andrastus was her responsibility. When a loyal servant had brought her the news that her prince was to be beheaded, she’d run faster than ever.

She couldn’t explain why she felt an attachment to this man, but if he’d broken the laws in some way, then she clearly hadn’t done a good job training him. It was her job to provide food and shelter and safety. She’d even given him space after the trauma of what she’d made him witness yesterday.

She had no choice but to demand substitution. It was the only way to save him. To continue to be a provider and a protector for him. It was a matter of honor.

Even if it meant submitting herself to her cousin.

Glenaerys donned a pair of brass knuckles, padded where they wrapped around her fingers. Did she keep those on her at all times?

Despicable. Glen couldn’t even throw a proper punch without risking breaking her hand. She’d use a foul instrument to make it hurt harder and protect her delicate bones.

The audience of nobility was, at least, not blood hungry like they’d been the other day for Andrastus’s wrestling match.

The women in the room were silent. Anticipatory, yes, but it was unclear how much of the anticipation was horror versus eagerness.

Who in the room was on Glenaerys’s side and who was on Olerra’s?

The first punch slammed into Olerra’s left cheek. She felt the metal connect with bone, tasted blood in her mouth, and heard Glen’s exhale.

Olerra was proud that she kept her feet.

The second hit, however, caused her to lose her balance. She landed on the floor but quickly righted herself.

Glenaerys hit her again. She struck Olerra in the stomach this time, catching a rib on her brass knuckles. Olerra grunted out in pain, doubling over.

She would not look at her aunt. She didn’t need saving. Didn’t need anything. She would accept this. She’d suffered far worse on the battlefield. There was nothing Glen could do to her that was worse than what a Brutish soldier had doled out.

Glenaerys got more creative as she went on. Throwing kicks. Experimenting with Olerra’s shoulders and hips and other places. Learning where would do the most damage. Learning what would send her toppling to the ground.

Everything hurt now. Olerra was bleeding in too many places to count, the knuckles splitting skin and fracturing bones.

Glenaerys’s breathing became labored. The room was still silent enough for all to hear it.

Olerra made the mistake of looking at her.

The unmasked hatred on her cousin’s face was another blow. Olerra was certain she wasn’t deserving of that ire. It was that of someone ripe with jealousy, and now Glen had an outlet for that feeling as she struck Olerra again and again.

Glen resented Olerra for being a general. For being strong. For being the one to stand between her and a throne. In their youth, they’d been the best of friends, but that was a different lifetime.

Another hit sent Olerra to the ground. It took her longer to regain her feet. The room spun.

“That’s enough,” Ydra said, stepping out from the crowd. When had she arrived?

Glen shot a look to Ydra as though she’d forgotten an audience was even there. Glen didn’t respond to her, instead turning toward the queen. “Your Majesty, it is a life sentence that Olerra is the substitute for. The beating must be of equal value.”

The queen nodded gravely. Olerra blinked when her aunt’s figure started to double.

When next she landed on the floor, Olerra could not get up again. Glen sent her foot into Olerra’s stomach again and again. When a kick struck her face, the world went dark.