Chapter 23 A Taste of Power
The castle’s combat hall thrummed with the eager bloodlust of a hundred vampires. Word had spread quickly—too quickly—that a mortal under the queen’s protection had dared challenge an aristocrat.
Or rather, that an aristocrat had challenged him.
Kael stood barefoot on the obsidian dueling floor, shirt discarded, muscles tense beneath torchlight. His eyes were focused, jaw set, every line of his body coiled as if he lived for this moment.
Lyrathia appeared above the arena on the royal balcony, her arrival met by a wave of bows and murmurs. She ignored the vultures below, her gaze locked on the one who was the reason she’d been summoned by two frantic guards:
Kael is about to fight Kirath Bloodborne.
A duel between mortal and vampire.
Lethal. Stupid. Irreversible.
Her pulse tightened.
Kael should have been terrified. Kirath was a centuries-old noble with reflexes like lightning and a temperament sharpened by privilege.
Instead, Kael looked… calm. Almost bored.
Her fingers curled around the balcony rail. She had bound him to her—not to be paraded as entertainment or executed for someone’s amusement. Yet he stood there now, facing death, because Kirath had insulted him and Kael had responded “as any honorable warrior would.”
Idiotic man.
Irresponsible court.
And powerfully inconvenient timing.
Kirath swaggered across the arena, bare fangs gleaming. “Ready to die, human?”
Kael tilted his head a fraction. “That depends. Will you stop talking long enough to make an attempt?”
Gasps rippled. Lyrathia bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smirking.
Kirath snarled and lunged.
The duel began.
Vampires moved fast. Faster than mortal eyes could follow. Kirath crossed the floor in a blur, claws extended, aiming for Kael’s throat.
Kael moved faster.
He dropped under the swipe, rolled, and slammed a fist into Kirath’s ribs with a crack that echoed like snapped bone. The noble skidded backward several feet, shock stamping his aristocratic face.
Lyrathia’s breath stilled.
Kael straightened slowly, expression unreadable.
Whispers erupted instantly:
“He shouldn’t be able to—”
“He moved like—”
“No mortal can do that—”
Kael didn’t give Kirath time to recover. He surged forward, feinting left before whipping around with a right hook that crashed into Kirath’s jaw. The vampire reeled, spitting blood.
Lyrathia leaned forward, every instinct on alert. Even wounded, Kirath was still deadly.
And Kael—
Kael was not fighting like a mortal.
His strength was wrong. His speed was wrong. His precision—every strike deliberate, timed, lethal—felt trained, yes, but beyond training.
He was holding back.
The realization hit her with the force of a thrown blade.
Kael dodged Kirath’s claws, ducked under a kick, seized the vampire’s arm—and threw him across the arena.
A human should not have been able to do that. Not against one of her kind.
Not even a warrior of elite skill could match vampire strength so cleanly.
Something cold slid down Lyrathia’s spine.
Below, Kirath staggered to his feet, enraged enough now to abandon pride. He lunged again, faster, blood-maddened. Kael caught the blow with both hands, muscles straining but holding. Kirath growled, fangs fully bared—
—when Kael twisted sharply, snapped Kirath’s wrist backward, and swept his legs out from under him.
The noble crashed to the floor.
Kael was on him in an instant, knee pressed against his chest, forearm at his throat.
One motion away from killing him.
Silence consumed the hall.
Lyrathia rose.
“Enough.”
Her voice cut through the arena like a blade. Shadows parted around her as she descended the stairs toward the duel floor.
Kael released Kirath instantly—not out of fear, she realized, but obedience. That thread of the magical bond tugged faintly between them, warm and unsettling.
Kirath scrambled back, clutching his shattered wrist in disbelief.
“A mortal cannot—”
“He cheated—”
“Magic—he must have—”
Lyrathia’s gaze silenced the room with icy precision.
She stopped in front of Kael. He was breathing hard, chest rising and falling with a raw, unshakable intensity.
Heat pulsed through her. She hated how alive he looked. How capable. How lethal.
She should be furious.
She was furious.
But beneath it—
She was intrigued. And afraid.
“Where,” she said softly, “did you learn to fight like that?”
Kael lifted his chin, resisting the urge—she knew—to look away from her power. “From where I grew up.”
“Mortals do not grow up with training capable of challenging my nobles.”
He held her gaze. “Some do.”
The bond thrummed, brushing against her senses like warm breath.
He was lying.
Not with malice.
With protection.
Her eyes narrowed. “You are not what you claim to be.”
A flicker crossed his expression—fear? Pain? Sharp discomfort?—gone too quickly to name.
Kirath spat a glob of blood on the floor. “He is a threat to the court! He should be executed—”
Shadows burst beneath Lyrathia’s feet, surging outward in a wave that pinned the noble in silence.
“He is under my protection,” she said coldly. “And no harm will come to him unless it is at my command.”
The crowd bowed, some respectfully, others begrudgingly.
Kael tensed, clearly aware that her public claim tied him ever further to her. Power and prison in equal measure.
She turned to him, voice low so only he could hear.
“We will speak privately.”
He nodded once.
But when she stepped closer, she felt a pulse of energy radiate from his body—warm, aching, old.
Ancient.
Her breath hitched.
It wasn’t vampire. It wasn’t human. It was… other. A thread of something long forgotten, echoing somewhere deep beneath flesh and bone.
A taste of power indeed.
Her pulse hammered traitorously.
“You should not be capable of this,” she whispered.
Kael’s eyes darkened. For the first time, he looked almost—haunted. “I know.”
“And yet you are.”
He didn’t deny it.
Lyrathia felt something stir inside her chest—fear, fascination, the sharp edge of prophecy whispering through her thoughts.
The Queen’s heart shall wake for the one who ends her reign.
She had dismissed the prophecy as superstition.
But now?
Now she wasn’t sure.
She stepped back, lest the closeness unravel her composure. “Return to your chambers. Guarded. Do not leave.”
He hesitated, jaw clenching. “And Kirath?”
“He will live.” Her tone darkened. “Though he will not fight without permission again.”
Kael nodded once.
He walked past her, body bruised, breath heavy, but victorious.
The hall erupted in whispers once more.
Lyrathia didn’t hear them.
Her focus was locked on the man walking away—a mortal who shouldn’t have been able to fight a vampire and win.
A man with strength he shouldn’t have.
Memories he refused to share.
And a past that was becoming too dangerous to ignore.
As the doors closed behind him, Lyrathia murmured to herself:
“What are you, Kael?”
The shadows didn’t answer.
But somewhere deep in her bones, she felt the first tremor of truth approaching.
And it terrified her.