Lincoln shoots me a sly look. We’ve had multiple conversations about how son-centric Connor is. At first, I thought it was just a lot of paternal love. Now, I’m not so sure. The guy’s a demon-phobe or something.
Aldred hops to his feet. “Connor, you must help me.” The crowd breaks out into grumbles. I frown. It’s still not clear who they’re rooting for here. Which is a little sad, considering these folks were all invited to our wedding.
Note to self: make better friends.
At least, my parents are here along with Octavia, and Xavier and Camilla, and they look appropriately concerned. That means a lot.
The Arbiter raises her hand, palm forward. The room falls silent. “And if this man is found guilty, what is the punishment you seek?”
“I had asked before that he be exiled from Antrum.” Lincoln shakes his head. “Now, I wish for something else.”
Lincoln and I had discussed this a while ago, so I know exactly where he’s going with this. He’ll ask for a life sentence in a dark dungeon.
“As the high prince, I request a duel of execution. A battle to the death.”
Or not.
I grip Lincoln’s arm. “Battle to the death?” Some small voice reminds me that this is the exact same conversation I used to have with my mother, only she was the clutchy one who whined about everything being “to the death” and I was one who wanted to fight. I listen to that little voice for a moment, then go right on with my grabby hands and over-the-top worrying.
“To the death?” A small smile rounds Lincoln’s mouth. “You used to do that all the time at the Arena. And at the tender age of twelve, I might add.”
I lower my voice as much as possible, not that I really need to. The whole crowd is chattering away so loudly, I can hardly hear myself think. “I don’t like this idea.”
“You must admit; it has its merits.” Lincoln glares at Aldred in a way that says “I’ve been wanting to kill that guy for a long time.”
“Isn’t there anything else? What about the whole dungeon idea? We could make sure he was locked up with rats and old incontinent dudes.”
“Appealing as that sounds, our family won’t be safe as long as Aldred is alive. A duel is the only option that keeps our family secure while still following thrax tradition.” He takes my hands in his. “Even so, if you give the word, we can choose another path.”
My stomach does few flip-flops. Another path. I know what route Lincoln’s talking about here: walking away from the throne and leaving the thrax to Aldred. He’d do it, too. I scan the courtroom. Nervous thrax faces peer at me from the packed benches. Sure, many of them have been anti-demonic assholes, but others have been kind and welcoming, too. It would suck to watch them suffer.
I carefully inspect every line of Lincoln’s face. My guy knows he can take down Aldred. And yet, he’d walk away from everything just for me. Sure, we could live in Purgatory and Lincoln would never complain about leaving his crown behind. Even so, I know one thing for certain.
It would bug the crap out of me.
Every time I’d get news about something awful that Aldred did, I’d want to suit up as King and Queen and make it right. Only, I wouldn’t be able to. In the long run, neither of us could live with that. Plus, Lincoln really is a kick-ass warrior. He’ll flatten Aldred in no time. Hopefully. I have no idea how these duel thingies work, though.
That said, I can’t let this opportunity pass us by, for Lincoln or for me.
“I have one thing to say here.” I lock gazes with my guy, trying to convey all my adoration and trust with a single look. “Go rip his throat out, honey.”
A slow smile rounds Lincoln’s mouth. “I love you.”
I give him a kissy face. “Right back at ya.”
“Besides, you know me. I have a plan.” Lincoln turns to the Arbiter. “It is decided. I formally request a duel of execution. Nothing else will do.”
The courtroom falls silent as the Arbiter raises her hand, palm forward. “I have reviewed the evidence you provided. The high prince’s request is granted.”
“What?” All the blood drains from Aldred’s face. “The prince is a far better warrior. I won’t agree to it and you must have my consent.”
“Then I allow you to set terms for the battle,” says Lincoln. “I won’t bring any weapons, if you like.”
It’s an effort to keep up my calm-face because inside I’m screaming. No weapons? What is he, nuts? I mean, technically I go into a battle all the time without a traditional weapon. That said, I always have my tail.
Aldred leans back on his heels, a sly look crossing his face. “In that case, I consent to the duel. No weapons.”