The Elf Witch |Book 1|

Chapter 43

Not one person had broken the rule and drawn blood—until now.

A mix of rage and surprise shone on Aidan's face at the sight of her blood. Tense anticipation swirled in the air. "You did this on purpose, elf witch," he snarled, ready to rip her apart.

Before he went in for the kill, a growl cut through the silence. The Niflheim Heir loomed over her, his speed seemingly impossible for such a large man. Saevel let out another snarl, deeply more menacing and more predatory than anything she'd heard that night.

The hairs on her neck rose.

Not daring to move from the ground, she looked up at the scene, watching it unfold with disbelief.

"It was an accident," Aidan started, "Things got out of hand, but—"

"It was not an accident." Saevel grinned and held the other male by his throat with one hand. "You knew exactly what you were doing. Thought you could get away with it, huh?"

Then, just like her vision foretold, the prince dipped his head and whatever the shifter was about to say ended in a gasp. Before Imani could register the punishment, the shifter fell. Dead, his body hit the ground with a heavy thud, then his heart followed, smacking into the mud.

A shrill scream—Nida most likely—sounded from the chambers below while chanting and shouts broke out in the audience almost immediately.

Unable to look away, she surveyed the body. Bones, tendons, and flesh hung out of his throat in a gnarled mess, with dark red liquid spreading in a halo around him. Saevel stepped back, watching with a savage expression as Aidan's body twitched, the last bits of life leaving him. He nudged the corpse with his foot, turning it over with a wet plop. Blood pooled on the ground, dark in the twilight.

Above her, the crowd surged to the feet, booing. Most came to see a duel to the death—this was simply an execution.

Tilting her head up, she watched his hovering spirit with hunger. Then, finally, it called out in silent anguish, unsure where to go or what to do at the sudden ripping from its corporal state.

Leave, Imani begged the spirit, pointing her wand at the sky—and much to her surprise, he did.

From the corner of her eye, Kiran jumped down from the box, sauntering over.

A slow clap made her snap her gaze to him, and he grinned maniacally. "Incredible! I'm in absolute awe over your performance, by the way." His jacket whipped in the wind while he moved to stand next to his brother.

While Saevel was a murderous beast, Kiran was utterly insane.

Imani heart pounded wildly in response to the intensity of Kiran's eyes on her. "Hmm," he said, "maybe you should have practiced magic more instead of trying so hard to look so beautiful."

This prick.

As if hearing her thoughts, something malignant flashed over his face—then he winked. "Now, my brother and I will discuss whether to let you move or fail."

Her mouth dropped open. "You can't be serious."

His handsome, smirking face was next to hers. Those mismatched eyes glinted even in the fading sunlight, daring her to fight him. "I am. You're done for the day, little elf."

Imani raised herself on her elbows and wiped the blood, mostly smearing it across her chest. Mud caking her fingernails, she dragged herself into a standing position and felt defeat sagging her shoulders. Had she won, the feeling of pleasure would have been indescribable.

But she hadn't won; once again, her life depended on other people's decisions.

"I should win by default," she hissed so only the princes could hear.