Stolen by the Beastly Lycan King-Chapter 152: Throats, Part II

The clang of metal echoed across the blood-red plains drowning in the setting sun as Rhaegar’s sword met Daro’s with a force that sent a jarring vibration through his arms.

The King’s Gold sang as the blades collided, each strike producing an ominous, metallic hum that reverberated in their ears.

"Look at you," Daro sneered, his voice carrying over the wind as he deflected another swing from Rhaegar’s blade. "The proud Beast King. Do you even remember who you used to be? Or did your crown crush that part of you?"

Rhaegar snarled, his amber eyes blazing as he pressed forward, their swords locking in a deadly embrace. "I haven’t forgotten, Daro. I just outgrew the petty, spineless schemer you’ve always been."

Daro’s lips curled into a grin, his black hair whipping around his face as he forced Rhaegar back with a sudden, powerful push. "Outgrew? No, you abandoned it. Abandoned us. You left the tribe, the only people who ever took you in. And for what? To rule over a kingdom of beasts who killed your mother?"

The words hit their mark, but Rhaegar didn’t falter.

"And what about you, Daro? Siding with the queen? Selling your soul for power you’ll never deserve?" He swung his sword in a wide arc, forcing Daro to leap back to avoid the strike. "You were always second best, and now you’re nothing but a pawn in her game."

Daro’s grin faltered, anger flashing in his dark eyes. He lunged, their blades meeting again in a shower of sparks. "A pawn?" he hissed, his voice low and almost venomous. "Then let me show you what a pawn can do."

Their movements were a blur, the King’s Gold catching the fading sunlight as they danced across the battlefield.

Every strike was met with a parry, every lunge countered with a dodge. Sweat dripped down Rhaegar’s brow as his muscles burned with exertion, but he refused to give ground.

"You’ve lost your edge, Rhaegar," Daro taunted, his sword slicing through the air as he forced the king to block another relentless barrage. "You fight like a king, not a warrior. Too much time sitting on a throne and not enough time spilling blood. I’ve noticed it in the gladiator’s ring, and I am witnessing it now. You disgust me!"

Rhaegar gritted his teeth, shoving Daro back with a sudden burst of strength. "And you still fight like a boy desperate for approval," he spat. "But let me remind you, Daro—you’ll always come second to me. Even with a stolen sword."

With a roar, Rhaegar surged forward, his sword a blur of gold as he unleashed a flurry of attacks. Daro deflected most of them, but one strike slipped through, grazing his shoulder and drawing a thin line of blood.

Daro hissed in pain but didn’t retreat. Instead, he used the momentum to spin, his blade arcing toward Rhaegar’s neck. The king barely managed to duck, the blade slicing through the air just inches above him.

"See? You’ve gotten sloppy," Daro said, his voice mocking as he pressed his advantage. "Too reliant on that brute strength of yours. Did you forget how to strategize, or is your beastly nature taking over?"

Rhaegar’s jaw tightened, his amber eyes narrowing. "I don’t need strategy to take you down," he growled.

But Daro was relentless, his strikes growing more precise, more vicious. His confidence was palpable, and for a moment, Rhaegar felt the odds tipping against him. Daro was faster, more agile, and his blade seemed to move with a purpose that Rhaegar struggled to match.

"Face it, Rhaegar," Daro said, his voice dripping with satisfaction as he landed a kick to the king’s chest, sending him stumbling back. "You’re no king. You’re just a lost little boy pretending to be something you’re not. Just because you stole your father’s crown, does not mean you are the one to bear it."

Rhaegar’s back hit a rock, and he grimaced as pain shot through him. He gripped his sword tightly, his knuckles turning white. "And you’re still the jealous child who can’t stand to see someone else rise above him," he shot back, his voice laced with contempt.

Daro laughed, the sound cruel and sharp like his blade. "Jealousy?" he echoed, his dark eyes glinting. "Oh, Rhaegar, this isn’t jealousy. This is me finally proving what you’ve always been too afraid to admit—that I am better than you."

He charged, his blade aimed directly at Rhaegar’s heart. But at the last second, the king twisted, Daro’s sword scraping harmlessly against the rock. Seizing the opening, Rhaegar lashed out, his sword catching Daro’s side and tearing through his exposed skin.

The man stumbled, blood seeping through as he clutched his side. His grin faltered, replaced by a snarl. "Lucky shot," he growled.

Rhaegar pushed himself off the rock, his breathing heavy but his resolve unwavering. "Luck has nothing to do with it," he said in a low and steady voice.

The fight resumed, both men pouring every ounce of strength and skill into their strikes. The battlefield around them seemed to fade away, leaving only the clash of their swords and the ragged sound of their breaths.

Daro’s movements grew more desperate, his strikes wilder as his strength began to wane. He did not want to admit that the human body was indeed no match to the one of a beast.

But just when it seemed Rhaegar was gaining the upper hand, Daro feigned a stumble, drawing the king in.

With a sudden burst of speed, Daro swung his sword upward, the tip slicing across Rhaegar’s arm and forcing him to drop his weapon.

"Checkmate," Daro said, his grin returning as he raised his sword for the final blow.

But Rhaegar wasn’t finished.

Summoning every ounce of strength left in his body, he lunged forward, grabbing Daro’s wrist and twisting it with brutal force. The sword clattered to the ground, and before Daro could react, Rhaegar’s other hand closed around his throat, slamming him against a nearby tree. freewёbnoνel.com

Daro struggled, his hands clawing at Rhaegar’s iron grip, but the king’s amber eyes burned with unyielding intent.

"You’ll never be better than me, Daro," Rhaegar said, his voice a deadly whisper. "You never were, and you never will be. See? Even without my shifting, even with you waving the stolen sword, I am still stronger than you."

Releasing his grip just enough to let Daro drop to his knees, Rhaegar picked up his sword, the King’s Gold glinting ominously in the fading light.

Daro coughed, his hands trembling as he reached for his fallen weapon. "You... can’t... win," he rasped, his voice weak but defiant.

Rhaegar raised his sword, the blade steady in his hands. "Oh, I already have," he said, his voice cold and final.

With a swift, clean motion, he brought the blade down, slicing evenly through Daro’s throat.

The gypsy’s body crumpled to the ground, his blood pooling beneath him as Rhaegar stood over him, the weight of victory heavy on his shoulders.

"See?" he murmured, panting loudly, his voice carrying over the stillness of the field. "And this is throat number one."