Queen of Chaos (Legacy of the Nine Realms, #5)(49)
“I’d be honored if the princess would honor me with her colors as well.” Repeating his words, Zyion expressed interest, but there was no expectation in his tone.
They both waited for my choice as Griffon cleared his throat, nodding toward Aden as I considered my choice. The moment I turned toward Zyion, a ripple of shocked murmurs moved through the crowd.
“What are you doing?”
“If my grandmother trusted you with her colors, then I will strive to do so as well. Don’t disappoint me, Zyion.”
“You can’t do that!” Aden hissed.
“If you didn’t want me to choose, then you shouldn’t have given me a choice. Personally, I’ve always preferred the underdog.” Stepping closer to Zyion, I grabbed his large, rough, scarred hand and placed the material in his waiting palm. Then I returned to my chair, smirking at the rage simmering in Aden’s eyes. “Good luck, gentlemen.”
Chapter Sixteen
Aria
The crowd remained silent as Aden and Zyion began moving toward the field. My focus remained on Zyion and the incessant tug of the thread that seemed to run between us. I endeavored to calm the thread, to get it to stop its overtly agitated insistence I pay attention to it. I didn’t want to disturb him, not with the mounting intensity of the crowd building. I wasn’t sure what had been between the men, but there was unquestionably bad blood between them.
A man in black robes rose to his feet as Zyion strode straight for him. The man smiled, but whatever he saw on Zyion’s face made his joy falter. He grabbed a silver breastplate with red phoenixes on it and then assisted Zyion into the heavy armor. The gorget that protected his throat and neck was obsidian and had a blood-red cape attached. Once he’d finished adding the arm pieces, he pushed the pauldrons onto his shoulders. Zyion stood to accept the helmet, which covered his entire face in etched silver with a thin slit over the eyes.
Aden’s armor seemed to be for show, since it lacked the thickness of Zyion’s armor. His cape was silver instead of red, which I was certain held some meaning, and his breastplate was as shiny and untried as his helmet with red and white feathers. He was a knight in shining armor who had never seen a true battle.
Overall, Aden’s armor looked more minimal compared to Zyion’s, who exuded a lethal, merciless presence on the field. After both men received their blades, Zyion glanced up at me with a worrisome look churning in his stormy blue depths.
“You should’ve handed Aden your colors, woman.”
My eyes narrowed. “If I’d wanted to hand them to Aden, I’d have done so. I didn’t choose him because, if I am expected to choose the winner of the match before the fight has even begun, I’d choose you. Aden? He’s weak of mind and conviction, and he’s also ruled by his emotions.” The sound he made inside my head was heavy with disapproval, but he didn’t deny my observation. “If it weren’t a choice, you should’ve told me that plainly.” A soft rattle of approval rushed through my mind. “Besides, I don’t have time for men who dance around shit or play word games. If you expect me to discern or read your cues without offering me a reason for your madness, then that’s on you. I don’t intend to sit around here wasting time when Hecate is healing as we speak.”
“I think I prefer your silence rather than listening to you.” My brow creased as he stopped in front of a small dirt circle in the center of the vividly green field. “Do you honestly think your uncles will allow you to walk away from this realm? I assure you it won’t be so easy to leave here. You are the true heir to the throne. No, you’re choosing to ignore the alpha male they tossed at you. They picked him because he’s easily controllable and simple-minded. Do you think they will allow you to live if you don’t do what little girls are told to do? You weren’t supposed to have a mind of your own. They wanted a puppet, one that they could control. You’re ruining their plans.”
“They think I’m a lamb.” Establishing my place above my uncle had done nothing but heighten their scrutiny of me. Let them think I was a delicate, weak-minded thing. It would be their mistake. The last one they made.
“You are a lamb. You should carry a weapon, Aria,” Zyion hissed, and the rebuke in his tone rubbed me raw.
“I may have been once, but that was long ago. I was forced to become a lion, and predators don’t need weapons when they are one.”
Aden lunged with his blade drawn, swinging on Zyion with hard, quick blows. Zyion deflected and guarded against each strike. Far sooner than I expected, Aden became winded, and that was when Zyion moved, advancing on Aden with hard, bone-jarring hits. Aden’s lack of blade skills and training were apparent when compared to Zyion’s. Anger fueled Aden’s fight. Emotions held no place in a sword fight—or any fight, for that matter. Emotions made you sloppy, and careless warriors often ended up dead. The moment they began, cheers and screaming erupted throughout the air. Each move drove their excitement, ending with them growing louder until it became almost deafening.
Aden lunged, and Zyion stepped back, masterfully deflecting each blow meant to disarm him. Every parry Zyion made was precise, and forced Aden to riposte each swing. The merciless assault Zyion led had Aden backing away as each blow landed with a thud against his blade. Aden blocked each clash of his blade, but Zyion didn’t appear to be working hard.