Chapter 197: Clashes of Steel
The gleaming sword slashed for her throat. Lorraine jerked back, her spine arching so the blade hissed past, close enough that a single strand of hair drifted loose.
Her breath caught in relief, but this was not who she was. She was not a woman trained to dodge blades. That didn’t even give her the content feeling she usually got. She had never been one to meet steel with steel. And yet, adrenaline surged through her veins, burning with the fierce instinct of protecting the child growing inside her.
Before she could regain her footing, the mercenary swung again. His strikes were heavy, brutish, but carried the strength of a man honed for killing. Lorraine cursed herself. She should have known the poison would take longer to root itself in such a beast of a man. He was only a little shorter than her husband, but twice as broad, built like iron.
The sword came too close this time. She yanked at her skirt, desperate to tear it free from his grip, but his fist locked like a shackle.
Is this it?
Her voice failed her again. No scream, no plea left her lips. She hated that feeling.
The blade arced down...
She clenched her jaws as if that would save her from the sword coming for her throat.
And then... a dagger whistled through the air and buried itself deep in the mercenary’s wrist. Blood sprayed, his grip faltered, and with a strangled cry, the sword clattered to the floor.
The poison chose that moment to seize him. His limbs jerked violently, foam spilling from his mouth as he convulsed. He writhed like a fish on a hook, but before death claimed him, a dark figure appeared. A blade drove through his chest with surgical precision, silencing him in an instant.
Lorraine staggered back, startled, almost tumbling as the corpse’s fist refused to release her skirt. Before she could fall, an arm slid firmly around her waist, steadying her.
"Your Highness, be careful," came the low voice.
"Aldric..." Her lips parted, and for a heartbeat, all the terror she had pressed down surged up again. She missed her husband. Gods, she didn’t want to be here. Not now. Not like this. Weakness gnawed at her edges.
But Aldric’s presence anchored her. She drew in a breath, steadying herself, then managed a small, brittle smile. "You’re here." The words were half relief, half command to her own fraying courage. Everything will be fine.
She swallowed her cries, forced herself upright. Aldric bent down, prying the dead man’s stiff fingers from her gown.
"Deal with this," Lorraine said, her voice regaining steel. "I don’t want any of them alive."
He nodded once, but before leaving her side, his gloved hand lifted briefly to rest atop her head. Lorraine froze, startled even. Aldric was never one to break propriety. This was no gesture of a steward, but of kin. Of family.
"I apologize for being late," he murmured. "Relax." His face was masked, but Lorraine felt the warmth behind his words. She could almost see the smile in his shadowed eyes.
Her throat tightened. She gave a small nod. "I’ll wait there," she whispered, pointing toward a quieter corner of the library, away from the chaos. She was not built for these clashes of steel, but she had survived them nonetheless.
And as Aldric drew his blade to join the fray, two mercenaries still remained, two already fallen, the other two fighting like wolves, snarling, relentless.
Steel clashed against steel, ringing sharply in the narrow chamber. Aldric moved like a shadow made flesh, his black blade finding the gaps in the mercenaries’ defenses. One man already lay bleeding at his feet, but the other two pressed forward with feral persistence, their size and brute force turning the skirmish into a storm of noise and fury.
Lorraine had withdrawn, pressing herself against the wall, hands cradling her belly as she forced herself to breathe evenly. Her eyes never left Aldric: her anchor in the chaos.
The steward parried a savage downswing, twisting his wrist so the sword slid harmlessly past his shoulder. His counter was ruthless, a slash across the thigh that made the mercenary roar in pain. But before Aldric could finish him, the second came from behind, blade whistling toward his spine.
"Now!" The eldest boy’s voice cracked through the clamor. He and his brother had seized a broken chair and hurled it clumsily at the mercenary’s head. The timing was wrong. The mercenary ducked with an animal grunt, and the chair splintered harmlessly against the wall, forcing Aldric to shift aside, his killing strike ruined.
"Fools," Aldric hissed under his breath. "Stay put!"
The cost of their mistake came swiftly. The mercenary he had wounded earlier surged forward with renewed desperation, while the second one closed in with a grin, emboldened by Aldric’s momentary disadvantage.
The boys scrambled, guilt flashing on their faces. One of them, too brash, snatched up a dagger from the fallen corpse and lunged at the bigger man’s back. But the mercenary spun with terrifying speed, backhanding the boy across the cheek. He fell with a cry, blood streaking his lip.
Lorraine nearly cried out, but bit her knuckles instead, terror lodging in her throat.
Aldric’s fury ignited. He pivoted low, sweeping the mercenary’s legs out from under him before driving his blade upward, burying it to the hilt in the man’s chest. The brute convulsed, choking on blood, then went still.
Only one mercenary remained. He was the largest of the group, his chest heaving like a bull’s, sweat and blood dripping down his temple. He glanced at his fallen comrades, then back at Aldric. Instead of fear, something almost like amusement flickered in his eyes.
"You’ll tire before I do," he spat, raising his blade with both hands.
They circled each other, silence falling for one taut heartbeat. Then the clash began anew with sparks flying as sword met sword, each strike jarring Lorraine’s bones even from a distance. The mercenary was relentless, driving Aldric back step by step. Even the other four men couldn’t do anything against him. Aldric and others absorbed every blow, their stance unyielding, waiting, watching.
Finally, Aldric found his opening. A feint to the left, then a twist of his wrist sent the mercenary’s blade skittering off balance. Aldric surged forward, his dagger raised for the finishing thrust...
...Creak...
The heavy door to the library creaked open.
All eyes snapped toward it.
Every head turned at once.
A draft swept in, carrying the faint scent of stone and dust. A lone figure stood framed in the doorway, half-swallowed by the shadows behind it.
Steel stilled mid-swing. Breath caught. The clash of battle, for one trembling heartbeat, halted as if the world itself leaned forward to see what would come next.
Standing there was...