Tedric laughed, dancing back. “You jest. I could’ve stolen her anytime.”
Alexander swung downward. Should have split him. Tedric caught it on the forte, the impact jarring up both their arms, then slammed his shoulder into Alexander’s chest. They crashed together, close enough to smell each other’s blood.
“That was Bertrand,” Tedric hissed.
Alexander stumbled back. His leg screamed. “He did it to helpyouabduct my wife.”
Tedric barked a laugh and lunged. Two jabs—high, low. Alexander swatted the first, took the second on his forearm.
“Help? He made itharder.” Tedric circled. “Sent your princess running. Know why?” Feint. Withdraw. Feint again. “A vendetta, nursed since your father married your mother.”
Alexander pressed forward suddenly, breaking the rhythm. The axe swept in a horizontal arc. Tedric gave ground—back, back, toward the narrow gallery where the railing groaned.
“If he wasn’t so pathetic—” Tedric’s rapier darted out. Alexander batted it aside. “—I’d almost sympathize.”
Alexander shifted weight, ignored the burn, stepped inside Tedric’s guard, and slammed the axe hilt into his ribs. The sound was a solid crack. Tedric folded, stumbled back against the railing. The man laughed again, gasping. “But he only gave the rest of us a bad name.”
“‘The rest of us,’” Alexander echoed, the realization clicking into place. “You mean Betas?”
Tedric pushed off the railing, came in low, rapier slashing upward. The blade grazed Alexander’s side—shallow, but it still bled.
Tedric’s grin was tinged red. “We builteverythingwhile your kind took.” Another thrust. Wild. “Betas bleed in your wars. Forge your weapons.” Alexander batted it aside. “And what do we get?”
He spat at Alexander’s boots. Blood-tinged.
“You are parasites. Always taking.”
Alexander caught the next thrust with the haft, twisted, wrenched Tedric off balance. He stumbled, caught himself on a column.
“And I’m tired of being passed over,” Tedric panted. “While lesser men got everything. Your father.You.”
The axe trembled. “Don’t speak of him.”
Tedric stepped back and put a distance between them, rapier lowering an inch. Not in surrender. In calculation.
“Did you never wonder how Bertrand survived your father’s fall?” he asked, head tilted.
Alexander didn’t answer. They stood there, weapons between them, both bleeding, both breathing too hard. The only sounds were the drip of water somewhere below and the rasp of air in damaged lungs.
“He used the real Wulfbane seal,” Tedric said. “The one he had access to every day. Your father found out. For an Alpha, he wasn’t so stupid. But by then, it was too late. Bertrand had planted the seeds of your father’s treason, made the Crown and court believe it.”
Alexander couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
“How do you know this?” His voice came out raw. “You couldn’t have been more than a boy back then.”
Tedric said nothing. Just watched him over the edge of his rapier.
Neither advanced. Neither retreated. The impasse held.
“This is too big for one man.” Alexander’s jaw clenched until his teeth ached. “Who are you carrying for?”
Tedric didn’t answer. His weight shifted. Something in his eyes went flat—the last spark of words dying.
Then he struck. A desperate slash at Alexander’s wounded thigh. The blade bit deep. Pain seared, and Alexander’s leg buckled. He dropped to one knee, axe clattering.
Tedric surged into him. They crashed into the railing. Iron groaned under the impact. The drop yawned below—two stories of darkness and jagged stone.
Alexander’s vision swam. Blood poured from his thigh. He twisted, grabbed Tedric by the collar, and head-butted himwith everything he had. Cartilage crunched. Blood burst from Tedric’s shattered nose. His eyes went wide, unfocused.