A soldier raced to Tore’s side. “Your Highness, King Dagr and the guard you assigned him are being overwhelmed. Defeat is imminent.”
Tore laughed. “Good. He served his purpose. Let’s go.”
As Tore headed for a small tool shed, Hazer pushed Kayluth and Tyr to follow. Kayluth gaped in amazement. Inside the shed, the floor had been dismantled, and he could see a ladder descending into the dark depths below ground.
“Do not test my patience, Drakken,” Hazer spat, shoving Kayluth toward the hole. “It’s quite a drop.”
Kayluth blew out the breath he’d unwittingly held in a sharp stream and then reached for the ladder. When only his head remained above ground, he gazed at Tyr. “>”
Tyr paled, but he nodded grimly. Only then did Kayluth descend into the darkness.
Brandt
Dagr.
The ex-king—Manning’s biological father—stood with his feet braced apart, hands on his hips, and the hideous crown he loved on his head. The one Manning had mocked just the day before. Behind him stood several of the palace guards who’d taken off their uniform jackets, leaving them in undershirts, in a blatant announcement of their change in allegiance.Oh good. That’ll make rounding up the traitors that much easier.
He knew it had been a mistake to start adding in specifically named Volé guards when Laz, the Minister of Education, whose son was one of the men standing behind Dagr, suggested them to Ivar. The Minister had insisted he wanted those guards for his own safety, snubbing the Drakken who had been assigned to him. There was little they could do to reject the request, considering all the guards had passed the required checks and training. Unfortunately, it looked like they’d agreed too quickly… to their impending detriment.
“I hope Bjorn doesn’t mind getting himself a new minister because I’m going to throttle Laz,” Brandt spat.
“I’ll help,” Manning casually replied.
“Surprise!” Dagr threw his head back, and as his supporters rushed forward, his mocking laughter echoed around the chamber.
Brandt shoved Manning behind him as those Volé and Drakken guards loyal to the throne, to King Bjorn and the Vidareem, came to their rescue. A blast hit Brandt in the arm. Brandt hissed, grabbing his arm. Manning spun him around as two Drakken zipped in front of them with their shields opened, protecting them from further harm.
Manning pushed Brandt’s hand away to inspect the wound. He scoffed and rolled his eyes, “You’ve had worse.”
“Still hurts.” Brandt wrinkled his nose, reapplying pressure to the dripping flesh wound.
More soldiers poured into the rotunda. More Drakken surrounded Brandt and Manning. Shouting, blasts of weapons, the sounds of busts exploding, metal and stone raining down on the tiled floor, filled their ears as they both stumbled, grabbing onto each other for support, rocked by the fear coursing through their bond with Kayluth.
“Kay!” Manning shouted. “Kay!”
Bjorn pushed through the slight gap the Drakken made, easing their circle wider around their kings. “I’ve already sent Ivar to find them.”
“It’s too late,” Manning whined, peering at his brother, the first of many tears tracking down his cheek.
Brandt wrapped Manning tightly in his arms, his cheeks already damp, too. He couldn’t speak, his throat choked. Barely able to draw a breath, he gasped and panted, and when Manning’s legs collapsed, he turned gratefully to Bjorn who caught them both in his strong grasp.
“Margarreg!” Svandis’ shrill shout cut through the din. Then she was there with Mak and Kel, shoving the Drakken aside. Seeing Bjorn, she yelled at him. “Where iz Tyr?” When he was unable to answer, she raised her hand as if to grab him or strike him and may have if Kel hadn’t grabbed her while Mak stepped between them.
Startled by her outburst, he quickly said, “We’ll find him, I promise. Tyr and Kayluth. I sent Ivar.”
Svandis spun to face Manning and Brandt. “Kayluth, too. Oh, my ssonss.” She pulled Manning into her arms, crushing him against her chest.
If Brandt wasn’t so worried he might have laughed at Manning’s squished face. Instead, he pressed closer, letting Svandis embrace him, needing a mother’s love to hold him up when the world was falling down around him… again.
Why did this keep happening to them? Brandt whimpered, lost in the icy dread coursing through him. Had he done something terrible in a past life such that every time he felt happy and content, Fate threw him back into the fire?
Manning grabbed Brandt’s face, pulling him down to look into his eyes. “No. You are the best of us, my love. This is not your fault. This is Tore and my father. This is that Fenrir, Hazer.”
He hugged Brandt hard. Manning squeezed Brandt until he had to push his husband away to breathe. They stared at each other. Red-rimmed eyes, tear-dampened cheeks, skin pale, lips thinned and pinked from pressing them tightly together.
Brandt raised Manning’s hand to his mouth. He kissed Manning’s palm and then guided his love’s hand to his cheek and held it there. “I can’t lose him. Our ba—” Brandt choked, swallowed, and cleared his throat.
“I know.” Manning kissed him softly. “I know. We’ll find him. Him and Tyr.”
