The Hidden King's Stolen Wife

Crimson blood blasted from behind her, meeting Ricard’s blood ropes in mid-air. Splashes of blood fell free from the collision, splattering onto the pavement and walls around them.

Soleia winced, closing her eyes as a few droplets landed onto her skirt, staining the fabric a deep red. A man stood in front of her protectively, his armor all but destroyed and blood soaking into his clothing as though he had just returned from a gory war front. Instantly, a shuddery breath left her lips as her eyes watered.

"It’s not nice to think about bedding your own sister-in-law, dear brother," Rafael said, his voice filled with rage even though his words were mocking. "Immoral, even."

Ricard’s laughter echoed into the night. "Since when have you cared about morals, Rafael?"

"Well," Rafael said with a shrug, "I suppose you can be occasionally right. The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree."

Without giving Ricard the chance to respond, Rafael swung his hands. A wave of blood sliced through the air along with his movements, bringing the familiar coppery scent with it as it rushed straight for Ricard.

The latter jumped out of the way, groaning as the blood that Rafael controlled blasted against the stone tiles on the ground, sending some looser pieces into the air with a cloud of dust.

"You’ve always had raw talent," Ricard said with a cold laugh. His eyes, however, held only contempt and even a tinge of jealousy. "That was the only reason Father brought you back to the palace despite the heaps and piles of bastard sons and daughters he left roaming around the world."

"Should I thank him for that?" Rafael sarcastically shot back.