Snatching it, Ren took a few steps back. He kept his sword raised as he glanced down at the hastily scribbled words.

Addressed to the approaching enemy, the letter detailed the fort's troop count and weapons, as well as descriptions of a hidden entryway into the keep on the east side. Lastly, it contained a plea for protection from King Halvard and a request to return to Aleria for retirement in exchange for the information provided.

Ren stared at the letter. Treason. Ren's gut twisted painfully. Two members of his family had betrayed him in the span of only minutes. Had the Stags really been such horrible rulers that they deserved this kind of treatment?

Distracted by the letter, Ren didn't see the attack before it was too late.

His sword was shoved aside and a hard kick to his chest knocked the air from his lungs. He staggered backward, shoulder hitting a shelf, which collapsed and sent old jars tumbling to shatter on the ground.

Lord Tyke might have grown lazy and slow in the quiet years spent in Stag's Run, but he had been a skilled warrior once, better than Ren by a long shot.

Closing the space between them in two strides, Lord Tyke closed his hand tight around Ren's wrist and twisted. Pain shot through his arm and Ren gritted his teeth, forced to release the sword, which fell to the ground with a clatter. He tried to shove and kick, but Lord Tyke pinned him against the wall with the entire weight of his body. The lingering effects of the poison remained, draining the strength from Ren's muscles fast.

“I don't want to hurt you. Stop resisting,” Lord Tyke growled, his weight against Ren's chest making it hard to breathe.

Opening his mouth to shout, Ren felt Tyke's large hand clamp tight around his throat. Ren tried to twist away, but Tyke's grip on him was like a vice. His lungs burned with the need for air, sparks dancing at the edges of his vision. He wasn't strong enough. He couldn't win this fight.

CHAPTER NINE

So this was how he would die. Not shot down in an open field or poisoned by strangers, not even cut down in his attempt to defend Frayne's most important fort. No, he would be choked to death by his uncle in a crumbling tower where his body likely wouldn't be found for several hours, not until someone started to wonder where the young bastard boy might have gone. Dead, only a few months after his twenty-second summer.

Darkness ate its way across his vision as his entire body screamed for air. He clawed at Tyke's wrists, but it was no use.

Somewhere far away, a door slammed back on its hinges, the slam followed by the sound of shouting men.