Sorin, King of Avalii, removed his helmet and wiped his brow after the end of the latest battle. Never one to be hasty, he kept his crystal sword at the ready. In the distance, the clanging of swords was dying out—and so was their firelight. The bloody day had been long and hard won, just like every day before it. He and his army were holding on but just barely. Those that had survived, though, would live to see another fight, dubious honor that was.

Sometimes, he was tempted to just hand over the kingdom to his brother, but the idiot was the one who’d started all this. And there was so much more at stake than Avalii, so Sorin would be the one to finish it. Still, so many dead…

“Your Majesty, you are unhurt?” The voice of Massion, his captain of the guard, floated to him through the fading noises of warfare.

Sorin sighed and turned around slowly, all the while keeping a wary eye out for any last-minute attacks. “I’m fine. Where is the rest of my guard? Alive, I hope?”

Under his helmet, Massion’s cheeks reddened. “They are all in good health. We failed you, though, when we became separated.”

Sorin waved away his concerns. “In battle, you can’t possibly expect to stick to me like tar.”

“But—”

“You guard my back to the best of your abilities. But you can’t do that if you’re dead, so you have to protect yourselves, too,” he said, inflecting his voice with a steely quality that brooked no argument.

Massion bowed his head and then stiffened. Since he didn’t try to run anyone through, though, Sorin knew it must be one of his own men approaching.

“Well, you’re both looking dapper!”

Sorin rolled his eyes. Yes, that would be his herald and advisor, Cillum.

A low grumbling reverberated through Massion’s helmet. “We can’t all look as lily-fresh as you. Some of us actually have to fight.”

The herald lifted a hand to his heart as if mortally wounded, though his blue eyes twinkled. “I’ll have you know I have my own duty to suffer.” Cillum turned to Solin and sobered. “Morlin, the herald of Vennic, is asking for a few hours.”

That meant Morlin needed a few hours to convince Vennic into a full retreat. Sorin didn’t want to give his fool of a brother that benefit, but his own troops needed the rest. “Granted. Anything else?”

Cillum smoothed his blue tabard down. “Just that some of Vennic’s top officials are coming to think he’s insane.”

Solin lifted a brow. “Morlin said that?” What a piss-poor herald he’d be, then, even if Vennic was insane. Still, this could work in Sorin’s favor.

“Not in so many words. But I pieced it together from what he did say.”

“You didn’t say anything so revealing, I hope?” Not that Sorin truly thought he had, but Cillum did like to prattle.

Cillum’s eyes narrowed, his blond brows slashing downward. “Never! I’m an experienced herald who swore fealty to the rightful king, which is you, by the way.”

Massion made a strangled sound. “This flippant talk is completely inappropriate to the battlefield.”

Solin opened his mouth to head off a tiff between his herald and his uptight captain of the guard. However, something on the periphery of his vision stole all words.