Azeya blocked Sherlyn’s punch before ducking under Ryke’s attempted sneak attack. They were jumping her now, but Azeya danced through their attempts—dodging, blocking, and deflecting with fluid grace.

  There’s a pattern, Azeya thought. She blocked Ryke’s punch, anticipating the next move just before she deflected Sherlyn’s strike. Finding her opening, she grabbed Ryke’s wrist and followed the momentum with a sharp elbow to his ear.

  The temptation was too good; Azeya relished the opportunity to finish Ryke and take Sherlyn on one-v-one. Ryke was momentarily out, the elbow making his mind spin. His vision blurred as his eyes twitched. Azeya clenched her hands, ready to deliver a blow that would be talked about for days, but her leg gave out for a second. She smiled, realizing Sherlyn had landed a heavy leg kick. Suddenly, Ryke recovered, coming in with a combo: a strike to the ribs followed by another leg kick.

  He caught her by the shirt, but Azeya delivered a quick double-kick to both of their knees. She followed up with a spinning back-fist to Sherlyn, connecting it into a roundhouse kick for Ryke. The force was enough to send him staggering back.

  “I liked the idea. It was neat, I dare say,” Azeya said, leaving the two of them with a smile. “But the trap and the pattern are easy to read. Try something more versatile.”

  “Heard from Leon?” Ryke asked as she turned to leave.

  “No, not yet,” Azeya replied.

  “She’s lying,” Sherlyn muttered, watching Azeya walk away.

  “She’s human, isn’t she? Sometimes lying is important,” Ryke said, stretching. “I need a bath. You up for a quest tomorrow?”

  “Yeah, we’re setting off in the morning.”

  “That’ll do. See you then,” Ryke said, heading off to his room.

  Sherlyn watched him go, then looked down at her black jeans, which were now ripped at the knees. “Can’t believe last year I was a total slave,” she whispered to herself. “Your children are making it, Dad.”

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.

  ..........

  “Ell, what’s happening? Haven’t found her yet?” a man asked, his face hidden behind a dark, beaked hood.

  “I think she’s still within town. The question is how the cursed collar disappeared. The magic used makes sure even the one who tries to interfere with it dies. So, how?”

  “What if she’s dead? It’s a possibility,” another spoke out, taking a seat at the table. Three were already there; four seats remained empty.

  The last four arrived shortly after. A white man took the front chair while a black woman sat opposite him, the two of them occupying the seats of power. Two Asian men took the sides—one beside Ell, the other opposite.

  “We lost track of her.”

  “And the boy is still alive,” the white-haired man said, running a hand through his hair to calm it back.

  “My Eye told me she was toyed with, made to dance for the nobles,” one of the Asian men said.

  “For a moment, he wasn’t there,” another added. “Sniper’s Edge couldn’t kill him. We were fools to think a low-life assassin could.”

  “Relax your temper. At least yours came back alive,” a different voice countered. “I saw mine crouch down and die.”

  “And mine came back with no eyes,” Ell said, the room thick with tension. “Before that, she was beautiful.”

  The black woman finally spoke, cutting through the bickering. “Some of this sounds exaggerated, but I expected that. Let’s disperse. Everyone should leave for a different kingdom.”

  “That works,” another woman added, finally uttering a word. “If we stay here together, he will easily get us when he gets serious.”

  “Then it’s settled,” the white-haired man said, standing up. “We will meet after the new moon. Details on the location will be sent.”

  They stood as one and vanished into the dark.

  ......

  “Boy, I can’t stay here and babysit you. I’ve done my part these past days,” Leon said. “I’ve put people on you. You rule now; I’ve got to go back.”

  “Thanks. I’ll do my part,” Karl replied, shaking Leon’s hand firmly. “Please greet my sister for me, and everyone else.”

  “Will do, kid,” Leon replied. He stepped into a shimmering blue portal and vanished.

  On the other side, Leon found himself in a familiar setting. “Another throne room,” he muttered, disappointment etching his face.

  “Brother, welcome,” a black man said from the throne. He sat tall, standing even higher than Leon when upright.

  “The Northern Great Kingdoms,” Leon said, rotating on his heel to survey the room.

  He took a seat on the sofa, his gaze drifting to the massive skull embedded in the far wall. It dominated the space, its four sunken eye-chambers staring down with a cold, hollow weight. Just above the throne, dual nasal cavities opened like dark, jagged tunnels in the bone.

  Rising from the brow, the horns were the true marvel. They sprouted from a single, thick base but quickly splintered, branching out into a tangled web of ivory that clawed across the ceiling like frozen lightning.

  “You don’t usually call for me. Normally, it’s you three coming to me,” Leon said, looking at the three men in front of him. “So, what have the Three Kings called for?”

  “No drinks? You might need one,” one of them remarked.

  As if on cue, a beautiful, tall black woman arrived carrying a tray of wine. She knelt gracefully as she placed the tray on the table. Before leaving, she gave a deep bow to the Three Kings; each responded with a different gesture, silently dismissing her.

  “See, that’s why Chiko is a good representative—not like you other two,” Leon said, his hand already reaching for the wine.