Scarbound

I hold my breath as a twig snaps in the distance, adjusting the blade that threatens to slip from my damp palm. The hair at the nape of my neck stands in awareness.

My first solo patrol and something or someone was hunting me. A shuffle has me spinning on my heels. I pull my arm back, ready to deliver a fatal blow, only to find a black raven staring at me.

Bastard.

No wonder Father sent me here. I feared a damn bird. I sigh, letting myself relax, and suddenly a rush of black slams into my side. My mind blurs as I slam into the bark, ears ringing from the impact.

I don’t think and blindly throw a blade. A satisfying hiss escapes my attacker. When my eyes adjust, All I see is the black glint of a sword plummeting towards my chest. Temporarily forgetting the pain, I throw my body to the right. I don’t have time to avoid the blade slicing through my side. A clean cut into flesh that steals my breath. A groan escapes me as hot blood pours from the wound. Adrenaline surges and I gather my footing into a defensive stance.

He growls as he rips the blade from the bark, narrowing his scarlet eyes on mine,

Dielon.

“Ready to give up, love?” His voice is husky. My eyes narrow in on the blade embedded in his thigh and satisfaction curls in my gut.

“Are you?” I snarl.

He smirks, his eyes dropping to my hand that gripped the small blade. It was a small dagger, nothing compared to the sword he wielded.

His eyes shine with blood lust as he launches the next attack. I leap back, dodging his swift blows. He advances, his face contorted into a scowl. I let him corner me. His stature gave him an advantage, but I was fast. With his next blow, he expects me to retreat. Instead, I throw myself at him with an upward strike, narrowly avoiding his blade.

A smile creeps on my face as the sound of sliced flesh graces my ears and fresh blood spills across my face.

He roars, his large hand gripping his face, and I take the opening, landing a kick to his knee. He falls, dropping his sword to the forest floor. I kick it out of reach before drawing the crimson-covered blade to his throat. My chest heaves and I tip the blade under his chin, forcing him to look at me.

I let myself take him in. Blood pours from a six-inch diagonal cut from his sharp jaw across his strong nose into dark hair tied back into a knot. I trace over the Dielon tattoos that creep up his throat. A sign of high regard.

“Who are you, Dielon?”

He holds my gaze. The rage simmering in the scarlet eye, not blinded by blood, was palpable. Even covered in gore, he was breathtaking. Almost painful to look at.

“You test my patience,” I growl, pressing the blade tightly enough to draw a sliver of blood.

The world tilts and the pain in my side doubles the longer I linger. I don’t have to look down to know I’m losing too much blood. The smell of copper surrounded us, and I didn’t want to think of the predators that would track our scent.

I let my gaze drop to his form before my eyes lock on the insignia on his chest and a smile stretches across my face. A snake wrapped around a dagger. It wasn’t Dielon red- but gold.

“This must be my lucky day. The crown prince of Dielon, bloody and kneeling before me.” I taunt, ignoring the rushing in my ears.

His eyes flare, and he only presses forward into the blade. Challenging me.

“Kill me, Gallow.” He spits my namesake like an insult.

I should kill him. I should end his life now, but something makes me pause. As if a silent force keeps me from embedding the blade into his throat. He keeps his eyes on mine and apprehension tightens my chest. I growl in frustration, pressing the blade until the cut flows.

One.

Kill him.

Two.

Do it.

Three.

“Tell your father that the heir to the Gallow throne pitied you. Your face can be a reminder of my goodwill–or rather, your failure.” I sneer down at him before dropping the blade from his throat.

I don’t turn my back, keeping my eyes on him, fighting a wince at the jolt of pain at the movement. Adrenaline was wearing off, and the pain was rushing in. I snatch the black steel sword retreating from the wounded prince.

“You will die by my hands, Mecca of Gallows,” he growls after me.

“Until then Kio of Dielon.”

I give him one last cruel smile before creeping back into the Moor forest. He would be a show of my goodwill. And a show of my brutality.

I race back to the wall.

Back under the cruelty of my father.